At last, the yearly ritual eagerly awaited by family and friends is over. There are no more persistent demands coming my way, asking, "When are you making pickles?" Last few days, the errant appendages have strayed routine of the house as the whole focus shifted on making pickles. There was no choice but to give in and head to the market to pick up the right mangoes, vegetables, spices and other ingredients. When you have huge requests for bottle of pickles, there is no respite even during the days of blazing sun!
As I pack last batch of my signature pickles, covering them with muslin cloth, my neighbor and her daughter look admiring at me for the sheer variety of pickles that lay on table. I am pleased to have completed the rigorous task, without any help, on time. Yet, there is some strange feeling that I have missed out some crucial ingredients in this process. I once again check the color, taste and texture of all the pickles - sun dried, sweet, sour and spicy but they seem to be perfect, just like they have always been. The pickles look so appealing and the aroma so inviting that I fail to comprehend what's really missing! My neighbor asks me, " how did you learn making so many varieties of pickles?!!!" And I answer just the way my granny had, when I asked her the same question as a child, "you don't need some special skills to make pickles, you need to have nose for it".
That conversation takes me back to the childhood days and I instantly know what exactly is missing! The pickles have come out just the way my mother, aunts, and granny used to make. What's missing is the sense of community that used to prevail so prominently while making pickles in my maternal house. There were so many tales woven around gatherings at such occasions and a sense of belonging to a large extended family is what is missing. Summer was when the great task of pickle making was performed and executed with utmost precision and expertise of granny and my mother!
The children (invariable always more than a dozen of cousins) used to be so excited by the anticipation of discoveries of completely different world and innocent play! The rituals of pickle making were so fascinating that we used to be glued watching aunts cut, prepare and dry mangoes in the sun. The fragrance of spices and the riot of color and texture used to always grab our attention! The fun in darting to the terrace and sneaking tempting bits of raw mangoes to feast on, was our favourite game! In the afternoons, when the sun reached its merciless peak, there were endless sessions of storytelling by granny. These memories of beautiful childhood are still so fresh in my mind!
Time has changed and so has my world. Granny and some legendary cooks in the family are no more around to share culinary knowledge passed down to them through generations. I reach out for a handwritten family recipe book that has documented some secret recipes and general tips useful for kitchen. I hold the book close to my heart and close my moist eyes. I know, my granny would have been very happy and proud to see me carry forward her legacy. I look at the packed pickle jars and feel blessed to have a huge extended family of friends to share little joys of life with.
