I love salt and pepper. Not as in salt and pepper as two entities but in their bonded avtar.
Besides bringing life to food, salt-n-pepper hoards memories, possibilities and metaphors.
My mind goes back to Hanuman, the restaurant in Mumbai, the very name of which still triggers memory and taste buds. How as a little girl, I looked forward to the Sunday evening outings with the parents, the high point of which was a stopover at Hanuman. While I waited with impatience for the waiter, the salt and pepper bottles on the table steadied my nerves. Thank god my parents were not the scolding types; instead of staring at nearby tables watching people eat, I tested how best to shake the salt and pepper bottles. Sometimes the salt shaker would act stubborn; maybe those were pre –free-flow salt days. Then that blessed moment of the aroma of crisp folded dosas, or the promise of a great chaat. The pleasure of sprinkling a dash of pepper on whatever it was on the plate made me feel fulfilled.
For my daughter a journey by the Golden Temple mail remains incomplete without the tomato soup sold by the vendor. She looks forward to hearing his throaty call. The best moment if of course when he takes out the salt and pepper shakers from his coat pocket and sprinkles some on top of the hot beverage. Even the transfats of the fried croutons lose their dubiousness in the wave of the salt and pepper wand.
With age and BP catching up, the fascination of sprinkling salt and pepper is of course all but gone but I still cherish the various salt and pepper shakers I possess. The ceramic one with floral designs, the tall silver finish one presented for my house warming, the transparent plastic one with bright yellow lids with a matching handle. They alternate on the centre of my dining table. They radiate the promise of an enterprising cuisine. The great thing about their presence is that I do not have to worry about a photo finish accuracy in my cooking. The family is free to enhance taste as it wishes. The joint responsibility lies with them and the salt and pepper containers.
But salt and pepper, I have learnt, can pep up more than taste buds. It is a peep into an individual’s life and philosophy. The beauty of salt-n-pepper haired Padma aunty is unique. The waves of black and white on her head speaks volumes about her. Aunty is not in ‘combat mood’ against Nature. Even the late 50s-adipose belt around her sits pretty. Together with salt and pepper it confers on Aunty a distinguished aura. Her smile is relaxed; her eyes candid. A person who accepts change with ease has to be trustworthy I feel. Confidence oozes-or is it sprinkles- from her. Of course she has nothing to hide. And like the gulmohar tree in front of my window, with its ample blooms slightly fading and new buds in place, Padma aunty’s mane suggests a fulfilled past, a calm present and a serene future. Whatever be the odds, Padma aunty will make it right through suggests the salt-n-pepper –not unlike the bright yellow shakers on my table.