25 April 2011
Today while baking a cake I realized that I did not have any kishmish (raisin) at home. After my marriage whenever I visited Solan I was loaded with stuff bought by Dadoo from vegetables to fruits to dry fruits to sweets, he would keep on going to the market selecting the best and coming back loaded with the goodies. He had such a vast knowledge of all eatables, was a master in selecting the best papaya, the juiciest pomegranates, the sweetest melons and water melons, the tangy and sweet oranges, and the delicious grapes. He knew every texture and every fragrance of the best fruit. It was the same with the vegetables, the freshest and the greenest and the cheapest was the one that he chose.
Today it is kishmish which bring back these memories. There was no need for me to buy it, though it is used frequently in my house, Dadoo took care of it.
What will happen, who will do all these small but important things for me. Then I console myself, he did it for so many years I should cherish that memory and I recalled little things just in flashes: Lots of fresh corn, ginger, peas, dates and so many other small things, which I have stopped having for the last two years like jamun, berries even bananas, jalebi, and besan ki barfi. He has stopped buying them because he doesn’t remember what they are.
With fondness I remember his love for dry fruits. When we were children, travelling the world with him, the first things that Dadoo bought for us were almonds, pistachios, walnuts, fruit peel and cashew nuts. Now it is Mamma who buys these and he enjoys eating, munching away happily and saying, ‘These are very tasty, what are they called, I have had them for the first time.’
A couple of months back when we had gone to a shopping mall there were only two things that he concentrated on. Packet of dry fruits and potato wafers and he kept picking them up and then keeping them back in the rack as he read the price tags. In the end Rohit and Mamma bought two packets each of the dry fruits.
Some four years back when I was recovering from a long illness and Dadoo was still in his senses, I remember him making several tours to the local markets in Chandigarh: Bringing all kinds of things ranging from fresh coconut to fresh juice, from beetroot to green onions, from flavoured milks to cold coffees, from eggs to poultry, from mithais to samosas and household stuff including vegetables, rice and wheat. He was constantly on the move, buying, coming home, leaving things and then going back to the market again. What was nutritious and what was not, what was expensive and what was not didn’t matter, because it was needed (anjir, prunes, pine nuts) and when after every chemotherapy I came back to Shimla our vehicle was loaded with fruits and vegetables – kinoos in quintals, for fresh juice. This was all done by Dadoo.
Sometimes, I used to get so irritated when he would forcibly ask us to eat the fruits like bananas which we didn’t like and we would snap at him ‘Why do you bring them, we don’t like them.’ And now I realize the preciousness and the warmth of that spirited man. I agonize on who is going to do this for me now. Is it over? It saddens me but then again it gladdens my heart, at least I experienced it for such a long time.
And kishmish, it is fine. I will buy myself and every time I buy I will remember him fondly. Dadoo always loved food and that was one of his priorities in life.
‘There is no excitement of eating things which are in season. Nothing can match the taste and joy of eating vegetables which are out of season! It is expensive but compensates for the kick that it gives you,’ he would often say.
I had been motivated by him for so many years to eating lots of salads and fruits, but now all this is passing. He eats nothing, he buys nothing. I make it a point now to buy fruits, so that he can have one of his favourite ones, but alas he has totally forgotten the taste and instead of enjoying these things which he once loved he remains muddled up, stressed to the point of breaking down. In fact now he has become so lethargic that he opens his mouth and says, ‘Put it in, I can’t get up.’
Another dread is settling on me, if it goes on like this will he stop eating food by himself? Is it lethargy or something else, something dangerous, ticking in his brain making him forget how to eat on his own.