Her Romance with Ghee

Shantaben romanced ghee. She used store-bought buffalo milk ghee and made her own batches of cow milk ghee, with carefully collected milk cream. No matter how thrifty in every other aspect, Shantaben was overly generous with ghee. Her logic was simple (and something I live by too); either use no ghee at all or add dollops of it, there is no middle path with ghee! It is the food of gods, after all! I think she believed that ghee was like a magic potion which healed and cured the body, mind and heart. 

On Ekadashi and other vrat days, she began her day with a few dates drizzled with a tablespoon of ghee. The Faraari diet had ladle-fulls of more ghee. Sama chawal/ moraiyo cooked in buttermilk with ghee, yams shallow fried in ghee, rajgira atta (amaranth flour) poories fried in ghee, sabudana khichri tempered in ghee. Her regular diet too had lots of space for ghee. Tuvar daal cooked with kokum, gur and peanuts had tablespoonfulls of ghee. And of course the rotis/rotlis, which just ain't rotis without ghee! She served khatta dhoklas with ghee as a dip. And the the desserts - sooji halwa, mohanthal, maghaz, churma laddoos - all were rich in ghee, lots and lots of ghee. Whatever the main ingredient of the dessert was, sooji, gramflour or wholewheat flour, one cup of that meant one cup of ghee, sometimes even more! Compromising with ghee was unthinkable. Cheating with white oil, was nothing less than a sin. No, she was never overweight even by a kilo. She had a fantastic metabolism and complete faith in the goodness of ghee. Ghee is godly, it cannot do wrong. Simple.

Ba was also a staunch believer of the medicinal properties of ghee. It was her go-to medicine for cuts, burns, tummy troubles, skin problems and headaches. Yes, headaches. I vouch for this one too. Apply cow milk ghee on your forehead like a balm and feel it work on your nerves like magic. 

Shantaben was quite happy with the Bengali brands of cow milk ghee. But she preferred to make her own. She carefully collected milk cream for days before beginning the process of churning it into ghee. It was tedious and the kitchen smelt pretty disgusting, but she did not mind. The main reason behind this was that she loved to eat the little burnt bits of milk cream. As crazy as it sounds, she strained her ghee carefully to collect these burnt bits. She loved to eat them with rice. 

Her face always lit up after she licked off ghee with her fingers. It was true love. 

The Bangle Box

There was a wooden dwarf almirah in Shantaben's bedroom. A handwoven throw, usually blue or burgundy was placed on its top, with a smaller box, and another crochet mat on the box. This two-level counter served as her mandir. A beautiful sculpture of Shiv-Parvati made of black stone was placed on the raised area. Several other photographs and idols made of brass and copper, arranged there, were attended to twice a day with incense and praying beads. For years, I had no clue that the raised level was actually a box. That too a bangle box! 

One day, I just happened to visit Ba in the afternoon, not usual on school days, and found her dusting and cleaning the almirah top. She had brought down all the idols, sculptures and photographs on a tray scrubbing each of them from every corner and crevice. The throw and mat were kept aside for washing. The box lay uncovered for me for the very first time. Of course I had to see what was inside. I took it down imagining that it contained older, yellowed or damaged pictures of gods and goddesses. I opened the box; my eyes had never shone brighter and I never grinned broader. Inside the rather rustic looking heavy bangle box, were three rows of dreamy clinks and tinkles.

Shantaben had a fascinating collection of bangles - glass, lac, ceramic, metal - she had them all. Beautiful colours, glossy textures, delicate etches - the collection was already decades old when I discovered them. I had always seen her wearing gold bangles, so this box was quite a revelation. She told me she colour coordinated bangles with her wardrobe before she got married, but later as household chores increased, the breakable ones became difficult to manage. So in fear of losing the beauties, she stored them away in this wooden bangle box. She placed the box in a place where no one would touch it, specially not her rowdy grandchildren. 

