The Little Things
It was after moving to another city after marriage that I stayed home for the first time ever. I mean, at all other times I was a student or working. Maybe because that was the first time I had that much free time on my hands I started thinking in ways I had never thought before. Or it might have been the new role I was taking on, God knows it wasn’t one I had planned and prepared for, or even dreamed of, unlike what cinema would have you believe.
The first few months I was bombarded with calls from my mother and siblings about the most mundane things. You see they were all half fascinated and half horrified of what might unfold. I was considered the laziest and least qualified one in the home making skills department. I had previously not boiled an egg, or rice (the staple food of us Malayalis), or even brewed a cup of tea. I am not at all proud of this, I am just stating the truth. Back then my elder sister would call me daily and we would talk for hours. This was just before smartphones and whatsapp. So, all my narrations would be over the phone, and emails to my parents, brothers and sister. The emails would have pictures attached too. So my first kitchen, my first attempt to cook onam dishes, my first trip with my husband……all these are documented in emails with photos attached.
It was while in this phase that I missed home in spite of being at home. For me I think home is still my parental home, and I guess in my soul it will always be so. Though I had been farther away from my family earlier, I had been in hostels or paying guest accommodations, that were never meant to replace home. So though I went home to visit my parents more frequently than I had ever done as an adult, after marriage I always felt away from them.
Maybe that is when I started finding solace in objects around me that were from home, or reminded me of family. The most ordinary of things had the power of reassuring me of the presence of my family, even from afar, and their care for me despite my age, marital status, or inadequacies. My mother had sent a set each of half a dozen tablespoons and teaspoons. I knew these were bought abroad where my mother worked, maybe before I was born. I also had a chopping board and a pair of small scissors my sister gave me. Both were from the Ikea store I have a great admiration for, and learnt about in my management studies, but I am still to visit myself. Back then Ikea hadn’t even opened up in India. When I used them, I would think of my sister and also think of the store and the different business strategies it practises.
My sister is the one in the family who outdoes everyone else in gifting. So right from clothes and cosmetics (I am unfortunately fashion-sense-impeded), to kitchen knives, kitchen towels to mobile phones, bakeware to tinned tuna, laundry bags to handbags, mops to cappuccino mixes, chocolates to shampoo…….my home is full of gifts from my sister and her husband. After my son was born they continue the fairy godmother like behaviour, and with inputs from my nephew and niece they ace it….be it with superhero t shirts or the most interesting toys (toy phones, toy tv, stacking toys, battery operated cars, tops, steering wheels….). But even the most ordinary things like the chopping board are what remind me of her care, and attention to detail constantly.
Before we got our LPG connection for cooking I relied on an induction cooker my mother had bought and kindly sent with my husband before I moved to our first home together. It was the first time I was seeing or operating this device. Though the sellers had given my mother a few utensils with it, all the food I cooked would stick to the bottom. I was convinced that my poor culinary skills were to blame for this. To my rescue came B, my degree classmate. We had parted ways a decade back by then. But we were in touch, and she was another lifesaver in my days of confusion and despair. She had married soon after our degree and was already an experienced homemaker/working mom by then. She recommended I buy a set of cookware suitable for induction and LPG cooking by a brand called Prestige. It consisted of a tawa, a frying pan, and a kadai. The holy trio of cookware for Indian cooking ……Oh sorry I forget, the most important is a pressure cooker. Anyway, B’s advice helped me immensely. Though I replaced the set with another from the same company after years of use, I still remember B with gratitude when I use those pans.
The little things also remind me of people I never met. Like any self-respecting south indian I also have several steel vessels. Most of these were purchased by my late mother-in- law. Some even had my husband’s name engraved on them, as many households in Kerala did back then. I never met my mother-in-law, she passed away several years before we married. Yet I have so many of her things around me. Plates, spoons, steel vessels, a bedsheet……I often wonder if she used these things, and if she liked any of them in particular. Sometimes I feel a twinge of sadness that she couldn’t use these things she chose for longer. Sometimes I just feel happy to have something that reminds me of her; a piece of her likes or pragmatism in my life.
There is a small clockwork alarm clock of hers. One from her working days, before the advent of quartz clocks. It is silver with loud ticking, and an alarm that the metal parts make by clanging. I loved it. Loved its antique look and feel, its longevity, and most of all that something that was a part of the life of the mother-in-law I never met had transcended time to remind me of her. A presence that called for attention (tick tock), reminded me that time was always running out, yet that it was important to enjoy and live in the moment too. Unfortunately, the clock has stopped working. Since by then the lockdown was starting and we have not been moving out normally ever since, I am still awaiting the chance to try get it repaired.
In the meantime, COVID-19 made it impossible for me to meet my family anywhere in the world. Of course, today we all do video calls and talk daily. But even offline I turn to my little things. A book from my brother, a dress stitched by my mother, or even a bowl from my sister…things can never replace people, but yes sometimes they are a tangible presence that reassure you of your loved ones’ presence in your life.
