People, Curry and Home
On a cold Friday night last month, Mummy screamed in pain.
I was in Chennai wrapping up my half-an-hour meeting with my instructor in the U.S. At 8:30 PM. I made a video call to my father, a rare choice for me since I usually prefer voice calls. That entire day I was feeling uneasy. I wanted to check if everyone was in good health at home in Kashmir. Midway through the greetings, my mother received a panic call from my cousin who was rushing my grandmother to the hospital. “You need to reach here. She looks bad but she will be fine,” my cousin announced. Mummy was still holding her breath.
All sorts of fears crept into my soul and I lost my balance. I started shivering as I gathered my belongings. I had already made up my mind to leave for Srinagar to be with my grandmother and my family - parents, uncles, aunts and cousins. We have always been together in stressful times and challenges. I couldn’t bear this distance. While still finalizing my travel arrangements, my grandmother couldn’t hold any longer. She hugged her elder daughter on her hospital bed, kissed her and looked deep into my uncle’s eyes, her beloved son around whom most of her life wheeled apart from her husband, waved her hand over his face in love and affection and closed her eyes forever.
Since childhood, I have seen Mummy dazzling in peace. She always radiated with a smile on her face. Her grace and elegance never allowed her to display even a flicker of displeasure or dissatisfaction. She delighted only in feeding people lavishly, serving meal after meal, even when they felt replete. She was a living community kitchen in herself who delighted to feed anyone who visited her humble abode. As kids we often found ourselves in a fix. Even with a full stomach, we could never dare say no to her steaming Pakwans. “At our old house, my relatives and friends would knock on our kitchen window that overlooked the buzzing street outside and inform us that they are attending a gathering a few houses away but they would have the dinner, freshly prepared by Mummy, at our house. They were all amazed at her welcoming nature,” my grandfather told me as he grieved relentlessly for his late wife while placing her handkerchief closer to his chest.
Most of my grandfather’s best friends are from the Kashmiri Pandit community. Some are no longer in this world like Bhan Sahab who was more of a brother to him. As soon as they got the news of my grandmother, all of them started calling from around the world. Dulari called as soon as she got the news. Herself in old age, waiting for death as she put it, consoled my grandfather by recounting the day she went to see Mummy for the first time for daddy (my grandfather) and the wedding was fixed immediately after Dulari assured everybody that nobody can equal her charm and virtue. Such was my grandmother’s beaming demeanor. Dulari and Vij helped my grandmother settle in her new home. “Don’t you remember how she built you and your house? She was a Devi, a living queen nobody could partake in,” Dulari told my grandfather via WhatsApp call. “You should celebrate that God blessed you with such a wife who gave you so much love that people felt jealous,” Dulari added before dropping the call.
Almost two decades later after Vij left along with other Kashmiri Pandits in the 1990s, she visited Kashmir once and lived with my grandparents for a short time. I remember Mummy helping her settle in Kashmir. Apart from relishing Kashmiri staple, Vij had developed a parallel diet in the U.S. Mummy opened her kitchen to her. Vij wanted to try and experiment different varieties that needed strict supervision and thus Mummy started spending most of her time with Vij in the kitchen guiding her what to add and subtract next. She even provided her with a knitting kit so that Vij could continue her craft. One of the souvenirs of that visit is my brother’s woolen cap that Vij altered to make it more flashy; that is now locked in one of the iron storage boxes at home. Even with ailing knees, she accompanied Vij to different lofty hills and sightseeing tours and made sure the entire family went together.
While travelling back to finish my commitments, I felt severe pain in my chest. Leaving my ailing grandfather with his loving and deeply caring family and with the thought that his other grandchildren are actively attending him more than I can ever do, a lot of anger kept brewing within me. I felt angry at my grandmother for leaving so soon. She would wake up in the middle of the night and pray for all of us so that we make strides in our career and make the family proud. She would often ask me how much it cost to reach her place and would immediately open her small purse to reimburse the bus fare. I will forever miss the fragrance of her money. In the last one year, she kept asking me if I would shoulder her coffin when she leaves for her final journey. I fulfilled my promise. This time I came to Kashmir only to lift my beloved Mummy for one last time.