Ba knew I had a severe crush on jewelry, and she must have melted seeing my eyes glisten more for her bangles than they did for her matar kachoris; she gifted me a pair of electric blue glass bangles from the box. My happiness knew no bounds and kept wearing them at every given chance, even with my dresses and skirts! Over the years, she brought out a few every time her mandir was dusted and gave them all to me. She also bought new sets from her Ahmedabad visits. I am sure she was proud of that fact that her grand daughter shared the same love for bangles as she did; and she indulged me to no end. Then came the day when she handed over the bangle box to me, with all the remaining contents. Like I said in the last post, Shantaben was thrifty even with her words; all she said was - ''tu raakh'' (you keep it). With those two words, I inherited over fifty years of romance in one mahogany box. 

Shantaben's bangles were so used to the sheltered life that they could not withstand the cruel world of concrete. A few ceramic ones still remain in my mother's drawer, but the rest only in my mind. The bangle box owns a proud corner of my living room, as a beautiful stand for a lamp. 

Her World, Her Rules

Shantaben Mehta lived in her own world, the one she created over the years, carefully adding and subtracting but never changing its basic fabric. She was an extremely resilient woman who did not let negativity touch her aura. Like any other family, hers too had its share of ups and downs, showdowns, trivial issues blown out of proportion, messed up power equations, hatred, sacrifice, hopelessness; and everything that comes with this list. But none of this could upset her calm demeanour. There was nothing that could stop her from going about her regular routine - daily, seasonal, annual. Not once have I seen her brooding. No, she was not super-human, neither was she a saint. She never really took the assertive steps of ordering around and take on the role of the rule making, punishment giving matriarch. In my opinion, had she done that, things probably would have been smoother and no member of her family would dare to over-step their boundary. But Shantaben was not an autocratic person and perhaps was too optimistic, perhaps even Utopian, in the fast greying world. She never criticised anyone and was fascinatingly unaffected by harsh criticism herself. No matter what was being said, or who said it - Shantaben went on with her life, never looking back; and not even on the sides.

She expressed very little and was also extremely stringent even with positive expressions of affection and humour. But was never unpleasant, never bitter. Her home was open to all but she would not really place a welcome mat outside. And that was because she thought it was understood and done for. She hated to waste, perhaps even words. She never spoke a word more than what was required (according to her).

Shantaben was a million miles away from the stereotypical Indian mother, who cried and cried and sacrificed every cell of her body for her thankless family. Someone who would rather die than witness two of her children severing all ties or someone who would give it all up and live in some ashram before property became an issue of discussion and debate. No, Shantaben was nothing like a Leela Chitnis or a Nirupa Roy!

Shantaben Mehta firmly believed on the principle of self-preservation. She was extremely self-sufficient and needed no help for leading her regular life of shopping, cooking, hosting, satsangs, temple meets, visits, TV dinners and even travel. In the 1990s when she lived alone, there was nothing that was omitted from the above list. She even made all the seasonal and festive delicacies for herself and her neighbours. Attented weddings, went pandal hopping, lead a full life. Her life remained unchanged, unfazed.  Her world, untouched. 

Graters and Lemon Squeezers

If stainless steel could attract magnets, Shantaben would have stuck on it forever. She had a crazy attraction towards utensils; and once stainless steel became a household name in the late 60s, Shantaben found a new love. They don't make romances like that anymore! Thalis/ thaRi, plates, katoris/vaRki, patilas/tapeli, ladles, milk pots/topiyo, cutlery; she had them all in dozens and in every size possible. And each deserves its own post!

Among all these heavy and thick gauged stainless steel utensils, Shantaben had two severe crushes - graters and lemon squeezers. 

ChaRak Melas are a common feature in West Bengal, they are held in month of Chaitra, roughly from mid-March to mid-April. Our locality also held a mela, along the Padmapukur Water Tank every year till around the year 2000. Unfortunately, it was stopped by the authorities due to a freak accident and traffic flow getting heavier on Lansdowne Road. 

