Muthiya – just the way mum made!!

My Mummy or mommy jaan, momaay, momsi, ma….. whichever way  I would call her,  she would respond with her joyous ‘bolo’….

‘Strongest’ is how I would like to introduce my Mummy, very soft spoken but laughed the loudest. A strict disciplinarian when it came to conduct and work,  but someone who would easily break into tears of joy. At the age of 13 mummy fell ill with rheumatic fever (a fever that bites the heart and licks the joints) that damaged her heart. Staying in a remote town meant that her family did not have access to penicillin- a medicine that would have saved her heart. My Mum not only survive the fever, but also determinedly fought many other medical conditions that resulted because of her damaged heart. She battled diabetes, rheumatic arthritis that struck when she was in her 30s, survived cancer, 4 strokes and numerous other medical issues that were at times side effects of  medications. The reason I  say my Mummy strongest,  is because she never gave up or complained of pain or discomfort.  Never ever. Her ability to keep smiling and her positive attitude  even during the most challenging medical conditions, was instrumental to keep the everyday life  normal within our family. These qualities of her’s  made taking care of her a little easy for us especially for my father who continued to be her primary care giver for the almost 50 years that they were married (Mummy passed on 6 months short of their 50th and how my father devoted his life taking care of my mother will require a dedicated post). The mood in our home  was always positive, upbeat and bubbling with laughter with us pulling legs of each other and my Mummy with her tremendous zeal for life, laughing it all out as she struggled with one or the other health issues each year.  ‘I will not go that soon, I have to see you finish your schooling,’ she would say. From 12th grade, it moved to  ‘once I see you married’, to ‘after I see your kids’, ‘once bhai gets married’ to his kids to my kids clearing their 10th grade….. she kept pushing her “installments” (as I called them).  And with crossing of each boundary came some more of her confidance to fight it out.   This spirit and her never-say-die attitude also shaped me into a person I am today.

Our Mom’s  heart condition also required us to be careful of the meals that were cooked. The home cooked meals always remained deficient of oil and spices. Steamed preperations were preferred over fried (rarely made at home), outside food was rarely consumed, it was ensured we had our daily helping of fruits and vegetables. These rules were only relaxed at the time of my school examination when I suffered appetite loss due to anxiety and had the urge to eat only sweet foods. Mother made sure she had the refrigerator well stocked with my favourites…. Caramel Custard ( she made the best), jelly and custard, fruit salad, ice creams, milk shakes made with fresh fruits and so much more,  all of which she would make with whatever ability she had working with her hands that were weak as a result of her  arthritis. She believed that if she continued doing her chores, her body would keep moving. Hence, however difficult it would be she would try her best to get off the bed every morning. Everyday meals were no fuss affairs.  We usually had one pot meals or foods that required spending less time in the kitchen.  Due of our Mother’s persistent health issues, cooking was taken up as a life skill by the family, which resulted in all of us learning to cook at least one simple dish  .

Ma’s fine dexterous  skills were reflected not just in the way she draped her saree or neatly tied her bun  in figure of 8 or the way she would line the shelves with old new papers with utmost precision   (wihtout a crease or corner hanging out) before arranging sparkling clean jars and kitchenware over them, but also on the way she rolled roti, the triangle parathas, making her iconic  patra ( applied the besan filling very finely over stringed colocasia leaves and rolling perfectly in uniform size- best patra ever) to making softest muthiya that never differed in size. They would be plump, uniform ones that took shape of her fist. “The Muthiya  should never be bigger than our fist – should fit into our mutthi/fist,  they need to melt in mouth as we are not going to temper them like everyone does,” she would say.

The fist part I learnt well,  but the Muthiya I made always lacked on the softness part and Mum never approved of them. I managed to get them right only recently,  after she passed on. She had always told me to learn it well,  but I got so busy with my studies, profession and later in raising the twins  that learning muthiya and many of her glorious foods was never on agenda ( I realised it too late, after she had lost her ability to remember the recipes and stand for more than few minutes) . However, since both my parents loved eating muthiya for breakfast my mum taught the skill to a cotton-like soft muthiya to my Father and Devyaniben-our home cook for past 25 years. It was only recently that Devyaniben shared that my Mommy had taught her  so many things and Muthiya was one of them. Whenever I would complain of my muthiyas turning stiff and tight she would tell me to learn from my pappa because she had taught him too.  Now, as I see Devyaniben and my father shape muthiya I can  comprehend  the mistake I made. Mum had insisted I be firm yet  gentle in shaping them, firm enough to help them come together but once they are there just cajole them to shape up. Never be tough with them. Just like she did in raising us,  like all mothers strict at times  but the most loving mumsie when we needed that nudge to work a little harder.

We knew my Ma’s heart will fail her, every hospitalisation came with a fear that she might not return back but she always fought it out to come back with her signature laughter. She was such a smiling patient that even her doctors and nurses loved her 😍 Even with her fragile health she managed to do her own chores until the end. She was always seated on her chair waiting for us to come home.  Even after  knowing the fact that she will be gone soon, one is never prepared for the sight of the empty chair and getting used to the silence in the room. Since she wanted to be a bird, I am sure she is soaring around happily, free in this boundless sky.

Mommy  is going to be happy that I finally learnt muthiya from my dad.

❤️