Two weeks ago, my mum announced that she was going to cook Suji or Semolina Puttu for her Friday lunch. Just like Upma, there’s nothing about Puttu that I like. Not the sand-like texture, taste or pale colour. But, that’s just me.

Despite my dislike and disinterest in Puttu, I volunteered to help my mum. She not only declined my assistance, she brushed me aside saying I didn’t know how to cook it. Right, she was. I didn’t. My service, as was explained to her, was to watch and learn so I could prepare it for her. Maybe sometime in the distant future. She still rejected my offer. Never mind.

On the ‘Puttu for lunch’ day, I turned up leisurely at around 1pm. On cooking days, I am at her condominium much earlier so that everything is done, and lunch is ready no later than 1.30pm. I opened the front door and found her flustered.

I had to laugh, and I did. Apparently, she couldn’t find her Suji flour. Or rather she’d forgotten where she’d kept them. Same difference. It had taken her a long while rummaging through the cupboards and fridge looking for this elusive ingredient. My mum’s ‘storing system’ is a mystery, and a surprise. It’s a little like the popular Matryoshka – the Russian stacking dolls. Layer upon layer before you get to the bottom of it. My mum wraps everything from medicines to grocery to soaps to even tissue boxes in plastic bags. These items are then wrapped again in one or more layers of additional plastic bags. No, she didn’t receive the memo on going green. However, to be fair, she saves the bags. She washes, dries and reuses them. With my mum, its thrift not green. Same difference?

Back to Puttu day. I wasn’t too surprised that she had difficulty locating her stash of Suji. It’s her memory. It’s gotten steadily worse. She forgets more than she remembers. She thought she had already done the prep work – sieving and roasting the Suji flour – ready to make Puttu. When in fact, she forgot where she had stored the Suji, and had just opened two of the five packets in her stockpile. There was Suji on the worktop, hob, floor and some in a sieve. I offered to help sieve the Suji. This time she didn’t decline my offer but explained that – sieving and roasting- required a fair bit of time.

Sieving, in my mum’s lexicon required placing the already fine Suji flour on a sieve. