Food, family and tradition

There's no food like home-cooked food. And the only thing better? Home-cooked dessert!

This weekend was homage to Usha, with dad and son taking over the kitchen [I'd have said taken over 'completely' since she logs in rarely, but her friends here would likely call my bluff:)].

So that the homage was really true to her, we took on some made-from-scratch exotica. Banana bread, guacamole, Mexican rice, and mango pie. Whew. Also, Mmmmmm.

Our lady loves to cook as if from a blank canvas, puts out a great spread on the table, and enjoys having friends and family around that table. How she does this, while juggling work and school schedule, is anybody's guess. I have a theory though.

When you have woken up to the 530AM grind and aroma of fresh coffee beans every single morning growing up; heard stories from your dad about how he and Matunga chummery friends made 100s of 'koykatais' (Tamil 'modak') every month for temple devotees; when you have a grandmom of almost regal bearing and means who just loved to make 'murukkus' for wedding events; whether you realize it or not, those are the kind of things that can influence and even define you.

We are slave to our genes but sometimes those same genes and traditions can make us shine. Some years back, Usha happily put her life on hold for several months and traveled back home to be with my mom for what turned out to be the last days of her life. Those humble, traditional rasam and curry meals hand-cooked for my mom are memories that Usha may never be able to shake off. Or want to. She at least has the memory of those last shared meals to cherish. The last thing mom ever whispered to me was unrealized: I want to be able to see you again.

Growing up for me, it was always about the food and ghee treats. Even if it was as a festival or a pooja offering. Especially if it was as a festival or a pooja offering. More than the sanctity of the occasion, it was the treats that we hankered for. As if, not drooling for and not wolfing down the food was in fact the biggest rebuke to God. Other than shared moments enjoying the food, I wish I could report more shared moments making the food. Alas. But you buckle up, and move on --

Who knows, maybe this weekend will be the start of a new tradition?