Tis the Season of Rasam
The Revitalising Rasam
A wiz at making rasams, of such a variety, that it boggles the mind. Subrata Rajaram has graciously shared her recipes with us, perfect to warm your soul this monsoon season
Text & Photographs: Farzana Contractor
Meet Subrata Rajaram, a Matunga resident and a proud South Indian from a wealthy zamindari family of Govindapuram, a cosy, little village near Kumbakonam which you approach after a six-hour drive from Madras. She was just 21 years old when she got married and came to live in Bombay which, more than 50 years ago, was akin to someone from a small village in India going to settle in New York. “I did not know anyone here. I did not know Hindi or even English. I had never been out of my village. The customs here, the food, the way of living were so different. I survived only because my neighbourhood was the friendly Matunga. It did feel a bit like home.” She communicates to me through her daughter, Preethi, who if you are the avid and discerning UpperCrust reader, will recall we featured in Come Into My Kitchen two issues ago, which had Shashi Tharoor on the cover. It was when I was interviewing Preethi then that I had learnt her mum was a wiz at making rasams that she had under her sleeve, dozens of rasam recipes.
I had decided in an instant that we would run a feature on rasams during the monsoon quarter of the UpperCrust issue and here we are now!
It is a pleasure meeting people from the era that Subrata Rajaram belongs to. Old-world, hard-working, principled, honest, and so real. No fuss, no frill.
When Preethi told her amma, UpperCrust wanted her to make some rasams for them, her instant reaction was, “No!” Not no, I don’t want to, but no, how can I? Who am I? She was overcome with shyness. Once she was convinced she had to let the world see what a marvellous rasam-maker she was; she was totally committed. Even indignant that Preethi had told us she could make only 22 different kinds of rasam. Not 22, she corrected her daughter, she could make 35!
Preethi and I had a laugh, went through the list that she had sent, written out in Telugu and zeroed in on a cross section of rasams which incorporated a wide range of ingredients and which would do justice to this beloved South Indian dish that is often considered comfort food. Rasam, the thin, soupy concoction is typically served with steamed rice, which is what Amma (we had now started calling her that), had also prepared and kept ready for me and Rozina, my colleague. That, apart from the 13 different rasams!
It was rather unbelievable. How Amma, who insists on living by herself, without any full-time help, had laboured at preparing and keeping ready these 13 rasams, all with love and perfection. Not only the method, but also the proportion of each ingredient you put in there, is important, she cautioned.
I had fallen in love with Amma the instant I had seen her at her door, waiting for us, as we climbed up the wooden staircase of the 92-year grand building, where she has lived ever since she came to Bombay. Her beaming smile, bright eyes, her enthusiasm, her innate simplicity, and her affection shone through… This is how grandmothers should be, I thought. As if reading my mind, Preethi, who was at hand helping her mum, smilingly asked me to add, ‘a strict disciplinarian’ to her mother’s list of attributes. That’s a good thing, too, I said. Need of the hour in today’s crazy world! Parents ought to bring back the adage, spare the rod and spoil the child, in full force!
Well, going straight to the kitchen, as I arrived, I clapped my hands in joy at the sight that greeted me. Amma had followed instructions to the T. Every ingredient she had used in the cooking of the rasams was there on the side table, in little glass bowls, for me to examine, study, ask questions about… And all, save one of the rasams were made and kept ready to be shot. We had asked her to make just one in our presence. Which she did.
Now understand this, Amma always makes her rasam in an eyam. That’s the big secret. Or even if not a secret, it’s a lesser-known fact. No self-respecting South Indian will ever make rasam in any other material. Not stainless steel or any other cookware. It has to be an eyam. Go look it up on Google. You will learn it is tin, and the vessel will melt right there on the stove if not correctly used.
What I was blown over was that Amma had been labouring over this assignment for two days. At her age! Taking out the ingredients, measuring them, cleaning them, roasting some, powdering others. Not in an electric processor, but in a stone mortar pestle. The cutting and chopping (more like breaking and tearing), would happen on the same morning, not the previous evening – greens and vegetables lose their freshness overnight. So what do you think she did? She woke up at 3 am to start the pre-preps and then around 6 am started the cooking. By the time we arrived at 11 am, she was at the door, all bathed and dressed in her pretty Kanjivaram sari, flowers in her hair, diamonds in her ears, nose, neck, gold bangles making that lovely soft sound you associate with women of yore.
It was among my most emotional and time consuming shoots. I had to do it with the respect and care it deserved. And you know what? By the end of it, Amma was thanking me most profusely. She was most worried that I was working so hard. She told Preethi she was appreciative about my dedication (which was merely jumping up and down a low stool, adjusting the light, wiping a stain here, a spill there and perhaps washing my hands often enough to click on the camera button!). Amma wouldn’t listen to me when I kept repeating that it was I and the UpperCrust readers who had to thank her for her time, effort, love and devotion to the art of making a good rasam! She would have none of it. Instead she shooed us away to wash our hands and face, so we could come and eat the upma she would prepare for us, after we were done with the tasting of all the 13 rasams.
You know what? It was the most delectable upma I have ever eaten accompanied by the pickles she had made in the summer: ginger which tastes like raw mango.
As for the rasams, believe me, no two rasams tasted the same! How can that be? But it was. And one was better than
the other.