Samir Shukla
Last weekend as I watched a gorgeous sunset over Lake Norman, dipping my feet in the warm water and feeling the cool breeze on my face, I realized I want to hold on to summer for a little bit longer. After all, this season has offered so many wonderful moments.
The sounds of carefree laughter and giggles of my children and their friends as they jump into the lake with abandon will stay with me. Of course the trip to my hometown Mumbai will be a favorite. Along with cherished times spent with family and friends, I brought back memories of gastronomical delights.
Thinking of the “vada –pav” at a street corner in Borivali, the mind boggling variety of “idlis” at Banana Leaf, even the Indianized menu of the oft-ignored McDonald’s stirs up junk food cravings. Of course, the Bengali in me cannot be satisfied without the sweet preparations called “mishit.” So we took a trip to Sweet Bengal with religious fervor and allowed ourselves to indulge in the delicately sweet and powerfully scrumptious treats.
My husband and I often joke that each time we visit India we scare our families by devouring everything they cook, resembling folks returning from an exile… from good food. But who can resist a meal that has flavors enhanced with love and affection. In my mind, no restaurant can come close to the “shukto – bhaath” made by my mother, the “maangsho” and “aloo-paratha” prepared by my sisters or the “dahi-vada” that comes from my mother-in-law’s kitchen.
Food is such an integral part of our culture with special dishes associated with “annaprasan,” a baby’s first feeding of rice to “shraadh,” the final meal in honor of the departed. It is my guess that a lot of our learning about who we are as a family or community comes from interactions in the kitchen and at mealtimes.
As a child, Sundays were awaited with eager anticipation as my father spent the morning shopping for the best freshwater fish and meats.
The afternoon was marked with a flurry of activity in the kitchen where my dad took over the cooking along with two of my older sisters.
My mother got the day off from cooking although I now realize that it probably resulted in more work for her. But she rarely complained and shook her head at some of the chaos that followed. However, the “kosha maangsho” that resulted from Daddy’s labor of love was priceless. It gave us another reason to admire him.
Years later when my husband and I moved to Charlotte, we spent many weekends trying our hand at recreating some family recipes and favorite “mishti” that were not readily available in the area. We proudly shared our successes with new friends at potluck parties and still laugh over some of our miserable failures. It has been a journey and we are still working on mastering a few of them and wishing that our children have the opportunity to relish the same yummy things that we enjoyed as kids. Introducing them to different Indian dishes has been nothing short of carefully crafted experiments.
I remember how as toddlers the kids often sprayed out anything that had the slightest hint of coriander and to this day my ten-year-old is terrified of red chili. However, as a family when we grill corn on the cob and season it like the “bhutta” along the beaches in Mumbai, we rekindle old memories and create new ones. I can’t help but smile when our kids pick out the same biscuits to dunk in milk as I did and eat “moori” or “kurmura” the way my mother still does. The humble “khichri” which is a staple in our home is usually greeted with groans and complaints but it is the first dish requested when we return home from a vacation giving us the comforting thought of “yes, we are home.”
Not only do families but friends too bond over meals. We’ve discussed politics and sports over our friend’s insanely tasty potato curry and laughed our hearts out as we rolled out dozens of “puris” for the community celebration of Durga Puja. When I was an expectant mother, friends whipped up a feast at the baby showers and soon became honorary aunts and uncles to my children. We even seek to please the gods with our fare of offerings and symbolically receive their blessings by consuming “puja prasad” and as my grandmother said only half-jokingly, if we want our prayers answered, we must know the god’s favorite food.
So, over the last decade the reluctant cook in me who was averse to age old advice such as “the way to man’s heart is through his stomach” and “a girl should know how to cook” has turned into a true foodie. It has been a discovery that the love for food is more than its flavor; it is connected to family, friends and occasions we value. These associations are what make me seek deliciousness in the tried and tested cuisines as well as in the new and exotic.
With these thoughts I am looking forward to the enticing sights and aromas of Charlotte’s Festival of India in September. A slice of India will make its way to uptown Charlotte and the white canopies of the food booths will draw you to the whiff of the “biryanis,” the sizzle of the “dosas” and the sounds of “mmmm…” as the tasters savor dessert. You can expect no less. After all, the mouthwatering delights will be made by local food lovers who revere their works of art. I hope that along with the beautiful exhibits and lively performances, the food will open a door to India’s amazing culture leading many to experience its richness.
