Growing up in the sticky summer months and less sticky winter months on the West Coast of India, my grand-daddy always had a peg of Johnnie Walker Black Label on the rocks before dinner.
Dinners in Bombay are eaten late at sprawling tables adorned with overflowing bowls of fresh fruits--papayas, guavas, watermelon, mangoes, custard apples, jackfruits, and pomegranates are seasonal regulars. Dinner, like lunch, isfreshly prepared by women who spend most of their days slaving over hot stoves in air-conditioned flats with poorly ventilated kitchens. Our flat in Bandra is no different. Despite having a fridge and for some years now a microwave, my grandmother still prepares every meal from scratch with fresh ingredients--pestle and mortar in hand, wooden coconut grater on the floor, a small blender (everyone refers to as a mixie) and an enormous pressure cooker hooting intermittently on the gas stove.
These are elements of me I don't have to explain to D'Souza as he sits at my wooden dining table in my window-less living room sipping a double Johnnie Walker on the rocks as I furiously stir a pot of chicken curry on my electric stove and the rice cooker whistles in the background.
Dinners in Bombay are eaten late at sprawling tables adorned with overflowing bowls of fresh fruits--papayas, guavas, watermelon, mangoes, custard apples, jackfruits, and pomegranates are seasonal regulars. Dinner, like lunch, isfreshly prepared by women who spend most of their days slaving over hot stoves in air-conditioned flats with poorly ventilated kitchens. Our flat in Bandra is no different. Despite having a fridge and for some years now a microwave, my grandmother still prepares every meal from scratch with fresh ingredients--pestle and mortar in hand, wooden coconut grater on the floor, a small blender (everyone refers to as a mixie) and an enormous pressure cooker hooting intermittently on the gas stove.
These are elements of me I don't have to explain to D'Souza as he sits at my wooden dining table in my window-less living room sipping a double Johnnie Walker on the rocks as I furiously stir a pot of chicken curry on my electric stove and the rice cooker whistles in the background.
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