Twenty months after staying in Bombay, I realised what I miss most about staying at home – home, of course, always, is New Alipore.
When I had moved into my hole-in-the-wall house at Mahim (similar holes-in-walls around me are occupied by full-sized families) I had woken up to the smell of pork vindaloo one Sunday morning. As I woke up and lay in bed, miserable and cranky, I was surrounded by the most delicious aroma of something I had never tasted and yet I knew exactly what it was (courtesy, painfully detailed descriptions by I of course). And such aroma is not the first thing you want to resist when you have just woken up!
But resist I had to.
Now, 20 months later, I was walking towards the gate of my building when another such aroma threatened to waylay me. It smelt distinctly of maangshor jhol – the kind we would have on Sunday afternoons when everyone would be home and Ma would be in the kitchen since morning, only to emerge holood-smeared, exhausted, sweaty and triumphant.
Am sure it could not have been maangshor jhol that I had smelt now, simply because there are no Bengalis living there. But whatever it was, it made me realise what I had missed most in the seven years that I have lived away from home: The wafting smells from the kitchen.
I would follow my nose in there, pick out pieces – in various stages of being cooked – from the kodai full of bubbling and spitting curry, lift the covers of all the vessels to see if I had missed out on anything and often leave with a bowlful of whatever was being cooked, blowing on my fingers as the steaming food stung them.
Then, it had just been the food. Now, it seems that, food apart, the aromas from the kitchen meant that things were fine – it was like a hug that said: "Everything's alright".
My own kitchen, of course, gives off no such aroma.
3 comments:
First, thanks for posting FINALLY. I was getting pretty tired of checking your blog and not getting anything new to read.
The post itself was terribly nostalgic. I remember your dining room and the house itself surprisingly well. And of course, all the food. Kakima and Kaku were both quite experimental and one never knew what was in store, which was always very exciting.
And I know you know I miss the same thing about Kolkata and Southern Avenue. But of course, for me, those smells meant Amma. She often told me off for not eating enough (which in her opinion was pretty much all the time. If she had had her way, I'd be an elephant now) and warned me I'd miss her nagging when she would not be around. As usual, she was right.
deja vu...
and the thing is even if i did manage to cook, it never did smell half as nice ;)
I liked your writing style - simple yet engaging.
And I liked this post.
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