Mother’s Home-Cooked Food Memories Unforgettable

Sheela Bhatt senior journalist

I have rarely had to cook for myself or my family. This is a very rare exception for any woman in Indian society. In this sense I am privileged. My late husband and famous journalist-writer Kanti Bhatt knew how to cook.

Whenever he wanted to eat his favorite ‘raw food’, he cooked it for himself. Even if bottle gourd vegetable was prepared well with his hands, he would not be able to live without sharing that happiness with the readers. He would mention it in his daily column the next day. They understood food from a holistic perspective.

Although this may sound a bit strange, getting daily food on the plate without working hard is no guarantee of satisfaction. Especially since these apps have come out that help in ordering food online, I have started to realize more that there is something beautiful about cooking your own food or cooking for your loved ones.

The more I use these apps, the more I understand the value of home-cooked food. And of course, we all love the food prepared by our mother. I am no different from most Indians who have indelible memories of the food cooked by their mother.

In the last four decades I have never been completely satisfied with my food. The main reason for this is that mother was an excellent cook. After marriage, I have never been able to forget the wonderful dishes prepared by her. I left my mother’s house in 1979, i.e. 47 years ago, but the taste of food cooked by my mother never left my mouth. I don’t have the scientific talent to analyze this, but I know why the memory of the taste of that food still brings tears to my eyes. I believe that mothers pour their heart into food while cooking.

When life gives you a blow, you remember how mother used to silently handle us to soften the blow. His mind was constantly thinking and his hands were always able to create something that could calm us down in difficult times.

Whenever I was heartbroken, mother would make my favorite dahi vada and serve it to me with a light smile. I’m at that stage of life where I don’t regret not buying my favorite car or clothes. But I deeply regret that I never asked my mother what is the method of making ‘Methi Num Veshan’? Mother used to cook fresh fenugreek leaves with gram flour. Sometimes she prepared it as a dry dish and sometimes she added buttermilk to it. She balanced the taste of fenugreek with the help of fine seasoning of asafoetida and mustard seeds.

My husband once regretted that our relationship could never be as perfect, mature or as deeply rooted as my relationship with my mother. I asked, why? Kanti said, because his food had kept him firmly attached.

Let me give you an idea of ​​the rotis made by mother. He had perfected the art of making Gujarati rotli. She always made it with wheat flour. The soft dough rotated in a precise rhythm under the rolling pin. His pot was always kept near the stove.

Patlo’s place in the kitchen of his Mumbai home has never changed in the last 55 years. When the roti was baked on the stove, it would become a perfect round shape. Soft as silk. She used to melt in my mouth. His rotis were as thin as paper.

No meal has been 10 out of 10 for me without the touch of mother’s hands. After marriage, my mother completely understood my pain of being deprived of food from her hands every day. His Rotali had pampered me a lot. Once he advised me to ask my Punjabi landlady to make rotis like she does. I asked my mother, how should I explain to her that I like to eat rotli, not rotla!

After marriage, I have never been able to forget the Gujarati dishes prepared by my mother, her taste and her rotli. This desire for mother’s food is not unusual in India. For most children, mother’s food is the highest standard of cooking. (These are the author’s own views)

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