Gargi GuhaThe warm evening in my Goa home is fanned ever so gently by the ceiling fan’s blades, whirring languidly above us. It lifts with it, the sweet aroma of homemade ghee, more chocolatey than toasty, boiled potatoes and just made gobindo bhog rice. Slowly, but surely, the fragrant fumes spread and very soon, the entire room is redolent with the comforting smell of sheddo bhaat, a humble but treasured, boiled-rice treat at any Bengali home.
We are in my living room, sitting smack in the middle and on the floor. Four women just entering our 50s. Four friends from college, two of us meeting after three full decades!
In the centre is a pot of boiled rice, now ladled onto our plates along with mono-portions of mash potato, a glistening green chilly each and a precious rivulet of ghee running in the middle of our plates, the source of that heady fragrance. Caramel, toasty, molten chocolate, milky sandesh and toffee like. A jar of this cherished condiment was hand carried by our friend, from her ancestral village, Ichhapur in West Bengal, en route to her now home in Singapore. We decided we would meet here in Goa, joined by two more classmates. And, just like that, those sepia tinted, glory days of college, bylanes of Park Circus, long tram rides and Clinic Plus shampoo-scented hostel afternoons with girls sunning their just washed tresses, came alive.
“Scents have the ability to alter our emotions and moods more than any other sensory experience,” I am reminded of Dr Rachel Herz’s words in her book, The Scent of Desire. And, I am awash with a certain feel of homecoming, childhood, school mornings, rushing to the bus-stop in time and that warm, familial feeling.
That meal may have well been my most favourite one. As we sat cross legged and dived in with our hands, scooping up mouthfuls, laughter overflowed. Each of us were teleported to those hostel days, where such precious jars of ghee were passed around the table during mealtimes, elevating our modest meals and also cementing bonds for life.
Food, after all, can encapsulate time, a certain time. And memories. Bring about a wave of nostalgia. Wash us over with emotion and that warm fuzzy feeling. There’s something so tactile and sensory about food. It involves all our five senses and, when eaten mindfully, is a sacred rite of passage, engaging every filament of our being.
“How and what we eat determines to a great extent the use we make of the world–and what is to become of it. To eat with a fuller consciousness of all that is at stake might sound like a burden, but in practice few things in life afford quite as much satisfaction,” states Michael Pollan, in The Omnivore’s Dilemma.
Food also deepens our understanding of the dynamic nature of human identity. Of course, the human sense of self is anything but uni-dimensional. We all have varied roles that we play, the moods that we take on and the journeys of life that we are called to traverse.
Another food memory, intrinsically braided with friendship that comes to mind, is one around grief. After making one of the most significant journeys of my life and travelling back upon the culmination of last rites post a bereavement too close for comfort, I had to make a forced stopover in Calcutta, just because of a bungled ticket booking, made by me through a thick haze of grief-laced mindlessness. Quick detour, change of plans, a weary mind, and then the comforting blanket-wrap of friendship.
A one-night stop at a dear friend’s home; some sleep at last. And, a home cooked meal on the other side of sleep. Hot, fluffy white rice…Tulaipanji from North Bengal I was told; fragrant as jasmine buds. Dal, cauliflower florets in gravy and the most delicious posto or poppy seed paste curry. Redemption! And, reclamation.
A deep red tomato chutney in the end; the gleaming bowl reflecting the sweet tartness off. So perfectly perky and so reminiscent of happier times, that it could be just the salve one would need for a bruised heart. Tempered with Bengal’s essential 5 spice mix, panch phoron. Bursting with the goodness of a certain kind of kindred care.
Even in ancient cultures involving tribes, people got together for the primal rituals of breaking bread and to share. They say that food was discovered by man as a form of sustenance. A bare necessity. But, invite all your five senses to a meal. Bring your heart in, too. Gather a few friends around the table. And, the meal could transform into a sublime experience.
Rarely can food be seen as simply a source of nutrients that our bodies need. Food opens our hearts, tickles our memories and connects us deeply, setting the stage for meaningful stories. Remember your mother’s special, slow-cooked dal? Or the Sorrento lemon-scented sponge cake dome soaked luxuriantly in limoncello syrup from your vacation, five summers back?
Food is a love-poem of remembered experiences.
And, perhaps, a restoration of the soul.