Our sleepy neighbourhood woke up twice a year to bright lights and noise. Once during the Durga Puja in autumn and once during the ChaRak mela in spring. My sister, Namrata and I strolled to the mela almost everyday. Each day we would have a different adult accompanying us. And our treats and loots depended upon what that particular day's guide liked or indulged on! 

Like any other mela, this one too had had a few stalls selling cookware. Wooden, aluminium,  iron, plastic and stainless steel. Ba would visit each stall and look for graters and lemon squeezers. The graters came in various sizes, tiny garlic graters, medium sized cheese and cucumber graters, large ones which stood on their own and what not. Lemon squeezers came in wooden, aluminium and steel avatars. Shantaben would examine each kind with severe scrutiny and try to deduce their durability. No matter what the shopkeeper vouched for, she would turn a deaf ear to every noise and go on with her scrutiny till she was completely satisfied. While we couldn't wait to attack the toys and bangles, Ba did not budge. No matter how much the aroma of just fried jalebis and tamarind water teased our noses, we had to stick to the bartanwala stall. And no, we couldn't drift away either; even though Ba kept up her bargaining, her left hand had my wrist in her grip, my sister's wrist gripped in mine! Two sisters kept looking at others walking off victoriously with their balloons, toy belans and bangles with extreme pain and frustration. Once Ba stuffed her bag with at least two dozen graters and a dozen lemon squeezers, she would look at us calmly, sensing it all and perhaps feeling a little guilty herself, would spoil us silly. No matter what we set our eyes on, she would buy it for us, and a smart shopper like herself, never bargained when she was determined to fulfill our desires and vanities. 

One question must have crossed your minds, why buy these kitchen utilities in dozens? Well, because they made great no-reason-at-all gifts! Shantaben always brought something for everyone she visited or had as visitors. If you came to her from another town or invited her for dinner, she will gift you a grater or a few napkins or a lemon squeezer or copper lota; anything, but definitely something. When she made her annual trips to Bombay and Ahmedabad, there were two gifts for every relative; a tin of rasgullas and a grater. Some lemon squeezers kept aside for unscheduled and sudden visits.

Shantaben's madness about graters was not limited to melas; she would do just the same in a small but extremely well-stocked shop at Jagu Bazaar or an air-conditioned showroom in a market complex. I remember once she had wanted to gift mamma a whole set of stainless steel canisters (I shall stick to 'dabba'!). They zeroed in on one of the air-conditioned stores; of course my sister and I tagged along. She bought dozens of dabbas for mamma and some for herself. Good thickness, great shine, high prices. As the deals got struck, bargains made, Shantaben spotted a grater! 
Namrata and I knew our lunch would be at tea time. 

Kabaat-vaaro Room

When not in Calcutta, Ba usually divided her time between her bungalow in Ahmedabad and her sister Shardaben's apartment in Bombay. The former was more of a holiday home, she never really lived there. These three spaces in Calcutta, Bombay and Ahmedabad are where most my memories with Ba were made. Shardaben's apartment was a wonderland; but more on that in another post.

All these three homes had room specially for the cupboards, or kabaat, as we say in Gujarati. Ergo, kabaat-vaaro room!

The Calcutta apartment wasn't a big one and hence a couple of kabaats spilled over to the bedroom as well. And these were the solid steel almirahs that Godrej once made. One or two were pretty fancy with a single door! 

Every kabaat came with its unique 'lock-unlock' sound and hinge screeches. Over the years I knew exactly which kabaat was being opened, locked or sometimes even banged from two rooms away. Some kabaats were used on a regular basis, some once in a few months and one or two were used only annually or even once in two years. The latter almost always had a heavy piece of furniture parked in front while it turned into a steely brown backdrop of the room. 

