“The Kitchen”, speaks intimacy. Even in today's modern
design, where the kitchen is as sleek as the sitting room, & does actually
open into the lounge/ living room, still, if you are joining someone at the
cooktop, if you are operating someone's blender – you are close to them.
Kitchens are the centre from which the business of living a good life is
conducted. They are the control room of house parties, the board room of school
projects – preparing the “ghost fluorescent slime”, sprouting seeds for “plants
need light” experiments. Kitchens are where pre-teen gangs with little to do on
scorching summer noons, but heads bubbling with new mischief, hang out, with
endless pop-corn.
Those persons, that you let into your kitchen without
feeling that your personal space has been invaded, are those who you are ready
to take a bit of constructive criticism from, to expose a bit of your
vulnerability to! Since childhood, I've been inside the kitchens of “Aunties”,
who were mothers of close friends. Ramen cooked with a tempering of Cumin &
Mustard, Idlis smeared with Milk-fat & sprinkled with sugar ... fattening
food for never-still school-children. Upon growing up a bit, on becoming
teenagers, it was considered good manners to offer to help the hostess whom our
family was visiting. This included entering her kitchen & carrying the tray
of cups of Chai, that she had prepared, & later, carrying back the used
cups & plates to the sink. However, any shy & adult-interaction-averse
teenager would only bestow this special favour upon really special Aunties!
The kitchen window is where the heart is opened to the
world at large - where the sparrows flock to peck at rice flakes, where the
mangy runt cat comes to claim its share of milk & love, & meow its
world philosophy to those who care to lend an ear. Kitchens also stand for
traditions, & belief systems. We lived in identical apartments which were
company quarters, & inside the kitchen was a store room made entirely of
shelves. Many families had their mini temple/ worship place in the Store room.
Floor decorations & wall decorations with traditional rice powder &
rice paste often adorned the Kitchen.
I remember getting offended by “No entering kitchen
during menstruation” rule in the house of an orthodox religious family. I
simply decided to never let them know I had my periods. My own mother's kitchen
was the place of her sorrow. She did not, & does not enjoy cooking, it is
very rarely that she cooks willingly. Still, one has to cook. & cook she
did, dutifully, punctually, measuring every nutrient, instilling in me a
deep-seated “need” for “veggies” & lentils. But that was not her sorrow.
The sorrow was my grandmother, my father's mother. In India, it is common for
aged parents to live with their sons. However, my grandmother was
extraordinarily interfering, immature, & basically a pest to my parents' relationship.
Somehow, the kitchen represented to my mother, the entire injustice of her life
...
Thankfully, I have not inherited my mother's luck in
Mothers-in-law, nor her disdain for cooking. My husband & I belong together
in many places, also the kitchen. I discovered my life partner quite early in
life, in Undergrad. At that time, we were quite inseparable. Going to the same
places, seeing the same sights, experiencing the same events, eating the same
food, we developed similar taste. We were often present in the same kitchens
apprenticing with the person who was cooking for us non-hostel-mess food. It
was delicacy for us - hostel-dwellers, & that person a master chef! Now, we
assist each other, & prep for each other, & share our kitchen duties naturally.
If a family that cooks together stays together, then we can definitely hope to.
The Kitchen, also, is the reflection of the time of one's
life. Out of necessity, whoever moves out on their own, first sets up their
kitchen. Purchasing one's first set of “Tea, Coffee, Sugar” jars, is not the
general matter of poetry. Yet, it is one of the enthusiastic
rites-of-transition from a protected life in the fold, to youth, where every
little chore has to be hand-performed. I remember preparing our first Besan
Chilla on our single-burner LPG stove. My roommate & I, though we knew that
Besan Chillas are a beginner level recipe, were unsure that the chilla will
“hold together” in itself, we added an egg to the batter. The memory never
fails to make either of us smile, as we soon discovered that Besan is very
sticky, & is indeed used to bind together other loose ingredients.
Living in a country which has two seasons - hot &
unbearably hot - the Winter wonderland has been conceptualized by story-book
illustrations - "blanket" of snow with sparkly blue magic outdoors,
& contrasting yellow-red fire inside! I imagine aromas which I have not
personally experienced! Remember the kitchens in fairy tales? In the
gruesome killing of the evil witch by the abandoned Hansel & Gretel, the
scalding of Big Bad wolf as he comes down the kitchen chimney … climaxes happen
in kitchens. Then there are the Russian fairy tales, where Baba Yaga meets her
seekers by the hearth, Masha cooks pies for the bear, & the most atrocious
- Yemela travels by his kitchen by the blessing of the fish!
“Grandma's tips” all originate in the
kitchen. Turmeric is an anti-inflammatory, Water boiled with carom seeds will
soothe an aching tummy ... I came across the term “Hearth Witch” as my horizons
broadened globally. You come to realize the the respect of the elderly &
experienced woman as the healer. Where these women were content to perform
their functions, with satisfaction simply from happy family members, &
recognition only in the form of being taken for granted, we are more vocal
about our needs & position. Still, the bond with the kitchen remains. The
bond of the kitchen & the kitchen garden surfaces, & with awe you
proceed to search for the point where a herb becomes a medicine. Just a
bit of mystique is invoked! There is magic all about the kitchen!
Kitchens are also the first to be neglected in the face
of adversity. The living room is “maintained”, pretence of well-to-do-ness is
kept up as long as possible. The kitchen's exhaust fan whose motor has burnt-out
is not sent for rewinding. The sunmica of the dining table, the tiles of the
platform get chipped, & remain so ... It does not affect the smells and
aromas, the warmth of the flames, or the warmth of the provider, the mother
figure. & so, in partial neglect lie the appliances, in disrepair, but
lovingly cleaned with soap-water & scrub. & when the mother figure is
ill, is taking a holiday elsewhere, or is, sadly, dead, the kitchen shouts
aloud its complaint & lament, cockroaches rear their heads, coffee stains
become the very pattern of the surfaces. Even as political debates gather
storms around eating habits, & gender roles transform, get confused, &
transform again constantly, the actual, physical kitchen welcomes all,
continues to be a woman's kingdom, yet yields to whoever will take over with
love.
As of every animal, food is a human need. However,
"eating" does not seem to be getting "digitalized" in the
near future. The Kitchen will continue to be a real, tangible, fragile,
impermanent fixture in an increasingly virtual world!
