Social media seems to be flooded with upma memes.
I just happened upon one showing the troubled face of a husband who, after being asked by The Wife to pass his verdict on the taste of the upma ominously lurking on his plate, has almost forgotten to chew and swallow his mouthful in the shock of the worst dilemma of his life - if he were to say it is tasty, she'll heap two more karandis of it for him to struggle through; on the other hand, if he were to admit the absolute truth and declare his lifelong enmity with it , the aforementioned karandi will end up as a weapon against him!
Although I thoroughly enjoyed all the creative memes, I am scared to tell people that I actually like upma, lest they should turn their dismayed, scornful gazes at me.
But now that the sluice gates have been opened, I am going to just go ahead and let it all rush out and brave the consequences - I hate ice cream.
Okay, before you get the sneaking premonition that I must be cracked and close this window, hastily clearing the history, cookies and cache on your browser so that you never again stumble upon this page even by mistake, I think that I can offer some kind of reason which may prove to be a mitigating factor, at least in the case of the ice cream.
It may be that when I was born I started out, if not with a penchant, at least without an aversion to this capricious, gooey stuff that cannot make up its mind whether it means to be a solid, liquid or Bose-Einstein condensate, and the sole purpose of which seems to be to freeze your tongue and shoot alternating current through your gums, so that you can't even realise what flavour it is that you are eating, unless you read its name on the box in which it came.
But, when I was seven and had just got my tonsils out, I was informed by my parents that the doctor had advised them to give me nothing but ice cream for the next couple of weeks. I was, of course, initially thrilled. Not so much at the prospect of ice cream, but with the novelty of the situation, the opportunity of doing something so irregular and out of the ordinary routine.
And so, I ate a meal of a cup of vanilla ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner, throwing supposedly sympathizing, but factually smug sideways glances at my parents and Paati who, in my naive juvenile eyes, were poor grown-ups who had to supress and hide their wild impulses under the veil of convention and propriety, and could never have the chance to flout rules as I did. For, who wouldn't be excited at the chance of getting to eat ice cream all day, everyday?
This self-satisfied feeling lasted but for a few days.
I think, for us, nothing in the world can have a lasting charm without the existence of its exact opposite. Plain homemade dal chawal feels like heaven the day after a heavily loaded feast at a restaurant for dinner; a couple of days of travel and sightseeing feels good after a series of working days; a day of listless inaction spent lying in bed like a crocodile on a shaded bank feels great after the bustle of travel; going to school felt like a prize to kids after lockdown, but then again holidays were gratefully welcomed after endless homework.
Happiness wouldn't be as thankfully valued as it should be, without the existence of a fair dose of trouble, and we would never truly appreciate the little everday things, the beauty in the trivia of our daily lives, until they are snatched away from us.
Philosophical ramblings aside, a few days later, the smugness was wiped off my face. Now, when I looked at the warm nei saadam and carrot kaai on my Paati's plate, it was no longer with a complacent grin. My Amma was no longer pouring elumichai rasam but the elixir of life, and it was no longer on plain rice but paradise.
I dreamt of curd rice and roasted potato sabji at nights. Even the so far least sought after beetroot kaai started tormenting my senses with its aroma, with the tiny mustard seeds looking like beautiful decorations on the vibrant, lustrous, ruby red pieces, the shredded coconut visible here and there looking like light snowfall on a mountain.
The last straw fell in the form of a lunch plate with vathal kuzhambu rice and vaazhaipoo parupu usili. I looked at that appetizing plate, and then at the fluffy white mess in the bowl in my hand. That was my breaking point.
That was the exact instant I simultaneously developed a lifelong aversion to ice cream and a strong love for all things simple and homecooked.
To this day, even a seemingly plain homemade dish like mor koozhu, venn pongal or the poor rava upma (which suddenly finds itself on the receiving end of the internet), is a million times more precious and inviting to me, than any other fancy dish. The overhyped and elaborately named dishes of fine dining restaurants exude only a sense of impersonal distance.
And the ice cream, to me, symbolises everything cold, unoriginal, textureless and transient.
Maybe I am cracked.
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P. S:
To the unversed in Tamilian (or Indian) ways:
rava upma - semolina dish
karandi - ladle
paati - grandmother
dal chawal - lentils and rice
nei saadam - ghee rice
kaai - dry vegetable dish
elumichai rasam - lemon rasam
vathal kuzhambu - sun dried vegetables cooked in a tangy, spicy gravy
vaazhaipoo parupu usili - banana flower dish
mor koozhu - buttermilk and rice flour dish
venn pongal - tempered rice and lentil dish