As I’ve mentioned before, as a kid I wasn’t the biggest fan of Indian food. It was weird, occasionally spicy, and smelled funny. No matter how many times my dad would say, “Leena, hou bhakri cavoo chu?”, he couldn’t fool me. I knew bhakri was just really thick, really dry flat bread that made the worst peanut butter and jelly sandwich EVER. And despite the fact that I was not fluent in Gujarati, I knew full well when my aunts and uncles were talking about me in another language. But like so many things in life, time changes a lot. There came a point when being different was actually cool, and I started to wonder about my own culture. At first it started off with a simple recipe for my family’s chai, but then it grew into a full blown cooking lesson from my aunt last weekend. I think she was just as surprised as I was that I was ready and willing to absorb this part of my family’s traditions. We started bonding over the strangest things…like how we both feel food cooked from scratch tastes better and is so much better for you, and how we both love to grow our own foods and even make pickles from them. I started remembering and noticing little habits of the Indian side of my family that weekend, and was surprised to be enjoying them, not becoming annoyed like I used to. Like for some reason, my Indian side of the family loves–LOVES–to reuse jars that used to hold food for more food. My dad has a modest little cabinet in the corner of my parents’ kitchen that has his spice mixes, his peppers, even his ghee in old jelly jars and butter containers. Then I saw my aunt’s cupboard…
Hot damn. Pretty sure this jar was circa 1983.
But all of a sudden, it made sense. Most Indian ingredients are purchased in bulk, such as rice, a million kinds of lentils, etc. Since everything is made from scratch, at least in my aunt’s kitchen, they needed a lot of jars, and saving jars they had already bought was probably a way to save money. Another habit I noticed—eating and drinking with stainless steel dishes.
Now, if we had a completely traditional place setting, the plate would stainless steel, as would the cup. But since we had a lot of people eating, not everything was stainless steel. Again, not sure why we eat on stainless steel (I am sure there is a sensible reason, like it was affordable and lasted forever in India, and using them here is comforting, etc.), but as soon as I drank some pani (water) from that stainless steel cup, it reminded me of visiting my relatives while growing up. My grandmother, Motiben, would have her chai served in handle-less stainless steel cup on top of a stainless steel saucer, always served piping hot. She would tip the cup so that some of the chai spilled onto the saucer, then she’d blow on the chai, pick up the saucer and drink from it. Again, not sure why, but it was a ritual I would witness every afternoon as a child. I feel incredibly lucky to have another chance to absorb my family’s culture, especially since I wasted so many experiences when I was young. I may not be fluent in the language, or even been to India, but I understand the food, and now, hopefully, can reproduce it for my own family. I’m still not down with my relatives talking about me in another language, but as Lila Khaki says, “If you want us to stop talking about you, learn our language!” Slowly but surely, I am. ~LTG!
