August 22 was Vinayagar Chathurti. My mum was fretting leading up to the big day for Lord Ganesha. She usually gets excited when there is a celebration on the horizon, particularly Deepavali. But this time she seemed concerned with her ‘To-do’ list. Shopping, cleaning the altar, sprucing up the condo and especially making ‘Mothagam’ or sweet dumplings for evening prayers.

My mum will turn 87 in September. I reckon it was, and still is all about getting older. About not having the energy or strength to do the things she used to do. About relying on her children to help with this and that. About being told what she should do and not do. And, more importantly, about not being in control.  Sadly, she wasn’t wrong.

She can’t do the shopping. She hasn’t left her condo since the pandemic.  Not that she knows how to get to Brickfields (my mum’s one-stop all things Indian shopping centre) and make her purchases. And/or search online to get the items delivered. She can certainly clean the altar but her downtime would be beyond Vinayagar Chathurti. Same with tidying up the condo. She can do it. Slowly but surely. But the recovery period would be far too long. She once told me she can do what I can do, but she will need a much longer head start. My mum gets tired easily, and sleeps like a baby. Just to recuperate from her daily personal activities.

As for the ‘Mothagam,’ she has been talking about it since late July. I kid you not. She was bothered about making the rice-flour dough to wrap the ‘Mothagam.’  Her hand-me-down recipe from her mum, Tulasi, required dry roasting the rice flour. However, this method created leathery and dry wrappers or casings. Honestly, I hadn’t noticed the casing despite eating ‘Mothagam’ for years. To ease my mum’s concern, I volunteered to make the dumplings for her. Of course, this did nothing to assuage her concerns as I had no track record to speak of. I’ve eaten it. Not cooked it. Not the same thing, as my mum pointed out.

So, I did what any self-respecting daughter, who has never before made ‘Mothagam’ would do. Yes, I Googled recipes. YouTube’d demonstrations. After searches on different sites and numerous videos, I discovered I should have been looking for ‘Modak’ not ‘Mothagam,’ as I knew it all my life. Never mind. I had, what appeared to me, a workable recipe. My mum and I watched a few of my shortlisted videos. I sensed my mum’s gradual confidence in the recipe, especially the casing. And then, in me, executing the recipe. Yeah, or so I thought. Until she suggested a trial run, just in case. I respectfully dismissed the suggestion, and convinced her that I could do it.

The pressure was on. I knew the recipe would most likely work. I was the weak link. Come celebration day, I actually did a little prayer to help me cook the rice flour about right for the casings. I didn’t pray for perfection. That would be asking too much of and from God. I followed the recipe to a T. I placed two cups of water in a pot. Added a dash of salt and a tablespoon of ghee. Once boiled. I cut the flame. Mixed in two cups of rice flour. Stirred it until fully combined. Rested it for two minutes. Then mixed the flour again until nice and smooth. No lumps. Covered it with a wet kitchen towel. All done. Thank God it worked.  From then on, it was more or less, smooth sailing.

Using the filing made of sugar, coconut and ‘Kadala’ or Bengal Gram dhal, which my mum had already prepared, I shaped my first ‘Mothagam.’ My mum looked on, and then asked if she could join in. I hadn’t asked for help because I thought she would be tired from making the filing. Apparently not. She was quite eager to test the texture of the dough, make the dumplings and be part of the two person ‘Mothagam’ team. Nice.

We pinched the dough a bit at a time. Rolled it into a ball. Flattened it on the palm of our hands.  Filled it and bunched it up into a little bundle. We chatted about all sorts and had a laugh. My mum, in true fashion, observed how mine were all fat and dissimilar. She then steamed all 16 dumplings that we managed to roll out. Some cracked. Most kept their shape.  Nine ‘Mothagams’ went on the prayer banana leaf as offerings to Lord Ganesha. Voila. All done. Admittedly, there were waves of trepidation on my part. But it all worked out on the day. Nice.