On Marveling at a Moment

As I grow up, I begin to marvel at lil things.
Because, I realize the lil things in life are actually the big things in life.

4 people getting out in the morning…coming back home after a long day…having chai together….seems simple enough.
Does it not?

Probabilistically and realistically, the occurence of that happening is so rare.

Hence, I show gratitude for that simple vanilla moment of togetherness with chai and the boys.
And, I try not go get too attached to that moment.
Because, I know by now, this moment will pass me by too.

On the Spice of Life – The Story of Paruppu Podi Present

{Paruppu podi, paruppu means dhal and podi means powder in Tamil. It is also called Spiced Dhal Powder.}

I would drive home from work after a long day and start cooking. Since I didn’t want the boys to feel the void, I would go the extra mile. I would lay out an elaborate spread on the dining table.

They would show up at the table day after day and asked one question – “Where is the paruppu podi?

I seethed inside….but, would just smile, walk over to the pantry and bring out the paruppu podi box.

How could I blame the boys for looking past my elaborate spread?

They had grown up with both sets of grandparents pampering them in every away possible… including food.Before the grandparents returned to India after their frequent trips to the US, they would have made tons of paruppu podi and store them in the pantry. It was what you call “risk management” or “contingency plan” or “Plan B”. You get that, right? To save the boys from my “cooking” and ensure they are fed well….at least with paruppu podi.

So, that is what happened for over a decade.
Grandparents arrive.
Grandparents pamper.
Grandparents feed.
Grandparents make tons of paruppu podi and store them in the pantry.
Grandparents return.

I go to work.
Come back.
Cook.
Serve.
And the boys didn’t give a rat’s a** about my serving.
They wanted the freakin’ paruppu podi that their grandparents had made.

I was narrating this story to my neighbor Gita.

Guess what happened a week later?

When Gita’s mom came to visit Austin, she brought over a box of yummy paruppu podi for the boys.

I am so thankful for the bonds that bind us together…..because, such is the spice of life.

On the Spice of Life – The Story of Paruppu Podi Past

{Paruppu podi, paruppu means dhal and podi means powder in Tamil. It is also called Spiced Dhal Powder.}

Amma grew up near border of Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh. So, she spoke both Tamil and Telugu fluently. We celebrated festivals of both states. Her cooking also had influences of both states. I grow up hearing about gongura pacchadi and pulusu that Amma had grown up with.

From my childhood, I ate paruppu podi. Thatha, Appa and Amma would make it together. It used to be Appa’s job to buy the different ingredients (red chilli, black pepper, different types of lentils etc) . Thatha cleaned and sun dried the ingredients. Amma fried the ingredients to perfection. Appa helped Amma run each of the ingredients through the dry mixer/grinder. He would keep asking “Pothumadi?” (Which literally meant “Is this enough?”) Amma would inspect inside the dry mixer/grinder and based on how coarse or fine that mixture had been ground too…. she would ask Appa to either continue or stop.

When I was very young, it was Thatha’s duty to run the powder through the sieve and place the sieved paruppu podi in a dry container.

As years passed, and I grew up, I noticed that Amma would sneer at Thatha for sneezing when he did the sieving. Appa wouldn’t sneer at Thatha…but his body language told me that he didn’t approve of Thatha’s spilling even a bit of the precious paruppu podi when the transfer happened to the dry container.

To prevent Thatha from sneezing and getting sneered at, I volunteered to do the sieving and storing job. This wasn’t an easy job. As I sieved the powder, I would feel the urge to sneeze. But, Thatha (when Amma’s back was behind him), would shake his head vigorously. All that vigorous head shake meant was “Don’t sneeze. You are going to get in trouble with her.” I mastered the skill, over the years, to hold the sieve further away from my body (and nose) and complete the sieving without a single sneeze. When I was nearly done sieving without a single sneeze, Thatha would look at me very approvingly and give me a thumbs up.

