I've never forgotten that first whiff of 'milagu rasam' (Mulligatawny)
that wafted through the doors of our new home as I stepped out of the
taxi from the railway station. A divine smell that immediately
transported me back to the only home I'd known thus far. I was 7 years
old and I'd just left behind everything familiar. We'd moved to Delhi
following my father's transfer there.
I'm South Indian and 'milagu rasam' is a staple South Indian dish. Delhi, the capital of India, on the other hand, is far in the North. Different language, different cuisine to name just two stark differences.
The house. Our landlords, a Sikh family, lived downstairs. We'd be living upstairs. That entirely unexpected 'milagu rasam' smell? The doing of our landlady. People in the neighborhood called her 'Mataji' meaning respected mother. Deserve that affectionate nickname? I learned soon enough that she embodied it.
She'd be meeting us for the first time that day. That was no obstacle to her vast, innate generosity. Knowing we'd have traveled a long distance and likely would be tired and hungry, she'd taken it upon herself to call on a South Indian neighbor and learn from her how to prepare a typical South Indian (Tamil) meal. A delicious surprise indeed!
We step into the house and there's the freshly cooked, aromatic South Indian meal ready and waiting for us. Soft white rice cooked to perfection, Dal (yellow lentils), Sambar (dish) (lentil stew) and of course steam rising from the 'milagu rasam'. Not just these but all the traditional South Indian accompaniments. Papadum, yogurt, mango pickle, the works. One of the most memorable meals I've ever eaten. Such a gracious welcome, I still tear up whenever I think about it. Ever since, for me peerless hospitality means Sikh hospitality.
Long gone but evergreen in my memory, Mataji, the very embodiment of an enveloping warmth like none other. Language, mannerisms, cuisine, religion, apparel. All different yet all rendered inconsequential by this simple gesture of boundless hospitality. Stitched with indelible warmth and generosity, it's deservedly a memory to last a lifetime.
It's June 2015, the 40th anniversary of Indira Gandhi's extraordinary decision to declare Emergency and many in the Indian media are reminiscing about their experience of that inflection point in India's modern history. Among all those, the one that resonates perfectly with my experience is this piece, not about the Emergency but about another Indira Gandhi-triggered inflection point in 1984, and yet it's also about peerless Sikh hospitality, peerless even in the most arduous of circumstances.
The Story I Did Not Report In ’84
https://tirumalaikamala.quora.com/Peerless-hospitality-My-childhood-experience-taught-me-it-can-be-none-other-than-Sikh-hospitality
I'm South Indian and 'milagu rasam' is a staple South Indian dish. Delhi, the capital of India, on the other hand, is far in the North. Different language, different cuisine to name just two stark differences.
The house. Our landlords, a Sikh family, lived downstairs. We'd be living upstairs. That entirely unexpected 'milagu rasam' smell? The doing of our landlady. People in the neighborhood called her 'Mataji' meaning respected mother. Deserve that affectionate nickname? I learned soon enough that she embodied it.
She'd be meeting us for the first time that day. That was no obstacle to her vast, innate generosity. Knowing we'd have traveled a long distance and likely would be tired and hungry, she'd taken it upon herself to call on a South Indian neighbor and learn from her how to prepare a typical South Indian (Tamil) meal. A delicious surprise indeed!
We step into the house and there's the freshly cooked, aromatic South Indian meal ready and waiting for us. Soft white rice cooked to perfection, Dal (yellow lentils), Sambar (dish) (lentil stew) and of course steam rising from the 'milagu rasam'. Not just these but all the traditional South Indian accompaniments. Papadum, yogurt, mango pickle, the works. One of the most memorable meals I've ever eaten. Such a gracious welcome, I still tear up whenever I think about it. Ever since, for me peerless hospitality means Sikh hospitality.
Long gone but evergreen in my memory, Mataji, the very embodiment of an enveloping warmth like none other. Language, mannerisms, cuisine, religion, apparel. All different yet all rendered inconsequential by this simple gesture of boundless hospitality. Stitched with indelible warmth and generosity, it's deservedly a memory to last a lifetime.
It's June 2015, the 40th anniversary of Indira Gandhi's extraordinary decision to declare Emergency and many in the Indian media are reminiscing about their experience of that inflection point in India's modern history. Among all those, the one that resonates perfectly with my experience is this piece, not about the Emergency but about another Indira Gandhi-triggered inflection point in 1984, and yet it's also about peerless Sikh hospitality, peerless even in the most arduous of circumstances.
The Story I Did Not Report In ’84
https://tirumalaikamala.quora.com/Peerless-hospitality-My-childhood-experience-taught-me-it-can-be-none-other-than-Sikh-hospitality
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