Of Powders and Packets

She always goes into a frenzied state of panic about 2 weeks before I leave. Somewhere deep within her, guilt rises up in a flame and prevents her from seeing reason or hearing my protests. She must, she decides, do something to help me get by. I honestly do believe she thinks I eat tomatoes and grass to survive for the 11 months I'm not with her.

Mum's - you try telling them.

So she goes into the kitchen in the morning of the day after this resolution, even before I'm awake, scans her ingredients and of course she doesn't have every thing she needs. Another excuse to go and buy some spices and exotic leaves! I'm unwillingly (sometimes even unwittingly) dragged along on this mission to go shopping.

'Just a little. Not that! Enough! Stop Ma! Oh my God, why do you want that? What do you intend to do with that? and a million other such exclamations later, she scans her conquests (that obviously dad's or my arms are carrying) and says with a satisfied sigh- 'ok enough!'. This is where me and dad drop everything, and do a little celebratory jig of joy around each other!

As the countdown begins, she has it all planned out in her wonderfully clever head - 4 days to dry the coriander (because obviously no other country in the world could possibly have corriander!), 2 for the chillies- maybe 3 if it rains tomorrow, which is likely, right then, 3 for the chillies, and 1 day to get the lentils ground. One day to mix ingredients and cook anything that needs cooking. 1 day to pack, and I know subconsciously, she allocates one evening to fight with me. (She obviously wins. Always. Period)

So she goes about griding, and mixing, complaing about how I don't help her (not mindful of the unrelenting protests on my part in regards to the whole exercise!), and seiving.

Then the eve of departure arrives. I've got my suitcases almost packed, filled with totally unecessary things (in her opinion) such as teddy bears, text books (I told you not to bring them- you never study at home!), reading books (such a waste of money-you should just join a library instead of buying your own...tsk tsk...), a few clothes, a pair of shoes, and sunglasses. Its nearing the 17kg mark, perilously close to 1) my own ability to carry weight and 2) the maximum carry on allowed on my slum class air ticket!

And then it begins. She's in the process of packing her creations. Neatly, cleanly and with lovely little labels on them with useful information like ' 2 tblspns with 1/2 cup yoghurt and 1/2 cup water. Add salt. Boil. Stir the bottom of pan. Add sugar if you want it sweet like the Gujarathis.' Ignoring the inclusion of very obvious information, I think they are adorable. Its amazing how much detail she can fit on two square inches of paper!
But then I see the number of packets lying on the floor all around her- and I flip.

'I told you the day I landed that I didn't want to have this argument. I told you I didn't want any of your powders and packets. I told you didn't I? We had the same fight last year and the year before, and every summer in between, and yet Ma, you just refuse to listen!. I'm not taking anything. Nothing. I can't be carrying 50 kgs across 3 continents! (nevermind that it would in fact be the plane doing that..) I can't. I hate travelling heavy. No way. Not happening. I've been telling you everyday for the past few weeks and still here we are. ARgh...I'm so pissed off. No way! ' I say in my loudest voice fuelled by fury.

She just sits there, scissors and cellotape in hand, looking at me with her puppy dog eyes moistening by the millisecond, with such a hurt expression on her face it could melt the Himalayas. But not me! I've seen it too often. So I stare at her right back. A few seconds later, she gives up playing hurt, and starts getting cross with me.

'You don't eat anything there- always your bread. There is no nutrition in bread. No wonder you lose so much weight before you come here. I feel so guilty sending you so far away to live on your own, working so hard, not eating well, all alone, not eating well, so far. I made all this so that it will be easy for you. So you can come home from work and have dinner in two minutes- something that you like, something nutritious and easy to make. It all only for your good. Its only because I love you. I feel so guilty (here the tears start to appear)- Mummy can't do anything for you anymore.'

Dad now hears the commotion and comes into the room, looks at the packets, looks at both of us, and starts racking his brains to remember what he did last year to diffuse the situation. I put forth my point once again to Dad, and so does mum. I do pity him - he's always caught in the middle when I argue with Mum. He tries to put forth my point to mum and her point to me (not quite coming up with any kind of tangible solution) and yet it seems to do the trick, perhaps not quite with the slant he would have liked I think.

She gets super emotional, tired of arguing, and says I don't have to take any of it. Then I start feeling super guilty (she has spent so long on it) so I say I'll take it all. Seeing my weakness, she pushes me further and plays the game strategically. Now, she almost refuses to give them to me, saying that she'll just use them herself, and that she wouldn't like to force me to take them (what was she trying to do for the past half hour excuse me?). So now we end up fighting over who gets to take them!

A compromise is reached, with me taking most of her Zip locked packets and with her having temporarily appeased her guilt.
I don't know why we bother going through the process- It always ends up this way.

But for all my protests, and arguments, its the days when I come back at 11 at night, aching with tiredness, with an early start looming ahead in the morning, when I put to use one of those hard won packets. And I decide not to argue with her next time- its worth straining that extra muscle in my back carring them across 3 continents, for that one meal I think.

But ssshhh! Don't ever tell her that. She'll never let me hear the end of it. And it will change the dynamic of our departure eve ritual. On some level, I suppose its also easier to say goodbye after having had a bit of an argument.