Scent of forgotten memories from the kitchen

My regular day begins with the aroma of a steaming cup of tea, and ends with that of soap. In between are odours and flavours, ranging from perfumes to pickles in our tiffins in college. But it is not just about registering a scent and moving on, it is also about triggering a memory and an association.

While clearing the clutter in the kitchen the other day, I found myself transported back to childhood. The time machine that took me back into the past was not a hi-tech, sci-fi apparatus, but what was once a musthave in every Indian kitchen — a round wedge-shaped stone with a pit in the middle and a cylindrical stone, used for crushing spices, grinding mint and coriander chutneys, or making a batter for south Indian dishes.

The sight of it revived the long-forgotten aroma of freshly crushed spices. Of all our five senses, our sense of smell and taste are arguably the best. In India, spices are used in s highly individual way. Each region has its own traditional palette. In our house, spices were dried, roasted and pounded; ginger, garlic, green chillies, coriander, pepper, and mint, all were crushed together. I saw my mother grinding the assorted spices placed in the pit, her hands moving rhythmically. She would grind the dosa batter, adding water drop by drop, for a fluffy pancake impossible to resist.

It was a backbreaking chore, but she did it with immense patience and passion. I still can’t figure out where she drew her strength from.

The last decade or so has seen a glut of kitchen appliances such as food processors, mixer grinders, and liquefiers tailor made for Indian cuisine. The blades of these mixer grinders are close to the base and grind the spices finely. There are small jars for dry spices, and bigger ones for the wet batter. These grinders have pushed the grinding stone out of the kitchen into the attic. It is now sometimes used in marriage rituals when fresh turmeric is ground into a paste for the ‘haldi’ ceremony. In another ritual, the groom’s mother and other married women crush ‘akshat’ (rice) on a flat grinding stone under the cover of a ‘dupatta’ to seek the blessings of the Gods and elders for a hassle-free wedding.

The electric mixers have made grinding simple. Even otherwise, readymade spices have become de rigueur at grocery stores. They are godsend in today’s fast-paced life, and alleviate the drudgery of pounding spices for a working woman, who is always short of time. These also come in handy for bachelors who live alone, away from home due to their work or studies.

Yet as I write this piece, the aroma of freshly ground spices in the grinding stone, a dormant memory, hits my taste buds. The mixie, as it is affectionately called, can’t match the aroma and texture of the spices pounded by this stone. When we smell something good, we literally internalise the aroma, and it continues to linger in the hidden recesses of our memory, even though our conscious mind may have forgotten it. It’s good to revive it again.

I SAW MY MOTHER GRINDING THE ASSORTED SPICES PLACED IN THE PIT, HER HANDS MOVING RHYTHMICALLY. IT WAS A BACKBREAKING CHORE, BUT SHE DID IT WITH IMMENSE PATIENCE AND PASSION. I STILL CAN’T FIGURE OUT WHERE SHE DREW HER STRENGTH FROM