The table is a place of memory where all meals are an endless succession of associations and memories …. where we become aware of who we are and with whom we are. The table is the place where the family gathers, the symbol of solidarity and the backdrop to fervent arguments, family rows and childhood tragedies. At the table, we relive with tears our hatred of cabbage or liver!
Eating around a table means both eating and talking …. words of praise for what is presented to us, what we’ve eaten before and what we’re going to eat tonight and everything in between. If we say nothing at the table, then we are immersed in the sensuality of food, the sensuality of fingers dipped in hot rice and ghee!
Eating together as a family is more important today than in the past because there are more distractions, more choices of activities outside the home. During the day most of us are out mixing with all kinds of people. Our children are also learning about the world from many sources, often without parental filters or input. Even when everyone is home, individuals do their own thing. Perhaps the only opportunity of the day to talk with each other is at the dinner table. Children in today’s busy world need a shared safe space to discuss ideas within the understanding company of family.
The cooking of food together and sharing it as a family is not only an Indian tradition but the ethos of our culture. Food is an important part of Indian culture, playing a vital role in our everyday lives. In many families, everyday meals are sit-down affairs consisting of multiple courses accompanied with chutneys and pickles. Rice or roti is a must, as well as something sweet. Food is not just important for eating, it is also getting together with family, relatives and friends. We all have stories of our Grandmother’s kitchens …. The smells and tastes of our childhood linger and creep up on us unexpectedly!
My Grandmother’s kitchen was my lair, the walls darkened with the soot from the coal-fired stoves. My abiding image of her, alabaster skin and silver-haired, toiling over the pot of slowly simmering milk, patiently preparing ‘rabri’, layer by layer, for her grandchildren visiting during the holidays. Everything just smelled different at my Grandmother’s house. I remember the bustle and the mixture of smells from the back of the house, the fragrance of the boiling rice, the smell of onions frying, the slightly pungent smells of pumpkin and okra, all filled the air.
The herbs and spices used in my Grandmother’s kitchen wafted throughout the entire house. Those pleasant smells would blend together with whatever was cooking in the kitchen to create an aroma that will never be in any retail store. I suppose that is why I remember it being such a special treat to go to my grandparent’s during the holidays. Her kitchen was in full production at those special times. Maybe it was because I was just eight- years- old, but I remember that things always tasted better at her table. They just had to because they smelled so good.
My Grandmother passed on many years ago. The memories of her and her kitchen will never fade. They have just taken a new form. Because even though they are the memories of a child, they have become a part of the woman I am today.
Although I miss the experience of her kitchen, I look forward to the times that we gather as a family today. While our smart phones and devices have brought us closer, it is the family meal that brings us closer to our own, a time of the day when parents need time to connect with their kids. The fabric of family is woven by shared experiences and time spent together. We gain when we cook together and share meals as a family.
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