I started Edible Heirlooms as a means of digging to find my own roots, hoping it would keep me grounded and along the way, I realised, it became a way for me to express love for those I hold close. Each recipe became a small letter and this brought me a lot of joy. Unexpectedly, it let me connect with a lot of people meaningfully, over long emails rather than short, abrupt Whatsapp texts. This was a bonus.
Then the pandemic hit.
As someone who was struggling enormously with grief and loss, the pandemic and everything that it brought with it, knocked me off my feet. The void I felt in my dad’s absence became larger and deeper. Over the course of that year we lost my uncle too and I realised that there was no instant bounce-back. I had to acknowledge that I was in survival mode and things like passion projects seemed at times superfluous and at other times I felt no motivation to get back to them.
Over the course of the last year or so friends and family asked about Edible Heirlooms often and though I felt some inclination, I also felt a lot of hesitation. I’ve wrestled with this for some time, but the more I had real conversations with people around me, the more I realised that everyone was struggling. In a world that tells you to ‘be strong’ and ‘be positive’ or calls you ‘fragile’ in the face of crippling loss, it was nice to be able to have conversations where you could say, ‘Hey, you know what? Me too. It’s okay.’ And that was enough.
Most people don’t want pity, or sympathy or advice. They just want to be heard and maybe feel a little less alone. And this is what it’s about for me - Edible Heirlooms wasn’t just about recipes and illustrations, but about food as an experience and the sense of genuine connection it affords me and I would guess, half the world too.
So as I conclude this little introductory note, I want to add that I’m still going to grieve when I need to, sit with my sadness when I have to, acknowledge that I’m struggling when I have to. But I’m also going to ask for help when I need to, ask for a hug when I need one, express myself without feeling the need to edit or mask, laugh loudly and wholeheartedly, love deeply and look for small joys in places I least expect to find it.
Here’s to celebrating those that aren’t with us (without doubt), but more importantly, those that still are - through food and otherwise.
This brings me conveniently to my latest post because after a very long break I kept thinking what it is I should start with. It had to be something that made me feel enthusiastic again and as I sifted through the my childhood (that’s always ensconced in the warmest glow), I knew I had found what I was looking for. Just thinking about it made me laugh and well, it fit.
Worm chips and cockroach chutney!
I didn’t accidentally copy-paste that from another document, you read right. But don’t be alarmed (yet anyway).
The joy of being in Bombay was being with my cousin, Aarti, and I went wherever she went. Through the day we inhabited different houses and basked in the attention of Nana-Nanis (grandparents), Masis (aunts) and Mama (uncle). One such evening, Mama came out of the kitchen holding a plate of french fries and some chutney alongside. He announced to us that this was ‘worm chips with cockroach chutney’. A split second of abject horror turned into fascination, followed by giggles and absolute delight. The adults of course were grossed out, which made Mama laugh even more and the more the adults squirmed, the more Aart and I seemed to delight in saying it over and over in between stuffing our faces.
What we had was essentially french fries with seasoning on them and a very dark coloured delicious chutney, which to be fair would’ve been a tough sell otherwise. I honestly don’t remember what it tasted like, but I do remember the whimsy, the wonder, the laughter and the sheer delight from that evening. In fact there’s an involuntary smile on my face as I write this.
I feel like this is right up there with Roald Dahl’s Snozzcumbers. Most other adults saying ‘worm chips, cockroach chutney’ might’ve felt contrived, but you see Mama himself inhabits the space between whimsy, weird, humour and nonsensical and I’m so grateful he brought that to us even through food.
Mama is in fact one of the best Paediatric Surgeons in Bombay and for the longest time I could never square it off; how could someone who deals with children, sickness, life and death have this disposition? But as I got older, I realised that it fit. Perfectly, actually. To spread laughter and bring a certain lightness where there is little, is perhaps what it is to really heal. I know this from having been at the receiving end of this warmth and kindness more than a few times and from having smiled on days that I never ever thought I would. I suspect that his patients are actually pleased to see him and probably even burst into giggles the same way we did.
There is no recipe today. Fry some frozen french fries, put some seasoning on them, make some sort of dipping sauce and use your imagination. Delight yourselves and your kids or your nieces and nephews with something completely ridiculous. Eat and laugh. What could be nicer really?
This post is here today of all days because Mama turns 60 today! Here’s hoping he has 60 more to spread joy, whimsy and laughter like he’s always done. Here’s taking a leaf out of his book and never taking ourselves too seriously, always playing with food and finding humour in everything.
Cheers Mama, thank you for showing up unfailingly and for the laughter, on the good and not so good days. Thanks for indulging us even today like we’re 6 :) It’s the best.