There was no road going from Korzok towards Leh, back in 2002. We
bumped along the plains in a jeep for miles. The Changthang region, stretching
to Tibet, was home to the nomadic Changpa tribe who reared Pashmina goats and
supplied its wool to Kashmir. They lived in tents and along the way, in one
such tent, we had stopped for some hot butter tea. The space for cooking was
right in the middle of the tent, with an opening which was used by the chimney
to direct the smoke out. Everything else revolved around this space.
Subsequent travels to Ladakh revealed the importance of the kitchen
in a home. Larger than most rooms and also the most adorned, this is a space for
cooking and entertaining people over unending cups of butter tea poured from
bottomless flasks, khambir and tsampa with sour curd. The low tables
are strictly not meant for sitting, for which one can use the mattresses kept
on the floor around the wall. In some homes, the fire at the centre of the
kitchen still burns; in most others, the cooking gas stoves are taking over the
corner spaces. Like men in the North-East, I have seen Ladakhi men helping out
in the kitchen. The kitchens in Nagaland houses are also big, if not as big as
the Ladakhi ones. Here, everything happen around the fireplace where the fire
burns throughout the day - warming water, making tea, cooking food, skinning
chicken or ducks, eating, friendly chats with neighbours etc. The smoke from the
fire dries the meat hung above it and also lends a flavor to it.
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| traditional kitchen in a village in Nagaland |
In our childhood homes, the central aangan was the space where most activities took place; but for me,
it was the kitchen area which was always filled with laughter, gossip, stories,
wonderful smells, and always something to eat. We would run around in the mohalla and into anybody’s home heading
straight to the kitchen where some kakima
or chachi would hand out home-made namkeens or mithais. Before cooking gas came to our town, we used to prepare
food on chulhas or kerosene stoves.
The process of preparing the chulha every
morning was elaborate and so was the process of dowsing the fire after cooking.
Each day, after dowsing the fire and removing the half burnt coal pieces, the chulha was given a wipe with a thin
layer of wet mud. The smell that arose from that still warm chulha was divine. Children were
strictly forbidden to go anywhere near the stove or chulha, as accidents occurred often. Like the time when our nanny’s
sari had caught fire. It was because of my quick thinking friend who poured a
bucket of water over her, that she escaped with some minor burns.
Most kitchens in rural homes that I have visited across states are
clean, organized and dark making it a cozy, mysterious place – for me. The
shafts of light that filter in through the roof or wall, add to the charm
especially when the shafts of light get patterned with the smoke arising from
the stove or are speckled with golden-white dust. In the plains, it’s the women
who work in the kitchen, methodically and efficiently. Men come in only to eat.
Here kitchens are smaller than other rooms and situated in one corner or
outside of the house, from where women have to trudge constantly with tea,
water, food etc. for the rest of the household. Modern houses seem to follow
this pattern with smaller corner kitchens disconnected from the rest.