Then, I had to carefully, transfer the paruppu podi to a dry container without dropping even a bit. I realised very early on that this was an impossible task. So, I decided to learn from the best. I followed Appa’s example. I first did the sieveing and ensured that the sieved powder feel on a large sheet of paper. Then, after the sieving was done, I held up the paper and dropped the paruppu podi carefully into a dry container as Appa looked on approvingly.

I grew up during rather simple times. Nobody praised me openly. Nobody said “Great job!”

Appa and Thatha’s approving looks and thumbs up was all I got. Well, that, and lack of Amma’s sneers. That was a high enough bar to live up to.

For many months the family would enjoy the paruppu podi mixed with hot rice and ghee (clarified butter) or sesame oil.

On (At Least) Giving Back What You Got

My mother-in-law (Girijia) had a rather quirky relationship with her mother-in-law. But, when it came to building a relationship with her own daughter-in-laws, she tried her best. She put the right foot forward and always tried to grow and nourish our relationship. She wanted to maintain a strong bond with her grandkids as well. This task, as we all know, was never easy. I applaud her for trying her best till the very end of her life.

She gave me what she never got – a loving, caring, nurturing relationship.

So, I just continued to enjoy all the things and moments my mother-in-law gave me for as long as I was blessed and privileged enough to receive them…the things and moments she herself had been deprived off during her lifetime.

Amma (Devi) lost her mother when she was still a toddler. Thatha (Grandpa TVS) didn’t re-marry. He raised Amma by himself. Thatha adored his daughter and did everything possible to give her a good life. But, he was also a very busy man. He was a Muncip (sort of a Mayor) for his village and also a full time farmer. In short, Amma didn’t get any of the things she gave me. The feeling of coming back home to one’s mom, mom’s comfort food, mom’s tireless effort to raise one’s child to a better future..she didn’t get any of those.

Every time I came back home after a long day and got fed hot sambar or potato fry (trust me, when you come back from a super-hot-day in my hometown, all you wanted to do was drink was something cold and relax under the fan), I didn’t ever complain. I took it from Amma’s hand and told her “Romma nalla irruku Amma.” (which meant, “Mom, is it very good!”) Once in awhile, I would casually, drop a hint saying, “Nallika vena coola thayir sadam pannriya?” (which meant, “Mom, can you make some cold yogurt rice tomorrow?”). She didn’t get the hint whatsoever. Serving hot fresh food to her daughters was her way of showing her love.

She gave me what she never got – a loving, caring, nurturing relationship.

So, I just continued to enjoy all the things and moments Amma gave me for as long as I was blessed and privileged enough to receive…the things and moments she herself had been deprived off.

Let me ask you a question.

What are all the things and moments you  have been blessed and privileged enough to receive?

I am not asking you or me to pay forward those things we haven’t received.

That is too much of a stretch and requires a very BIG heart….much like the one your mom has.

But, whatever we received….those things..those moments…those gifts…at least that, we need to give back and pay it forward, right?

Don’t you think so?

You don’t have to feel obligated and rushed to say “Yes Ambal!”.
Just think about it. That is all I am asking for.

What are all the things and moments you  have been blessed and privileged enough to receive? Are you giving it back and paying it forward?

On Karma Yoga

Never in my wildest childhood dreams I would have imagined that I would get up on a Sunday morning and make coffee and pancake; then, follow it up with archuvitta sambar, baby potato roast and beans poriyal.

Never in my wildest childhood dreams.
Never.

Life takes twists and turns.

And, I find myself in the kitchen.
Cleaning.
Cutting.
Boiling.
Frying.
Cleaning up.


I don’t want to romanticize this ACT by saying it is done out of love.
Because, nothing would be further away from the truth.

It is called freaking Karma Yoga (the Path of Selfless Service Karma Yoga is the path of ‘action’).

I also do it because boys seem to look forward to weekend lunch together. And, I would hate to disappoint them.