Mother's day 2018

I am making ‘Pulingeri’. Pulingeri- a traditional kuzhambu (loosely translated as ‘dal’) is a favorite in the household. I have made it at least 50 times over the years. So many times, I have lost count. But I am still just that tad unsure. I call Amma. The Pulingeri I make has been taught to me by Amma. ‘It is from Chamiathu Paar only’,she has mentioned to me sometime in the past. ‘Chaimathu Paar’ –the cooking bible for all things Tam Brahm, was part of my dowry. I have it still – pages soiled with sambhar and all the other things I have made off its pages and then fed to it for its approval. But Pulingeri is different. I have never consulted Chamaithu Paar for it. A call to Amma is always part of the cooking process. As soon as Appa picks up the phone and I ask for Amma, he calls out ‘Shweta is cooking something’. He knows from the impatience in my voice. Just one of those things. 
I ask Amma the same recipe for the umpteenth time. ‘Amma did Pulingeri have tuar dal or chana dal’, I clarify as she tells me the details. She never gets irritated even when I ask the same thing so often. And yes, the dal names are in Hindi. I don’t know what chana dal would be called in Tamil. Easy to learn, but hey, its just one of those things. 

My daughter critically observes all this at my end of the line. ‘Mama, why don’t you just write the recipe down?’. How do I explain? It isn’t about the recipe any more. Talking to Amma before I make Pulingeri just seems part of the cooking process. Her voice, a reassurance, an omen almost, that the Pulingeri will turn out well. 
How do I explain to my daughter that even though I am her mother, I am still a child? And for just those handful of things, I want my Amma still. It just is one of those things…

Happy Mother's Day, Ma.