She kneaded the dough of cruel words,
balled it into twelve,
smoothened each with a stroke of ghee,
and spanked hard on the one she named ‘Judas’
So begins Chapati by Nithya Mariam John in her latest book, Kitchen Poems.
It’s not just about the beloved, humble chapati. It’s about the woman, the silent faces around the white-laced dining table, the poker faces of the ‘full moon’ bread, the purple bruises under her blouse….
One can’t be blamed if misled by the unassuming title, which, at first look, evokes images of delicious feasts, desserts sweeter than honey, and the aroma of a well-cooked curry.
Inside, Nithya shakes up the kitchen as she stirs the secrets within the flame, smoke, ash, and sweat with her pen.
Food, of course, is the central theme of Kitchen Poems — the taste and comfort of a familiar home-cooked meal, the vegetable seller presenting the morning with his little cart, the wine that tastes like forgotten romance, the spirituality of holy communion in church every Sunday, the politics of the kitchen, the gender conundrum, and the inherent eroticism of food. It’s all-encompassing – sweet yet visceral.
Nithya, an assistant professor of English literature at BCM College in Kottayam, says her relationship with the kitchen was passive until a few years ago.
She took over quite recently. Before that, food meant mostly memories – her sweet Appachan (maternal grandfather), who cooked up a storm daily with his wife, and the plentiful vacation snacks prepared by her Ammachi (maternal grandmother).
Her Appachan, who made her favourites – ghee dosa, prawn roast, and beef fry – was both a master chef and a great storyteller, Nithya writes in an essay explaining her culinary inspiration.
“Though I am not an expert in the kitchen, like everyone, I love good food and the stories around them,” laughs Nithya, who is a writer and translator.
“There is nostalgia for childhood memories — summer vacations, snack tins that never go empty. But there is also the routine — planning breakfast, lunch, and dinner, making and consuming them. It’s a daily affair; we need this sustenance and work for it. So food is, in a way, everything, everywhere.”
And this is evident in her poems. Be it the fragrant joy of the steam from elayada, which she calls a menage a trois with rice cakes, melting jaggery and coconut snuggling in emerald sheets; or a mother’s ghost perched on a jackfruit tree, extending her leafy fingers for an embrace; or brewing a coffee in memory of two-steaming bodies. These moments sneak up during the hours of blood, tears, and sweat spent in front of the stove. The smoky walls hold whispered stories.
As Nithya says, food is omnipresent, in romance, sex, death, birth and the everyday lives in between. “Even the bottle of water we carry with us everyday,” Nithya smiles.
That’s why Kitchen Poems contains multitudes. “For me, the kitchen may be one thing — a place where I spend very little time. I hurry in, make something as my little kid plays with the dough, as my husband works beside me, and then just get out. There are plenty of things to do, see, read, and then teach,” she chuckles.
But that’s not the kitchen for everyone. “There are friends my age who are always forced to be in the kitchen. There are those who love the busy stove and taste-testing experiments. And there are those who just order out. And it’s different for men and women too,” says Nithya.
That’s why she let her imagination run wild. Tales heard from many mouths appear here as first-person couplets.
Some stories intertwine to become one. The Karia Co poem, for instance, is about an elderly vegetable vendor. Nithya, however, reveals that the lines are not about one person. “I have combined two people into one here... I have added layers from the life of another toiling man. And that’s what happens when one sits down to write,” she laughs
There are more such blends.
In the broken bread and dipping wine – the maimed body of Jesus Christ
which the women shared on their side of the pew,
they tasted themselves
while the feet rested for a while, on red carpets
In these lines from Cracked Feet, Nithya draws a parallel between the Host and wine of Sunday Mass and the cracked feet of those who prepare the daily bread.
And Kitchen Poem is not just about the conflicts, gender politics, or the hushed secrets within the kitchen walls. Nithya also paints the decadence of the food itself.
As any discussion of food is incomplete without the Malayali phenomenon that is porotta, she pays a homage of sorts to this equally celebrated and censured flatbread in its final pages. She writes of the dough dreaming under a wet blanket and being yanked free to glory in various avatars.
With black-and-white photographs by Aby Itti Kurien — capturing everything food-related, from a little eatery in Wayanad on the cover to fish markets and a cup of steaming sulaimani — Nithya brings emotions alive in the crevices of our bellies. Food becomes a happy meal, a decadent dessert, or the silent witness to humanness itself.
And to sweeten the deal, Kitchen Poems includes three simple recipes — elayada, sulaimani, and palada payasam. “Easy-peasy recipes that I borrowed from others and use in my kitchen,” Nithya laughs.
Kitchen Poems is a feast for thought. The reader, for sure, will not be able to view the kitchen as just a cooking corner anymore.