A Bite to Remember
In which Naysha Bhatia talks about the links between food and memory.
Photograph by Naysha Bhatia
It's a Monday morning, your mother wakes you up, somehow you open your eyes, and get up to find a scrumptiously cooked breakfast, at 6 in the morning! You don't appreciate the food cooked at home; yet, you will, soon.
Why do we feel this nostalgia for the food we ate as children? What is it about food that takes us back in time? In psychology, this is known as the Proust phenomenon, named after the French author and philosopher Marcel Proust (1871-1922), who wrote about the culinary time-travel he experienced when he tasted a Madeleine cake that had been soaked in tea.
Video by Naysha Bhatia
I was 11 years old when I first had aam ka achar and instantly fell in love with it. I remember tilting my head up only to find my Mom not even half as impressed with it as I was. I didn’t get it. The aunty who lived in the neighbourhood sent us that jar of achar, it was delicious. Before dozing off I asked my Maa, "Aapko achar nahi pasand aaya?” (Mom, did you not like the pickle?)
“Mujhe theek laga,” she said. (It was okay.)
I went on to rant about how much I loved this achar. Once I was done my mother looked at me, smiled, and said, “Tere Nani ke hath ka achar mujhe bahut pasand tha. After she passed away, maine achar khana hi chhod diya.” (The pickle that your grandmom made was my favourite and so after she passed away, I stopped eating mango pickle) My 11-year-old self could never understand the sentiment, but the 21-year-old Naysha does.
Years later, we shifted to Mumbai. Three floors above lived a chirpy couple, the Singhvis. They came to our place with a big hefty jar of aam ka achar. My mother must have opened the bottle with her usual lack of interest but something about the aroma must have made her change her mind. She got together with a piping hot ghee ki roti and settled down with a spoonful.
Immediately, she travelled across life and death, back to the time she was a child and coming home from school, burdened with the trials and tribulations of the day. And there was her mother, waiting for her with achar and a ghee ki roti. Soon, there were tears rolling down her face.
She called up the Singhvis and walked up to their house, just to give the Dadi who made that achar a hug, no words were exchanged, just pure happiness.
I thought of Kafka’s line: “Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way.”
That was the moment I realised the beautiful power food carries.
Psychologist Alifiya Kagalwal believes, “Food has a lot of associations, it's often connected to happiness with which comes the place, people because food is so important to our survival, and our mental well-being that our brains are actually primed to form memories about food, and the potential to store those memories along with emotions such as happiness and excitement is very plausible.”
Food engages us in so many ways. The French talk about feeding the eyes first and there is evidence that visual cues are important: think of a blue dosa. Would you eat one? Then there is smell. And finally taste and mouthfeel. To which I would add, the feeling in the stomach as well. All these come into play when one deals with food.
My college was near a bank and every now and then I would see an exhausted employee bearing the world on his shoulder, a lighter bag in his hand, stop at the tapri, for a hot cutting chai. One sip and their facial muscles would relax, and a breeze of calm would spread across their face.
I didn’t need this tea. My cup that cheers but does not inebriate was made at home, by my father.
Photograph by Naysha Bhatia
Photograph by Naysha Bhatia
My father would come home tired after a day’s work and find the family scattered, each doing their thing. He would retreat into the kitchen to boil tulsi, ginger and tea leaves and as the aroma spread, we would congregate on the sofa to enjoy his special tea.
Seeing my father make tea for us every evening, and cook new experimental dishes for us, was odd to me in the beginning, but later, cooking became my love language.
Sound can trigger memory too... to this day, if I hear someone pouring garlic and chillies in hot oil it reminds me of my father's tadka daal. The sizzling when a kachori hits the hot oil takes me back to those summer holidays when my grandfather would teach me how to make them.
Would potato chips ever be the same without the crunch? That miniscule sound takes us back to the summer holidays, sitting with Dadi, drying papads that had just been rolled. Somehow, in spite of the persistent efforts of the sun to tire us, all I remember is the happiness from within, not the burn marks on my feet from the scorching sun.
​
​
A restaurant in Nerul, called 'Grace' is known for its comforting south Indian delicacies and is a hub for anyone who is in search of a home away from home. It's said to serve authentic south Indian food. The owner, Bibin Joseph claims to use the exact methods of cooking that so many mothers back in his hometown in Kerala use.
When asked about why 'Grace' feels like home to fellow migrants from Kerala, he said, "Because we have created a homely environment, we serve with love, so it tastes like it used to back in Kerala."
"Back at your house? Like your mother used to make it?"
Bibin smiled and said, "Haha, no, nothing can ever taste that good, Mummy ke hath ki baat hi alag hoti hai." (The food that Mummy makes has a taste that no one can replicate.)
The more subtle factor is also the utensil we use to cook a particular dish. My great-grandmother received a large, thick black kadhai from her mother.
That kadhai has travelled for more than 3 decades. Now it is an essential part of gajar ka halwa in our house. The sweetness of halwa gets lost without Maa roasting shredded carrots in simmering ghee, pouring boiling milk over it and cooking it for hours. It's a lengthy process but the result is sweet.
Photograph by Naysha Bhatia
Photograph by Naysha Bhatia
Not only are these dishes simply delicious, but especially the nostalgic ones will remind you of the good old days. Or, more scientifically, it strengthens cultural and family ties. Studies show that cooking and eating these foods can help you feel better by increasing your self-identity and connection with your social group. This explains why, when forced into a world of self-isolation and uncertainty, many of us have found solace in the foods of the past.
Hence, being nostalgic is humane, especially with food.
Food holds a lot of importance in our culture. At times, when it's hard to talk about emotions, to show love, and concern, food becomes the answer. Sometimes, forcefully putting that extra roti on your plate is the only way parents know how to show warmth. Food is one of the earliest links between a kid and parents, which later turns into an obsession with feeding, not only your kids but also your guests. 'Atithi devo bhava' (Our guest is as our God), we say, but if the Gods ever stop by a typical Indian household, they would not look as muscular as portrayed in the mainstream media. To my family, or any other Indian household, food is love, and love is food.