Rain

This rain is like a woman on her periods, depressed and forbidden according to  custom. She feels strongly about how her disappointed ovum and how its bed of readiness burst into tears today.

This rain is like a gluttonous woman waiting for her man to satisfy her hunger. She feels the need to feel close to him and let him make love to her drained body aching with pains and desire.

This rain is a woman weeping without knowing why while on periods- may be for her unborn children or may be it brings restrictions to her daily needs as a woman.

This rain reminds you of a surge of desire that finds an answer in adorning yourself and drawing him in making up for all the lost moments during this taboo period.

Ode to the Puttu

In my college days, I was never fond of puttu for breakfast because it took a lot of time to eat when compared to the other breakfast dishes. But my mother always made puttu because my younger brother loved to eat it everyday and she used to call him putturumeese. My favourite at that time was sambar and idli which I could eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner without a single word of complaint. 

I remember how my grandfather used to recall a day from childhood when he had puttu from a wayside shop when he was going to Charalkunnu with his father. When he narrated this story, I was surprised to hear his love of puttu because I have never appreciated the dish. He described in detail how he watched this woman from the wayside shop mix the flour with expertise and how fast she had made the puttu though she was chatting to him. He had eaten it so fast and with relish because he was hungry after his long walk up the hill. 

Later, when I became a wife and expectant mother, I would long for the tastes of home and childhood as I have written in another post Ode to the Uppumanga. One of the cravings that I had when I was pregnant was for chemba puttu apart from a long list of items cooked by my mother and how I had recreated the same magic because my craving was so high. 

Now, there are a variety of puttu to choose from- oats, ragi, corn, wheat, millet- but I think to this day, my favourite is the familiar taste of chemba puttu along with rasakadali pazham. 

Though I belong to a generation who love the pizzas and the French fries and the Greek salad, and are much adapted to their surroundings, eating whatever is available and whatever one craves for. Yet, like the protagonist in Virasat, one longs for the tastes and smells of our childhood and this is a memory that stays with all of us. 

And, on social media, I see videos posted by people who are far from home and they recreate the tastes that they have known in the foreign land like in the videos shared by @appus08 or how food and memory are so interconnected in the narratives posted by Aparna Jeevan @inji_pennu. 

This post was triggered by a recent question by my brother about breakfast: Is it puttu today also? How times have changed!