Dal Tadka

The toor dal has been soaking in water for some time and the round halves are now plump and glowing like little blobs of sunshine. It is Ma’s birthday today and Ashok is in her kitchen preparing Dal Tadka.

It has been a year since Ashok last stepped into Ma’s kitchen where she had routinely prepared perfectly round phulkas, aromatic curries and a variety of delicious kheers. But their favourite was Dal Tadka. Both mother and son loved the golden goodness of the full-flavoured dish with the irresistible aroma of ghee and spices that went into the tadka. This is the house he had grown up in, playing in the kitchen as a kid while Ma did the cooking. He liked it in there, the hum of the pot on boil, the whistle of the pressure cooker, the bright yellow of the turmeric powder and the fragrance of spices. It seemed so long ago, a time before Ashok got married and moved out of the flat where Ma lived alone after Dad had passed away. He and his wife, Priti, had shifted to a condo closer to Priti’s place of work; convenience had triumphed over love.

Ashok tries to recall the recipe as Ma made it. Wish he had paid more attention when Ma showed him how to cook.

‘At least learn to make tea and dal bhat,’ she had often said to him. ‘No one will marry you otherwise, women today want a man who can help around the kitchen,’ she would tease. ‘I’ll never get married, never leave you Ma,’ he had always replied. He never did learn to cook, but when he married Priti he didn’t need to, the cook Radhabai who came with Priti like dowry in a marriage, took care of it. 

But today Ashok has asked Priti and Radhabai to stay out of the kitchen, he will not let anyone else prepare the Dal Tadka; it is both a duty and a privilege. Ashok pours the soaked dal into the pressure cooker and adds water and turmeric to it. He watches, lost in thought, as the turmeric slowly spreads into the water, luminous and translucent, then closes the cooker lid and turns on the stove. It is the second whistle that brings him back from his reverie. Ashok turns down the flame and lets it simmer for another 2-3 minutes. While the pressure subsides, he makes preparations for seasoning the dal. Hmm, what did Ma use? he tries to recall. If only he had been alert when Ma was doing the cooking! He chops onion into fine pieces and blends together ginger and garlic into a fine paste. The heavy-bottom pan is exactly where Ma always kept it. 

Her kitchen was always spic and span, everything in its appointed place. ‘Stay out of here,’ she used to say whenever he pretended he was there to help with her chores. ‘I know you want a taste as soon as the dish is made,’ she would say, and he would simply grin sheepishly in return. 

He adds ghee to the pan, and once it is sufficiently hot puts in cloves, a strip of cinnamon, adds onions, ginger-garlic paste. Ma liked tomatoes in her dal, so he adds chopped tomatoes as well. He pours the boiled dal into the pan once the tomatoes are soft, adds salt. A pinch of sugar also goes in because Ma preferred a little tangy sweetness to it, then turns off the gas and adds chopped coriander leaves after everything has simmered together for a few minutes. Now, to top it off with the tadka. Hing, jeera and a large piece of red chilli in a ladle full of hot ghee. It makes a satisfying sizzle as he pours the tadka over the ready dal. The fragrance of spices and ghee fills the whole house and his eyes well up with memories.

‘Happy Birthday, Ma,’ he whispers as he sets a bowl of the dal tadka on the table and bows his head to Ma’s photo on the wall.

END