The Kitchen: A Sanctuary of Creativity, Rather Than a Place of Confinement
There is something quite satisfying about preparing a wholesome meal. My childhood was filled with memories of watching my grandmother dedicate hours each morning to preparing lunch, and another chunk of time in the evening for dinner. She was never one to rush; she approached cooking with a deliberate pace. She took her time to prepare a pot of fish curry, along with one or two vegetable dishes, a serving of dal, salad and an abundance of rice and roti to serve the family of five or six for a single meal. Once all the cooking was done, she devoted about twenty minutes to laying the table, making sure my grandfather’s favourite dishes were within his reach from his usual place at the table. Mealtimes were the only time the whole family sat down together to catch up on the events of the day, she said. So it had to be done right.
During the afternoons, she could be found in the backyard, meticulously chopping vegetables for her homemade achaar (pickles), which she then dried in massive glass jars under the warm North Indian sun. Her achaar was legendary, sought after by relatives who travelled from far and wide. She went to great lengths to collect various containers—be it old jam jars or protein powder bottles—which she diligently washed and repurposed to package her achaars for gifting. Equally famous were her desserts; she would prepare huge basins of kheer for every birthday celebration. She epitomised a bygone era of women who expressed their affection through the meals they prepared for their loved ones.
In contrast, my mother was a whirlwind of activity in the kitchen. She effortlessly managed to balance three or four dishes at once, deftly multitasking her way around the kitchen. Despite her rapid movements from task to task, nothing ever risked burning under her watchful eye. She often asked me to help out in the kitchen or while laying the table. While she didn't possess the same level of culinary expertise as my grandmother, she had her own flair for experimentation. I fondly remember the creative cakes she baked for my birthdays—one year, a train-shaped confection that captivated the younger guests, and another year, a nest-shaped masterpiece adorned with chocolate eggs and a bird-shaped candle. I recall her meticulously cutting out recipes from old magazines and dabbling in fancy desserts for special occasions. Cooking was more of a pastime for her, whereas for my grandmother, it was her life’s work.
My grandmother and my mother often quarrelled while cooking together owing to their starkly different methods. My grandmother, a stickler for precision, frowned upon my mother's penchant for shortcuts, though she couldn't help but marvel at the modern techniques my mother effortlessly employed. My mother never understood why my grandmother “wasted” so much time in the kitchen when a meal could be whipped up in a fraction of the time. Unlike my grandmother, she found other ways to express her love for her family. Perhaps she didn’t think of it this way. My mother juggled a job and provided for us, driving us to school, the mall, and the theatre. As a child, I often envied classmates whose homemaking mothers packed elaborate lunches, while mine opted for simpler fare, like a sandwich, often prepared by my own hand.
I count myself fortunate to have inherited my grandmother's passion for cooking and my mother's knack for improvisation. Cooking is a great joy of my life, and a kitchen is my sanctum. Arranging a kitchen in a new home is an absolute delight. When scouting for a new apartment, one of my top priorities is ensuring the kitchen receives ample natural light, as I find my creativity flourishes in the rejuvenating rays of sunlight. I also enjoy adorning the windowsill with small potted plants. Recently, I've discovered the art of repurposing old wine bottles into vases for cultivating money plants or other trailing vines. They not only add charm to the kitchen decor but also require minimal upkeep. I devote a considerable amount of time to embellishing fridge and microwave covers with embroidery, as well as crocheting placemats and lace doilies. My collection of refrigerator magnets serves as a canvas for displaying postcards or polaroid photographs, adding a personal touch to the space.
These two examples of women in my life taught me a profound lesson: that the role of women, including those who choose to be stay-at-home wives, is far from disempowered. In fact, they ruled the private sphere. They instilled in me a profound appreciation for the transformative power of food—the way it has the ability to heal, to comfort, and to bring people together in times of joy and sorrow alike. Providing sustenance for one's family is not only a responsibility; it is a right and a powerful expression of love. Just as people derive fulfilment and confidence from providing and protecting their loved ones, a similar sense of purpose and assurance can be derived from nourishing and nurturing one's family through food.
In a world where success is often measured by professional achievements and the relentless pursuit of individual goals, these women embodied a different kind of success—one rooted in selflessness, sacrifice, and the quiet satisfaction of helping their loved ones thrive. From the gentle hum of the washing machine to the comforting aroma of home-cooked meals, their presence permeated every corner of the household. With an innate ability to nurture and organise, they transformed a house into a home. They were the keepers of tradition, passing down recipes, rituals, and values from one generation to the next.
Image Source: Julie and Julia (2009)
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