When Dhania is a Treasure

Ever since I managed to slip in a visit to the Pakistanirun lsquoOrientalrsquo shop in the city of Bozen last week Irsquove been in a more elevated frame of mind The absence of coriander in my life was beginning to haunt my consciousnessI began to dream about what it would mean to pick at a big bunch wash off traces of soil drain the greens and have it available at hand I have yet to configure a sustainable system of growing the herb In any case it wouldnrsquot have endured the harshness of winterBut these logistics aside I enjoy visiting the Pakistanirun shop I love how itrsquos one place in Bozen where as a migrant I feel most at ease because the other customers are also dislocated in their unique way either migrants or refugeesThe term lsquoorientalrsquo becomes allencompassing for anything nonEuropean I like being able to buy mustard oil from Bangladesh and basmati rice from Pakistan I have found a treasure trove by way of masalas and I love knowing that there are different kinds of bananas on offer and often enough karela bhindi and green chillisBut the guy at the counter knows that what Irsquom most excited about is the coriander I find it amusing that they never keep it next to the parsley or the chillis but instead behind the counter under wraps literally as if it were a contraband substanceThe first time I visited the shop I looked all over for it Finally as I made my way to the cashier I was asked if I wanted some dhania I gleamed I took two bunches Since then Irsquove been a regular customer I like being able to speak in my questionable Hindi There is an immense solidarity to the whole affair as well as humour and genuine warmth Each time I visit I buy a few things to populate my pantry so that I donrsquot overwhelm my inlaws with a large stock of unfamiliar ingredientsItrsquos possible that my minimalist approach is also a way of encountering the muscularity of my experience of culinary exile at the level of tongue When I first moved to Delhi to JNU I had to wrestle with that peculiar monstrosity that was North Indian hostel food I began to crave peculiarly Goan interventions with coconutWhen Irsquod return to Mumbai for my summer and winter vacations Irsquod gorge on home food made by my parents Later when I lived in Delhi as a single woman I began to find ways of sourcing ingredients Irsquod bring back from Goa a suitcase filled with chillis tamarind salt spices kokum even bread and of course palm jaggery and feniWhenever Irsquod return from seeing my parents in Mumbai Irsquod bring back a bottle of my fatherrsquos secret Reshad masala This continued until last year when as I was closing up my apartment I began to finally use up whatever was leftover I had a koyta to break the coconut Irsquod source from my local fruit seller and a coconut scraper that I got my mother to gift me once I had a Bajaj mixer that I managed to use for almost 10 years to make my masalas I cooked many feasts over the 10year span of my Delhi life I saw myself as an ambassador for Goan food in DelhiHere I find I am more nervous about cooking food thatrsquos so close to my soul I am apprehensive about its reception by tongues that are unaccustomed to its nuances and excesses and Irsquom often unsure how I might respond to visual evidence of someone not liking what Irsquove cooked Irsquom insecure because the cuisine is such an elemental part of my identityI often have to contend with my own disappointment because I havenrsquot managed to figure out the right substitute for an ingredient Like how does one replace kokum I know I can arrive at the tartness of flavour it offers but the sight of triangular black bits of sourness swimming like sharks in a prawn currySometimes when Irsquom in an elevated frame of mind the aspiration to arrive at equivalence excites me But on days when I feel dislocated I feel only frustration Like on that December day when I tried to make a Xacuti with desiccated coconut using pepperoncino instead of Kashmiri chillies lime instead of tamarind black poppy seeds instead of white The ensuing mash tasted like a stingingly sharp dip It was the unimpressive shadow of the flavour I knew was well within my powers to facilitate were the circumstances differentThankfully I have moments when the consequences of my grief pleasure and inventiveness are unexpectedly profound This afternoon was a reassuring example I outdid myself with the chicken cafreal It was pitchperfect It was accompanied by boiled potatoes that I then cut in large rounds and stirfried with garlic dried methi leaves a pinch of sugar and chilli flakes ground with salt After a string of recent failures it felt good to be moved again by something I had madeDeliberating on the life and times of Everywoman Rosalyn DrsquoMello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover She tweets RosaParxSend your feedback to mailbagmiddaycomThe views expressed in this column are the individualrsquos and donrsquot represent those of the paper