And now over to the contents. Let's say that the half a dozen cupboards had enough stuff to fill up three seasons of the home section of a departmental store and a swag lifestyle store put together! Not to forget the ''Miscellaneous'', this section could fill up the utility and toiletry  pouches of a hundred hotel rooms. And all this is after all the clothes of the family are kept aside! From metres of cotton and silk to dinner napkins. From thaalis fit for a king's meal to dessert spoons. From vintage iron boxes full of old photographs to tiny plastic containers bought in dozens. From hand painted ceramic crockery, wrapped in newspaper to copper lotaas. From decades old files full of old letters and some bills to unused picture diaries. From hand-dyed handloom and khadi home linen to plastic sheet covers. From measuring tapes to paper clips. Not to forget the spools of colourful threads, needle sets, buttons and thimbles. She also had a box of ribbons and strings along with cut pieces of cloth. 

Whenever we needed something out of the blue for school and we remembered about it only after the stationery stores were closed, Ba's treasure never let us down! One square foot of red cloth, aluminum foil, two metres black ribbon, large envelopes; no matter what, she had them all there, somewhere! 

Ba had her world stored safely in the Godrej almirahs. She spoke little. But when she opened a cupboard in front of you, it meant that she gave you a tiny peek into her world. And every time she did so in front of me, meant I would get richer by a Staedtler pencil or a vintage postcard or an embroidered napkin or just a few coloured buttons. And all this went into my own kabaat. 

Mahadevia to Mehta

This blog is dedicated to my grandmother, Shantaben Mehta (1914-2002), and the world she shared with me. I begin by posting a studio photograph of her taken in the early 1930s, when she was Shanta Mahadevia. Ms. Mahadevia was the third child among seven siblings, growing up in Ahmedabad. She was popular in her social circles for her inborn talent in cooking, sketching, pleasant demeanour and big black eyes with long and curved lashes. She was also known to be a fitness freak of sorts and used her younger brothers as weights! I remember how impossible it was to free my wrist from her grip!

She married Kantilal Balabhai Mehta at the age of 21. They had three children, a son and two daughters. Mr. Mehta’s job at Scindhia Shipping Company brought him to Calcutta in 1956. Eventually the whole family moved into a flat in South Calcutta. They were among the first generation of Gujaratis who migrated and settled in Calcutta.

The Gujaratis who settle elsewhere are a very close knit community and hence Shantaben got easily included into the social circles of the new city. She continued her various hobbies, she looked after her family and had quite a busy social life. The family soon fell in love with Bengal’s handloom, Uttam-Suchitra films and the Durga Puja. Her younger daughter, Sukriti, went a step further and married their Bengali neighbour, Asim Ghosh – my parents. Shantaben Mehta, my Ba.

Ba has a constant influence on me even though it has been thirteen years since she passed away. She lives through her sarees that I still wear; the name engraved everyday steel bartans and some antique furniture pieces that we still use; her unique recipes we swear by; and her beaded jewellery that can give any boutique a run for their money. As I grew older I have realised how significant was Ba’s feminine energy and aesthetics in my life. A large chunk of my childhood and teens were spent with her, at her home, the bazaars, fairs, temples and her friends.

Her family was nuclear but Shantaben always bought everything in bulk; spices, utensils, towels, sheets; everything was in dozens or kilos. I remember her pantry stocked with masalas in large glass jars, the lower shelves of her steel almirahs stocked with new bed linen, cushion covers, cotton and tussore thaans, napkins, saree borders, cutlery, and various everyday things like clips, mats, buttons, khaddar jhadans, muslin cloth pieces and what not. Storing all this in a not so big an apartment, made all her rooms look like little wonderlands. I would spend hours just going through all her stuff. It was all visually extremely stimulating and very larger than life.

There were three distinct aspects of her Shantaben’s life – her kitchen, her style in both fashion and home decor, and her spirituality. Each very special in its own way and each has had a lasting impact on me. I intend to share little pieces of her life through this blog.