Dodda exasperates me,
Her idle hands itching to prepare delicacy,
My refusals, tossed into the trash,
Until I finally give in.
Off she goes,
With her osteoporotic knees
And determined mind,
To purchase half a kilo of fine rava,
A pitstop at chatty Cathy's
To notify my arrival
And she's back,
Panting for air,
Massaging her frail joints,
I berate her, for enduring unnecessary stress
She says she needed the exercise
To stay healthy.
Heading to the kitchen,
Boiling water on the left
And roasting fine rava on the right
She adds an extra tablespoon of sugar
To the boiling water,
Slowly stirring the saccharine syrup.
As faint smell of burnt rava
Envelopes the kitchen,
She realises she's forgotten about the rava
And they've overcooked,
But she doesn't give up,
Relentless, she mixes the burnt rava
And boiling saccharine syrup
Tosses cashews and raisins
Adds few spoons of ghee
And cardamom powder
Until its finally ready.
She profusely apologises
For adding cashews,
And over cooking the rava,
I take a bite,
Tell her it's alright
And her knees don't hurt anymore
Her lungs don't gasp for air
There's a smile on her face,
Twinkle in her eyes,
Happiness radiating off her,
For she seems to think she has fixed me,
With her overly sweet kesari bath
With cashews and raisins,
For a while, I believe it too.
Recipe to mend a broken heart
You have to add the bitter first.
I know, don't worry, trust me
It'll be good. It's my family recipe.
So chop the anxiety. Chop it fine.
Raw heart, bitten nails and
purple-headed lust.
Add one part acceptance.
No you can’t take that off
acceptance is the most important ingredient.
Next, add more than a pinch of trust.
Yes you are brokenhearted and trust
feels like stepping out onto a ledge
overlooking a deep, unknowable canyon,
with a blindfold. But trust you must
or you can't go forward
Trust has to be added, bit by bit
Add Trust wisely; mix it well. Taste.
Then, to round out the recipe a bit more,
add several tablespoons of
raucous laughter.
Laughter, like baking soda,
really helps to lighten things up.
Dont look at me with incredulity.
Yes, you heard that right.
Laughter can seem hard to find.
But it’s really there. Hunt.
Look for it inside those shelves
you locked. Once you add it
you'll see true magic as all sorts of
hormones spin and rise and air
the batter, making it fluffy.
And for the salt -- now don't forget the salt –
unlock your worn-out heart. Allow it to heave.
Mine out the saltiest tears. Add.
Let it sit for 20 minutes.
Gently toss it on high flames.
Test it with a toothpick.
If it's done it'll come out clean.
Now, don't eat it. Break into
small pieces.
Feed it to the birds.
-Ambreen Saniya's acrostic poem
Chutney
Women in our house
make the best chutney.
they handpick the most delicate
of the leaves first,
the small ones
still growing
like they were plucked out
soft at the age of 16.
they wash the leaves thoroughly
to the last traces
of any dirt or worms
like they were cleansed
of any dreams or ambitions
of becoming anything more
than a simple ingredient of a side serve.
next, they grind the leaves
with all their strength
into a homogenous mixture
like they were battered
to lose their own dimensions
into becoming a common consistency
which could be stirred again
if needed, with ease.
they then add all the
spices
water
and salt
like they were amalgated with
children
toil
and responsibilities
till they reach their point of satiety
which keeps on brimming up
because there is always room for more, right?
the men in our house
eat all their meals with the chutney
but don't notice it
until its not there anymore.
women in our house
make the best chutney
and when I ask them
how do they make it
they smile and tell me
it's made out of love.
women in our house
make the best chutney
and they garnish it with lies
which we could, otherwise, never digest.
-Nikita Biswal, inspired by a recipe for mawa madeleines in Pamela Timm's Uparwali Chai
Recipe For a Very Anxiety-Riddled Day
Cooking Time:
Anything from a few hours
to the entirety of your adolescence
Serves: 1 (Right)
Ingredients:
1 Sleepless Night
1 Pair of Lachrymal Glands That Do Not Do Their Job Anymore
1 Email Account That Floods Incessantly
A Few Sprigs of Your Most Defenseless Insecurities
Directions:
1.
Take a nap the day before
so that no sleep comes
to a boil until dawn rises
2.
Let the hustle and bustle
of the morning awaken you,
still broiling in exhaustion
3.
Assemble all your insecurities
and blanch them into
your scalding self-esteem
4.
Refresh them in the ice-cold
freshness of some dear friends’
love and laughter before you
5.
Churn said insecurities
with tears that said glands
did not produce
6.
Generously spread the paste
onto leftover rotis or
cardboard or whatever
7.
Stare at the screen
as the emails continue
to stew
For your 13th birthday,
I am putting together the perfect cookbook,
Divided in ascending order
Of the density of memory per bite.
Time will teach you
How tastes can be
Potent time portals,
Nanima’s achaars,
My father’s favorite kuttu ka poori,
Made only on Diwali.
You’ll see how the
Passing down of recipes
From our mothers and aunts
Can retain the twinkle in their eyes
Just how your Nani gets
At the mention of mithai.
You will learn about the
Little pleasures of life
Bite-sized memories
That can turn a bad day around.
I hope you get to skip
The sad days section,
Ideas for self care meals,
To eat away insecurities
Too complex to digest.
I’ll even throw in the Survivor guide,
Meals for one
When you suddenly find yourself alone
For 45 days in a row,
And you’re too tired to Google
Easy recipes to survive a pandemic
-Rohini Kejriwal, a poem for my three-year-old niece
My recipe for a perfect relationship
is altered everytime I meet someone new
the first recipe was written
three years back
each time we fought
and I read it again, today,
Add a cup full of love
with two tablespoons each of
trust, undivided attention and happiness
with a pinch of quarells for taste
I knead the dough tightly
for the preheated oven is ready
forgetting to add insecurities, flaws and space
After forty five minutes
the love cookies are ready
tasteless and hard
which tells me
how effortful it is
to love
and bake it the right way.