The magic ingredient in my meal

THE MAGIC PORTION IN MY MEAL

The family that eats together and prays together. Stays together.

This quote was an apt fit to my family. It was a family custom that has been followed for generations down the lane. Every member, was supposed to eat at least one meal with the family and pray every morning with the family, before starting the day. Thus, every meal was not just to fill our stomach, but a time for the entire family to share, care and exchange emotions. Well, the meal in the family was always cooked by the family member. Not by any maid, though we did have many all over the house. This could be the reason why our food tasted sooooooooooooo good; it was out of the world. Healthy, nutritious and of course lip smacking every single time. Variety was the essence of the kitchen in our house.

With all these thoughts running in the backstage, I sat in my couch feeling nostalgic of those good old days. Well! it’s been 3 long months that I’ve been deprived of “home food “. Pandemic and lockdown had prisoned me in my studio apartment. Far far away from my home town. I had moved here, for a project, but would drive home every weekend. The entire week I would survive on self-cooking (which was definitely a flash on the pan). Every meal, I’d satisfy myself with a self-talk “Just this week, very soon you shall relish home food.. (a quick imagination of the plate full of variety dishes) Emmm! yummy tummy…soon.. Just wait for Friday night.” But now I was held up her week after week. Friday after Friday.

I couldn’t tolerate my own preparation. I wasn’t too bad, but it’s just that my palate wanted a change. I entrusted this great responsibility to my maid. I gave her clear instructions of the recipes. The Do’s and don’ts. Had her speak with my mom. I ordered for around 27 different types of spices and ingredients that would be needed to make the food as deliciously delicious as my mom’s. That Saturday afternoon, I sat at my table for the eagerly waiting for my lunch. As I hadn’t had my breakfast, my tummy desperately gave a monstrous growl. Rubbing my tummy, I called out to the maid “Sheela…. Fast…. I’m hungry”. I’d been hearing her slice, dice, chop and mince. Sure, today is a good treat. I starred with steady gaze at her as she walked with the casseroles. She placed one by one at the table. Ah! Can’t stop any further. Hunger depletes all the mannerism and civilization inside you. Truly, I felt like a hungry lion waiting to pounce at its prey. Yet, maintaining my poise, I said “thank you, you can leave now. See you tomorrow”.

As soon as she’d gone, I pounced upon the food. The colour was eye-catching, the smell was mouth-watering and the touch was heart-melting. With great involvement I chewed the first morsel with eye closed and a calm self. As it touched my palate, I opened my eyes. When it travelled down the food pipe, I sighed. No no no, no no. This is not what my mother would make. It doesn’t taste a bit like that one. The colour, aroma, and texture were the same, yet this does not have that taste. What’s wrong? I kept pondering. Unable to figure out and not willing to experiment any further, I continued my routine with not much expectations on the food front. Days flew by and soon I was able to travel, due to the relaxation in the government rules.

That Friday, I reached home late night. Everyone was fast asleep. My mother’s eye wouldn’t rest without seeing me. I hugged her, she cried. Kissed me all over my face. After freshening up, sat down to treat my hungry bingy. Wow! what a taste. I was in cloud nine. The very first bite satisfied the deepest yearnings. My stomach filled soon, not my senses. I kept eating like a hungry hippo. My mother sat near me, admiring her child. At last, when there was no scope for even a small bit to enter my oesophagus. I stopped.

Later fully filled up, I rested my head on my mother’s lap. She stroked against my hair. This was paradise. Emmm.. Ah! I enjoyed the moment. Later I asked “Mom, what is it that makes your cooking so special. Every dish is so delicious. I’ve tried all the permutations and combinations, but ma, none is complete. I always feel there’s something special you add, that’s missing when I cook. Please tell me that magic ingredient. Is it some handmade species, or is it the organic vegetables that’s been used? What is it?”

She smiled, held my hand “My darling, its all this and more. Organically grown vegetables and pulses do have amazing health benefits. So are our hand-made spices powder, as compared to the ready-made ones. But there is something else that makes every dish special. “What is it” I eagerly enquired. “Your thoughts.” She answered. I was astounded, “What? The thoughts.”

“Yes, my dear there is an enormous strength in our thoughts. We are what we think, isn’t it? This holds good not just for your professional success or your personality built, but it sure makes a substantial difference to your food. A person who cooks, transfers his/her energies into the food. This in turn gets transferred to the body of the recipient.” I gazed at her as she explained. “This secret recipe was passed on from my grandmother to my mother and to me. Before starting to cook, a small prayer. Then, from the very act of washing the vegetable to the point of serving food, every step involves a certain thought to be transferred into the food.”

“Ma, now you are sounding like some psychic guru. Thought transfer? How naïve”.  She smiled, “haven’t you seen people getting healed with prayers, haven’t you heard of a people getting recovered only with placebos? Haven’t you experienced how good or how sick you feel, merely by somebody’s thought? Why? Thoughts have great power my child. If you can accept all those, why not with food?”. I pondered on her statement. “So…. What kind of thoughts do you transfer?”

“Well!... When I wash the vegetables, I think of all the pesticides and insecticides used on them. I slowly eliminate all those harmful aspects by washing it. I visualise all the dirt and chemical getting washed down the drain. While cooking, I think each and every person who eats this food, should be benefited with health. This food should satiate their tastes, fill their stomach as well as contribute positively to their entire system helping them in physical as well as mental well-being. When I serve the food, I thank God for giving me an opportunity to serve this precious food to my family. When I eat the food, I thank each and every person who was involved in bringing this food to my plate; right from the farmer who sowed the seed, the people involved in harvesting, transporting, packing, and dispensing it. Everyone should be blessed. Thanking the almighty for this food”.

I was jaw-down, utterly stunned with her answer. Speechless I gazed at her for a few minutes. She patted on my back “Now you get some sleep, it’s way too late now. Good night my dear”. Saying so, kissed on my forehead and walked out of the room. As I contemplated her answer, I was awestruck.

Watching the moon between the branches of the mango tree, I what an absolutely amazing thought process she had. To cook with such involvement, was just mind-blowing. Ultimately, I knew the magic portion in my meal – the thought transfer.