Heirloom

It has been a fortnight of being “sheltered in place”. I am gradually easing into my schedule of work and household chores. It is easy to let work bleed into your day when you are home, and I noticed turning myself into a workaholic in the first week of staying home. To avert that, some sketching and baking schedule was my “go to”. And as I turned to baking and cooking, I entered a whole new sensorium.

When I was little, I used to gorge on the sweets my grandma made. Her sweets and her cooking had a delicate after-taste of coconut. The curries with spicy overtones had a coconut tang, and the taste still linger son my tongue. The aroma of the spices she used, filled the kitchen. Although I always preferred plain rice and lentils, the aroma of the food roped me into the kitchen. I have a vivid image of my grandfather peeling and shaving the coconut for her.

Summers for pickling and making papads, winters for sweet and fatty food, and monsoons for fried delicacies! I traveled these seasons mentally, since the lock-down, and attempted to recreate some dishes to satiate my cravings and to feel at home.

My friend from Iran and I celebrated virtual Nowrooz (Iranian New Year). I cooked some sweets for her on the occasion (which I ate myself, later). It was also Gudi Padwa in that week, and my cooking acquired proportions of a feast. I think I have mentioned this over and over, that the food links me (and many others) back home 🙂

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The lock-down also afforded me time to go through my wardrobe and trinket drawer to really see “what sparks joy”. I carefully looked at every piece of garment I own, and the stories came alive. I have a shawl from my other grandmother, that warms me on cold evenings in my balcony. The shawl carries a woolen smell mixed with the smell from naphthalene balls that peopled the trunk this shawl was originally housed in. My grandmother’s love for naphthalene to wick away the moisture left a distinctive smell on her belongings – especially the ones in her safe keep –  that I associate with her.

In my wardrobe, I also found some wooden boxes. The contents were not as valuable as the boxes themselves. A jewelry box made of wood sings when opened. It has been an item of curiosity in my childhood, that my grandmother later gifted it to me. Or did I just declare it was mine, when I was rummaging through old things at her place…? Another box made of paper mache is covered in delicate designs from East Asia. It was a gift from my great grandmother, who had received the box as a gift from one of her sons touring the world. The box had changed hands, and had carried their piece of story with it. I put my faux string of pearls in the box, to showcase my lady-like possessions.

As I was folding my t-shirts, an interesting mix of thoughts crossed my mind. The days I had played in the sun, days I had spent traveling, days of holi festival, all in various t-shirts… As if the t-shirts were the mute spectators and friends who were with me. Getting too emotional about clothes, are we? After I sifted through my belongings, I realized once again how little we actually need in life! I selected my choicest clothes, gave them a proper home and packed the rest to give away. Unfortunately, the clothing that I have decided to give away, is still occupying a corner in my room. It is because all the donations for clothing and other articles are closed indefinitely due to the virus. But nonetheless, I “Marie Kondo”ed my wardrobe!

As I sink in my chair after a long day of peering at lit screens, the importance of legacy, childhood memories and and stories occupy my mind. I am connected with my family virtually in this lock-down, and often draw upon the collective memories we have, as we speak over the phone or video-chat. The common threads span across years and places. My generation is plagued by the feeling of loneliness ( and I am no exception), but anchors such as these reassure me that there is an entire trove of memories, places and people that I can fall back on 🙂

This is my heirloom.