My Happy Space
By Jayanthi Somasundaram
Many years ago, I interviewed an architect who said, “There is a certain amount of space each individual needs…” The interview itself went on for over two hours, but I left home with that one line. Over the years, the statement has struck me at different times, but it was during the second lockdown in April 2020 that I finally comprehended its full meaning.
Space.
We refer to measurable space, here. How much does a person need? 100 sq.ft? 400 sq.ft.? 2000 sq.ft? None of us can answer this question, because it’s very — let’s call it — subjective. There is no right or wrong answer to this. During the lockdown, all of us came across stories of people feeling ‘trapped’ inside their homes; mind you, I’m not speaking of houses/apartments. I’m clearly saying ‘homes’ — or dream homes — in which they invested their life savings. It’s around this time I got thinking about what the architect said — more precisely, I thought about the concept of space and what it meant to me.
During the lockdown, beyond grateful, I was just happy. Yes, you heard me right. When the pandemic trickled into our state and city, I felt a strange sense of happiness, a.c.b.c. (also can be called) joy. The effect of heavy salary cuts, staying indoors, working from home, and handling all other ‘societal’ pressures were there. But I felt a sense of calm in me and that I can only attribute to this space.
My father’s house, where I stay, was designed and built by him in the year 1997. He’s no architect, but even without that expertise he managed to incorporate a ‘sensory design’ into his blue print. The five senses — sight, smell, hearing, taste and feel — fuel emotions, and can make you feel happy, sad or just numb, all within a space. I truly believe in that. To me, the way he approached it was very old school. He wanted a well-ventilated home, with enough sunshine and windows for air circulation — windows that are at least two feet off the ground (just in case there are floods, because we live near the sea); two bedrooms and a large hall in case you have immediate or extended family visiting for functions; and plenty of tube lights. Apart from this, like all traditional homes of the 1950s (and because he enjoys it) there had to be a patch of green to accommodate a banana tree, a coconut tree, vetrilai kodi and flowers that could be used for daily prayers. Dogs, birds and fishes were next in his visualization — we had them till two years ago, and during the lockdown we nurtured a stray cat and four puppies.
Our house is not particularly well-groomed and manicured like modern homes — there are cracks here and there; we are clearly BSNL wired; and there isn’t an inch of false ceiling. We also don’t have those spot lights (remember, we love tube lights!).
Within this home, if I had to define which space activates my five senses favourably, I would say it’s our little secret garden — I call it the secret garden because I find a surprise there every single time — from rescuing squirrels and finding plants we never sowed the seeds for… it surprises me every day.
During the lockdown, I spent a lot more time understanding the pots of herbs, vegetables and greens that are grown in humble quantities in our garden. For the last six months, our greens rotated between the vallarai (bramhi), karpooravalli (country borage) and thoothuvalai (purple fruited pea eggplant — amazing for respiratory remedy) leaves. A one-foot-by-one-foot patch of mint sustained us with tangy thogaiyals (a thicker version of a chutney, with an extra bit of tamarind), and once in while made it into our thakkali saadam (tomato rice).
Kathirikai (eggplant/brinjal), the only vegetable we have grown, was ready for harvest. Every third day, we harvested a handful of brinjal and saved it till we got a sizable quantity. We are fans of vaangi bath (brinjal rice), ennai kathirikai (well-cooked and soaked in oil brinjal dish with garlic and shallots), and our manja sambhar (a tangy gravy made out of lentils, onions, tomatoes, potato, brinjal and green chilli with a pinch of turmeric powder) paired with idli for breakfast.
We also have a sappota (chikoo) tree at the back of the house. We don’t know how it came about, but we saw a sapling in the middle of a 4-feet-by-4-feet patch of ground ten years ago. My mother, being my mother, wanted it removed, like all weeds, and the space cleaned and straightened out. I insisted it stayed — and it stayed. Today, it’s a full grown tree, almost 25 feet tall and living completely on the grey water from our washing machine. The overbearing and tall tree gives us exactly 20 pieces of fruit each year. They are the sweetest — its equivalent to tossing a handful of kalkandu (rock candy) in your mouth, minus the calories!
The lockdown was also all about coconuts for us. I’ve mastered, in my own way, to remove the husk from the coconut. Yes, biceps are in the making. We liberally added thengai sadam (coconut rice), pala kaai kuruma (mixed vegetable coconut milk-based gravy), meal maker kurma (soya chunks in a thick coconut gravy), thuvatals (vegetables steamed and tempered with spices and a handful of shredded coconut), perattals (vegetables cooked in a coconut and spice paste), chutney and the very famous comfort food — thengai paal kanji (a rice cooked with fenugreek seeds, hill garlic and mixed with thick coconut milk) — into our menu.
Oh, and I made my own batch of vathals and podis! They were wonderfully tasty, but it would take another essay to describe it!
Our garden is not very big, but with whatever I was able to harvest, clip or pick from the green pockets and pots, it gave me an immense sense of fulfillment. The lockdown reaffirmed how much I like working with food. It encouraged me to become much more mindful of how I live and what I eat — it took just one ingredient every day from the secret garden to tell me that. Maybe we all just need to change one ingredient for better living, too — and we can find that in any space — small, medium, large, extra-large (or a penthouse for some) — that makes us feel complete.
Jayanthi Somasundaram documents culinary traditions. When not in the kitchen or travelling, you’ll find her speaking on heritage rice at Spirit of the Earth.
