Chapter 5 | Food that goes crunch

Mama was never the fancy type.

Whilst other Indian women decorated their arms with enough gold bangles to serve as anchors should push come to shove, Mama preferred simplicity.

Before she was arranged to marry, she had only three dresses. All white.

When my Nani's sisters saw the state of Mama's wardrobe they shrieked in disbelief.

'What is this? Where are the rest of your clothes?'

'This is ALL my clothes.'

'NO!' (Large gasping sounds emitted thereafter)

'There's no way we sending you off like this. What will people say? That we had money to feed our kuthe (dogs) but not clothe our child? Don't disgrace us like this.'

My mother ended up moving to Jo'burg with over 50 different outfits, each, with a complimentary pair of shoes and a matching bag. According to them, this was not a matter of indulgence but a way of maintaining their dignity. Later, I learned, that she had only worn some of the outfits once before she rid of them.

In a way, Mama was naive. She had lived a sheltered life, not out of forced but because she had chosen to.
Though Mama and Papa were alike in their spiritual outlook, their wasn't much else in which they were similar.

On Sundays when he was still asleep, she would take a walk to the cafe down the road, purchase the Sunday Times and read the entire paper (from top to bottom), by which time he had still not woken.

Her every day routine consisted of mundane tasks. She would cook, clean the house and ensure that her children were well cared for. When it came to Mama's cooking abilities then, I doubt even Oliver Twist would have said: 'Can I have some more?'

Nani had refused for her to learn the skill saying 'When you get married, you will have to do it for the rest of your life. And anyways, I don't want you messing my kitchen.'

So Mama and Uncle Ahmed (one of Mama's brother), took to cooking when the 'cat was away'. They were too afraid of her to disobey her in her presence. They made roti's cut using a round dish, chocolate cakes that were barely edible and once they even tried making baked beans.

They cleaned up the messy flour trails and egg whites that had somehow found itself all along the kitchen floor with the aid of Aunty Maggie, their domestic helper. She was bribed into silence with the remnants of their attempts.

Luckily for Mama, Papa never complained about her cooking.

I don't know if this was because Daddi's food was none the better or that his Jamaat trips had taught him that things could be worse. Mama had once cooked magni-dhal and she said that she could actually hear Papa crunching his way through the meal. 

None of his teeth ever chipped as a result though. Till this day.