Preeto is petite and svelte. She is into the medical profession and lives her life on the edge, powered by the scheduling prowess of her mobile calendar. Every time we speak, she quickly fidgets around the touch pad of her screen, promptly entering the event we are planning into in her calendar. 'Dosa at 4 pm Thursday' she would key in with punctuated whispers. She'd text me very randomly asking me to join her for tea on a weekend. While we sip on her fennel tea and catch up on our 'coping mechanism' routine by talking of temperamental kids, ageing parents and a certain fatigue that only overworked moms can experience, we branch into our gastronomic expeditions as well.
For someone who has three kids in three stages of growing up and in three different schools, a set of very old in laws and a frequently visiting father and immediate family in the bay all in the foreground of a very strenuous and stressful profession, Preeto's ambition to make elaborate South Indian dishes from scratch really charms me. "Teach me how to make ginger Chuttneie" she would plead for the dozenth time, pronouncing chutney like a true blue Punjaban. Now, I wouldn't know how to make her do a DIY on something as complex, especially given the fact that she's never processed or even looked at a slab of ripe tamarind in her life nor does she own a heavy duty mixie to grind tough pieces of fried ginger and coarse spices. "I'll make you a batch as well" I'd add to which she'd roll her eyes and go "How am I going to ever learn then?"
We both have kids in the same grade, a reason that got us together as friends in the first place - or we are as contrasting as north and south in our personalities, temperament and even culture, quiet literally. But this amusing thing that we call compatibility has nothing to do with anything outward. The way her and I became friends over the years really outdid the friendship of our offspring who have a lot more in common than the mothers in question. The way she sits at my nook table, licking her fingers dipped in sambar while biting into a piece of dosa and exclaiming for the twentieth time that noon about 'how lucky she is to have this food' makes me withdraw myself into an observer mode and reflect upon the amazing sense of gratitude she has over life, not just my everyday fare of food. Apart from consistently complaining about how pressed she is for time, she utters audible 'how lucky I ams' every time she happens in my earshot. Our love for our spiritual Gurus is another thing that makes her that much more endearing to me, though I never really express all this to her in this many words.
Last Thursday, they had an Akhanda Phaat of their 'Holy Gurugrandhsahibji' at their place. She was planning it in my earshot while we both carpooled to our middle schooler's back to school night. Now their ideal of having and open door and believing in offering food to everyone that knocks on their door is something that makes my heart dance in joy, in a "I know exactly what you mean" sentiment. Sikhs have a 24x7 Langar (Or kitchen) in their places of worship. They follow the same rule when they bring home their Holy scripture. Their homes become Gurudwaras. (Sigh....how beautiful.) So while we were on the conversation of planning a three day Langar at her place, she asks me quiet innocently "How would Idlis store in the fridge? If I make them on Wednesday evening and server them Saturday for a family gathering post the completion of the recitation of the scripture?" Now don't get me wrong or as a culinary snob, but it would be blasphemy against my south Indian upbringing if I let my friend eat a three day old idly, reheated in an oven, commemorating a very profound event. At that point in time, I didn't know how I could help but later that week, I texted her in the middle of the day saying "I'll make those idlis for you on Saturday and get them with the condiments - fresh off the stove"
She called me moments later "How lucky I am, really how lucky" went the voice on the other side as we started off planning the quantity that needed to be prepared.
I'll cut the chase for you all - A chutney, sambar and a hot piping pot of upma made to the spread alongside when the significant other and the mother board of yours truly had to enhance the experience of my 'helping a friend in need'. What ensued is the spread pictured above. The spouse and I put everything in our wheeled cart and made an appearance at the loud and glitzy Punjabi party. The food was set on the buffet table while Preeto and I exchange a smile and a warm nod.
Post script - Gurugrandhsahibji is rendered in Gurmukhi, a language that sounded like a mix of sanskrit and hindi. It reminded me of those exotic and beautiful interracial children that are bestowed with the best of both gene pools. I sat myself to a wall, a cushion propped against my back and meditated like a saint in training while I let the sound of the scripture flood my senses. I do not know what vibes that place contained, if it was the power of a Guru's grace or the sincerity of Preeto's gratitude, That a few houses down the lane, even upon walking out of that spiritual experience, yours truly had the most restful sleep of the year that night.
In Food we trust. And in God, and in Gurus and in Gratitude. 💗🙏💗
Listening to Gurgrandhsahibji is a surreal experience. Like you say, regardless of being able to understand it completely, just listening to it especially at a Gurudwara which is where my experience has been truly transcends everything. God bless your friend who has brought that same feeling back to her home.
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