No thanks to Badimummy

If you are a loyal reader of this blog, you know who Badimummy is. She is what I call my dadi. Nomenclature is weird in my family that way. My buas are my didis. Their daughters are also my didis. My nana’s younger brother is my mama. My mummy’s cousin is my bhaiya. Because in our family, nobody tells kids what to call who and why. We just call them what we hear them being called by our parents. I don’t have foofas. I only have jijajis. My mum called Aman ‘Aman’ and I did the same, until one day she told me, “He is your older brother. Call him ‘bhaiya’” When I tried doing that, Aman refused to be called ‘bhaiya’ unless someone wanted money from him. Since then, everyone involved gave up on the whole concept. I just spend the first paragraph explaining this on my blog posts now. 

Badimummy is a small round woman who is 8 months older than India. She was born in what is now Pakistan. And the rest is literally history. 

She has been falling, both ill and on the floor, quite often nowadays. She even had to get stitches on her head last month. All of this has made her scared of walking. But, the less she walks, the more likely she is to lose her balance and fall. 

In April, I visited Thane for 10 days after 6 months, and realized that Badimummy has now started to sleep in my room because she is too annoyed with her bedmate of 50+ years, Daddy (my grandfather - you now know why I call him that). 

Aman’s Note: Maybe add how Daddy is pronounced in the Indian way - like dairy with another d.

I have seen my bedroom change a lot while I have shifted across multiple homes in Delhi. I wanted to take this change graciously and, instead of sulking, I asked her if I could sleep beside her, hoping for some intimacy with a woman I have spent most of my life avoiding. The first morning sleeping on the wrong side of my own bed, I woke up to see Badimummy in exactly the same position as me—mouth open and both hands raised above our heads touching the headboard like two infants dreaming of milk. I never could have known this similarity if not for this night. 

Another day passed, and Badimummy came to me after dinner and asked, “You have been sleeping okay?” I said, “Yesyes,” and, only to be polite, asked, “You have been sleeping fine?” She immediately said, “Actually can you sleep in Aman’s room instead? He is anyway not here.” An ‘Oh..’ escaped my mouth and I asked, “Have you not been sleeping okay?” She said, “No, I am not able to turn around because of you and my back has been hurting a bit because of that. But, you are okay sleeping on Aman’s bed?” I started replying before she finished her sentence, “Yesyes.”

I spent most of my life avoiding her (as well as Daddy) because I experienced serious dysfunction in my family and held the senior-most members responsible. They have power, they hold authority, why aren’t they fixing things? Why aren’t they breaking off fights? How can they just let things be? Then, one day a couple of years ago, I realized that I resemble Badimummy a lot. We share love (ahem obsession ahem) for Hindi soap operas. We love fried baingan (she makes the best fried baingan—scroll down for the recipe). We hate visiting relatives and avoid it whenever and however we can. We like being quiet observers at weddings and because we are together, we can go the whole night not having to socialize. 

Two years ago, for an assignment I had to do to get the internship at the place I am now working at, I had to interview someone about Thane. Coincidentally, it was around Diwali and Badimummy and I were alone in the house as everyone had gone for Diwali pooja at Papa’s office. Badimummy’s pleas against going for it were heard because of her frail health and mummy was mad at me for wanting to wear a sleeveless knee-length dress that she left me home without even seeing me in the dress. 

During those 3 hours alone with Badimummy, I interviewed her about Thane. Amongst other things, she gave amazing hot takes like, “I never wanted to marry a Sindhi man. They are the worst.” I got to know that her name was not originally Rani. It was Vidya. She said that she was the one who insisted on leaving Thane East and coming to Thane West because, as some Thanekars might guess, “Thane East has too many Sindhis! And I was tired of everyone knowing everyone else. I would much rather live in the erstwhile jungle that was Thane West 3 decades ago.” [When mummy came back and saw me wearing the dress, she said, “Oh.. It’s looking nice on you. I didn’t expect that. Sorry…”]

The last wedding I went to (the one I have referred to in the last blog), I met her sister-in-law, the one who was almost her age but, as she had married Badimummy’s older brother, took care of her like a daughter. She cried when she saw papa and I and realized that badimummy hasn’t flown from Bombay to meet her (the wedding was obviously an excuse for the reunion). She scolded papa and demanded that Vidya be called by the next flight. When told that Badimummy has been ill and won’t be able to handle the travel, she said that Badimummy will be so happy to be with her natal family that she will forget all sickness. Papa laughed awkwardly and I couldn’t believe that the short frail woman in front of me was weeping for the woman I have seen in the living room almost every day of my life. I stuck by her side the entire wedding, trying to interview her too. 

Badimummy’s Fried Baingan (Baingan Bhaaja) Recipe [Serves 2]

Ingredients:

1 Bharta Baingan 

1 Tbsp Sesame Oil / Groundnut Oil [You can also use refined oil if you are younger than 25 and living away from home. No excuses for others.]

2 Tsp Laal Mirch 

1.5 Tsp Haldi

2 Tsp Amchoor Powder / Chat Masala

1 Tsp Namak 

1.5 Tsp Garam Masala

1 Tsp Kitchen King Masala 

Note - Everything is always swaadanusaar. You are not making this for me and I am not making this for you. Go with your gut. The closest you will ever come to kissing yourself is when you eat what you cooked. 

Method:

Cut the baingan into flat slices 

Make waffle like ridges on it with a knife and keep it aside

Prepare a combined super masala by mixing all the masalas together. Gauge its quantity. Will it be enough to coat all slices of baingan? If not, add more. More masala is always better. 

Coat the masala onto the waffle like sliced baingan. Use your fingers to stuff it between the ridges so that there is a masala grid on the baingan. [If you are badimummy, you will do it peacefully, barely looking away from the TV]

Pour oil on the frying pan or kadai and turn the gas on low flame

Lay the slices on the pan/kadai once the oil is warm. 

Now comes the biggest cooking tip you will ever get from me: Forget about everything you have done. Go do something else entirely. Clean your desk. Do some laundry. Call a relative you were fond of as a child but haven’t spoken to in years now. Listen to that album everyone is recommending. [Badimummy just comes back to the sofa and loses herself in the pulpy Star Plus soap operas where drama is being cooked on low blue flame just like your baingan in a different life.]

When you remember (or when you smell something burning), go turn the baingans upside down. And don’t worry, the more burnt, the better. This recipe is for daydreamers.

In 5-7 minutes, turn the gas off and have it with any kind of bread or rice. 

Thanks for reading and please share your comments below!