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My paternal grandmother was an empowered, no-nonsense woman in every sense, but still still bowed to the patriarchal upper hand of my grandfather by quietly making perfect, hot, round rotis for him.
Numma, my paternal grandmother always preferred preparing food at home, sometimes quite elaborate recipes that she used to pick up from the books and magazines she read. She was an expert cook, having acquired the skills for it quite early in life.
She was married off to Dada, my grandfather, before she was 20. From then on began her fight to have a foothold in the new household she was in. Though she was quite a favourite amongst her in laws, there was a slight strain between her and my grandfather, which sometimes became evident. Not that he belittled her or loved her any less, but did not hesitate to exhibit his apparent superiority by virtue of his gender. Thank God that none of which was inherited neither by my Baba!
The early signs of patriarchal force were evident when Numma served ‘roti’ to Dada or Tata, my paternal grandfather and my uncle respectively; they both emphasized that each roti should be served hot while they ate, and every roti had to be perfectly round in shape.
One day while Numma was at it, I volunteered to help, when she quickly retorted, “Make sure each roti is round and rolled out perfectly well, else they will not touch their food.” This was quite ridiculous to me then, while now I think of it as a completely misogynistic act!
As days passed by nothing seemed to change in the house wherein I grew up, however there was a silent acceptance amongst all. Each and every meal had be served well, all household chores had to be learnt with deft accuracy, lest you fall prey to accusations targeting your upbringing!
Culinary expertise has always been deemed as the most essential skill for a woman; often she is judged for her inability or disinterest in it. A perfect, round, and hot roti is an important yardstick in the Indian setup, to measure a woman’s capability, irrespective of the fact about how qualified she is or what a fantastic human being she is.
Numma always encouraged female education, emphasizing how essential a woman’s career could be. She further went to explain how I should aim for my own identity and never be overshadowed by a certain, “Mr X” or even the “Mr Right”.
Modern in her thoughts and approach, she never failed to raise her voice against unnecessary domination of the fairer sex, not to forget the amount of wrath she earned from the not so women-pro majority.
Her tales never circled around a damsel in distress, waiting for her knight in shining armor to salvage her from the evil forces; rather they focussed on how a woman could stand up for her rights. The story of Sita was not about her failure to prove her purity to her husband, but about how undeterred she was in her own pursuits.
But when it came to salvage her own marriage and her home, Numma rolled out round and hot rotis quietly.
This contradiction between her thoughts and actions is still a question to reckon with, and something I cannot reconcile to, even now when it is 9 years that she is gone!
Today when I take up cooking as a passion and not as the prime responsibility that the members of my tribe must excel in, I silently thank Numma for instilling in me the early signs of high self esteem and self worth, which a mere perfect “roti” cannot decide.
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A dire penchant for words, can summarize my life as “My pen bleeds my life”! read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Being a writer, Nivedita Louis recognises the struggles of a first-time woman writer and helps many articulate their voice with development, content edits as a publisher.
“I usually write during night”, says author Nivedita Louis during our conversation. Chuckling she continues,” It’s easier then to focus solely on writing. Nivedita Louis is a writer, with varied interests and one of the founders of Her Stories, a feminist publishing house, based in Chennai.
In a candid conversation she shared her journey from small-town Tamil Nadu to becoming a history buff, an award-winning author and now a publisher.
Nivedita was born and raised in a small town in Tamil Nadu. It was for schooling that she first arrived in Chennai. Then known as Madras, she recalls being awed by the city. Her love-story with the city, its people and thus began which continues till date. She credits her perseverance and passion to make a difference to her days as a vocational student among the elite sections of Madras.
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