My Gran Was Nothing Like That

Kiran Vajpey’s journey to considering her kitchen as a safe space is at odds to her grandmother’s. Rigid and austere, her gran treated the kitchen as a functional space. Both found freedom by charting their own path.

They say she got married in gold, which is what you might expect of an Indian wedding and bride. Yet, I couldn’t ever imagine her being that person. 

When I initially toyed with the idea of a career in food, the concept of an imaginary and indulgent grandmother (familiar to most Indian and Asian households) came to mind. She, bearing a beaming smile, with soft silver hair, and who carried with her ancient secret recipes executed with love and diligence. In reality, my gran was nothing like that. 

By the time I got to know her, my gran’s sharp aquiline nose had become blunt and slightly hooked, and the glint in her eyes had dulled. She was a young widow and the only colours I associated with her were beige, dove grey and dusty pink. They might do well in the English countryside but on my grandmother, they amplified her austerity. Her hair was jet black but fine, and tied severely into a small knot at her nape. She appeared practical and businesslike. 

Quite like her, her food was austere, need-based. Salt and oil — the two fundamental ingredients that make a plate palatable — were scarce in her food. Her meals were healthy, whole grain and full of greens. Most meals had rice, sambar and some vegetable. Sustenance and nutrition were prioritised over joy and indulgence. Her cooking, instead of trying to make people happy, stuck to the rules. My aunts (her daughters) learnt from an early age that street corners and fast food stalls provided more interesting food than what was available at home.

Rigid and unrelenting, her personality still influences most people in the family. The parallels between her personality and food didn’t end there. She was someone who said things the way they were. Terse, unafraid and sometimes rude statements at the dinner table were accompanied by sides of sautéed spinach flavoured with ginger. The ginger wasn’t finely chopped or grated to be more palatable, but were bold chunks that you needed to chew.

It is in her kitchen that I learned to appreciate the subtle simplicity of pappu annam, rice and tur dal, served with a pinch of salt and a dollop of ghee, and ate thotakura (amaranth leaves) for the first time…all tastes that I love and revere today, but were probably boring as a child. 

Childhood memories in my grandmother's house contain, amongst others, the visceral sinking feeling that I had in the pit of my stomach on being banished to the balcony with boiled eggs because we didn’t like eating them. When there was resistance to food, we were punished, and rules were enforced. I often resigned myself to my fate and swallowed the egg. My cousin, who was smarter, fed it to passing stray cats.

I remember getting lost in her magazine collection, dusty and smelling comfortingly of old books. There were Femina’s and Woman’s Era’s full of pictures of smiling, benign women dispensing innovative tips and ingenious ideas on how to run a successful household. Pages of recipes were neatly cut out and organised, filed away for that one rainy day that provided enthusiasm and energy. My grandmother was not someone who enjoyed being in the kitchen, unless, of course, she rediscovered one of these cutouts. Then, with all pomp, she would come out of a regular South Indian kitchen with an orange soufflé, something I had never heard of before. It goes to prove that when she wanted to experiment, she was great at it. But, I think the kitchen remained a functional space where she sometimes grudgingly performed her duties. I sometimes wonder if the kitchen became a symbol of the obligations that had robbed her of the freedom to study. She often mentioned how she would have loved to do her Bachelor's degree in Mathematics at the Presidency College in Chennai.

I sometimes wonder how I found my safe space in the kitchen. The pandemic made me re-evaluate my life choices. Turning 40 felt like a midway milestone, an ‘eat-pray-love’ moment if you will. I felt a little depleted after two long decades in fashion, and sapped from raising two babies. I decided to take a hiatus from my routine, and love myself instead. I needed freedom more than structure. I wanted to do something creative, which would help me connect my chaotic ‘Bombay-ite’ past to my current ‘expat-in-Italy’ life. I needed to feel enthusiasm and purpose, but above all, I needed independence of thought, expression and being. The kitchen, after two kids, had become a primary residence. It eventually became a space where I felt free of judgment. Living in a country where I did not grow up meant much of my identity and sense of self was lost in translation. The kitchen is where I could just be, without any explanation. Food was the only way I knew to share my identity and experiences, otherwise invisible, with my kids and eventually with my audience. The kitchen gave me back my voice and taught me to reconnect with the little girl inside me.

My gran and I were both trying to exert our independence and find our freedom — she, by leaving that space in spirit, and me, by re-entering it with all my soul. 

Luckily my gran did have some recipes that I still like to make and incorporate through my supper club, Mumba. These recipes are memories from a childhood past that I like sharing with everyone who is a guest at the table. It is about reliving the mood and feelings of those years. 

The recipe I picked is my grandmother’s minapappu kharam (a spiced lentil powder), which we used to add on steaming hot rice with ghee. Today, I love sprinkling it over roasted potatoes or vegetables, sometimes over flatbread instead of Zaatar, and sometimes to perk up my rice bowl or salad. 

RECIPE FOR MINAPAPPU KHARAM

Ingredients

100 gm urad dal (split & skinned black lentils)
20 gm Bedagi chillies (deseeded if you don’t like the heat)
10 gm coriander seeds
5 gm cumin seeds
2 gm fenugreek seeds
20 gm garlic
4 sprigs curry leaves
5 gm jaggery
1/2 tsp asafoetida
1 tsp salt
3 tbsp sesame or any mild vegetable oil  

Method

Heat the oil in a wok or kadhai and fry the urad dal.
When it turns pink, add all the ingredients except jaggery, asafoetida and salt. Keep stirring at a medium-low heat.
When the spices get aromatic and begin to brown, turn off the heat and transfer to a plate to cool.
Once cool, grind this mixture with jaggery, asafoetida and salt until it resembles a coarse dry mixture.

POTATOES WITH MINAPAPPU KHARAM

In 1 tbsp of oil, add mustard seeds and curry leaves, and wait till the seeds pop. Add boiled and cooled potatoes and roast them. Once nicely browned, add the minapappu kharam and serve hot. (Alternatively, add the tempering and powder to oven-roasted potatoes the minute they come out of the oven and toss.)

Kiran is an ex-buyer and academic who left a 20 year old career in fashion to follow her heart. She founded Mumba, a supper club that showcases vegetarian recipes from India and around the world.

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