Food and love

One of the last dishes my grandmother made me before she died were panipol pancakes. I called her from office craving it and that evening, came home to a plate of delicious panipol pancakes. Love is about giving, right? But the asking that certain loves allow you to do? We rarely talk about it.

I'm not someone who finds it easy to ask for help, for favours, for things. But Athamma wasn't someone I felt any hesitation with. I wanted panipol pancakes, so I asked for it, and I got it. Sometimes, it is that simple.

Since her death, I've started making pol toffee for Avurudu. She always made them; light pink, melt-in-your-mouth pol toffee. A touch of rose essence, fresh coconut, over an hour of stirring.

As kids, when she made toffee, we would gather in the kitchen, pestering her with 'is it ready yet?' questions. If we kept bothering her, she told us, the gonibilla would eat all the toffee. This was enough to keep us away from the kitchen. None of us wanted to take a risk with the toffees she made.

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Fries are one of the few foods I eat when I drink. Crispy, salty, and coated in chili powder. Delicious. But loved by all and so, the plate empties fast. When we go out, a friend always orders fries for me. Without a word, she places the dish close to me. And so, I get to enjoy the one dish I can eat while others have their fried rice and hot butter cuttlefish and so on.

Love has been easier since I met her. It's been easier to let myself be loved. You think it'll be easy, but here's the thing. People talk about parents loving their children. People talk about soulmates and romance. But the love that truly surrounds us? It's not always easy to accept, especially if you are prone to question your ability to reciprocate, your worthiness in friendship.

God, our friends keep us going. They get us through the hard times. They are there for the good. They are honest and caring and they have your back. And, as much as this is just one small thing among many great things, they make sure that plate of hot, hot fries is close to you.

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When Athamma died, my mother had to figure out the business of cooking. When we were still schooling, she would make us samosas, fried chicken or sausage sandwiches, and yellow rice. But she didn't cook curries as such. That was something Athamma took care of.

But when Athamma passed away, Amma had no choice. At the time, we had someone coming in to cook a few dishes, but Amma had to learn to make vegetables she had never made before.

Now, years later, Amma whips up a lovely okra stir fry in no time. A recent potato and cauliflower dish was to die for. But nothing beats a yellow rice with chicken curry, ala thel, and an egg. Sunday lunch traditions now becoming a rarity as our family shrinks.

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