It was calm outside for a change. We had finally escaped the South West monsoons that had turned the Arabian sea into an agitated rough waters and entered the sheltered Persian Gulf where the sea was so calm one might mistake it for a giant still pond. I had just taken a nice long shower and gone down to the mess room. The North Indian dinner menu didn't look appetizing for some reason. I was suddenly hungry and homesick. How long had it been since I called home? 10-12 days? I should call and say hi, I made a mental note. My steward was looking at me as if to ask "Are you eating or what?" so I hurriedly took some rice and dal. Annoyed with my limited choices I requested for my precious pickle bottle that was stored away in one of those mess room cupboards. I picked the "Onion Thokku" (bought from Grand Sweets, of course). Mom had sent it from home in a fancy parcel along with gongura, mango pachadi, coriander thokku and my pretty birthday dress. I took a generous serving of the thokku and hungrily tried to eat more pickle with little rice than a normal person would. The thokku was so so good. In the middle of all the banter that surrounded me, about which SUV was the best (Men will be men!), I quietly transported to another world.
It is practically impossible for someone in South India to not have a friend, relative or a cousin who has gone abroad for higher education, and all NRIs as we know take home made pickles with them. I never understood why they did that though, not as if anyone was gonna miss eating pickles and stupid chutneys when they can eat pizzas, burgers and pasta all they want. But they carried them anyway, religiously every time and always talked about missing silly things like keerai kootu (spinach & dal) and arusi aplam (fryums) every time they called. I never got these people, not until I became one myself and went so far from home that the closest thing I have to home food is my onion thokku. The warm fuzzy feeling it brings inside when you take the first bite. Adadada...
As a kid, summer vacations meant a few regular features - unlimited mango milkshake and buttermilk alongside big fat watermelons (for my sister Jan who never let them last more than a day) stored in the fridge; lots of playing in the sun, afternoon naps and board games with mom. There were also the mandatory trips to both grandmas' houses when our uncontrollable, undying energy along with constant questioning about irrelevant things became too much for mom and dad to handle alone. These trips were all about meeting relatives whom we met only during summers. But these trips mainly meant mom getting endlessly pampered with 'palagaarams' (traditional home made snacks and savouries), 'aplams', 'podis' (instant powders that make everyday cooking easy) and lots of pickles from both grandmas. Mom always kept these pickles very (read VERY) carefully. She got protective of them much like her possessiveness over the "candy crush" app on her phone in recent days. These oorgas (or "achaar" - as they're called in the rest of the country), she always insisted on serving them herself every time you wanted to have a piece just so she can be absolutely sure you didn't slip the used spoon back into the jar, God forbid. I loved them so much even as a kid. I had to have a piece of avakkai (mango) or nellikai (gooseberry) every day at lunch. Curd rice with pickle is still my first answer to "Which food item would you pick if the world came to an end and you could eat only that for the rest of your life?".
Of all the things I left behind in my past, I can say I miss my childhood the most. All the lazy summers cycling around town with Jan, the Diwali celebrations which started at least one week in advance with 3 new sets of clothes and went on for even a few days after, the many many boxes of crackers that dad used to bring home, which we carefully smuggled on the train to grandma's house under all our clothes, the no early morning bath curfew, the cursive handwriting practice books, the hot pakoras and bajjis at 4pm with coffee and the late night story sessions with everyone lying down in the same room facing the glow stickers on the ceiling, telling funny stories about their own childhood summers.
Who would've thought the small pickle bottle would have managed to 'preserve' so many memories too?
- 22nd June 2016
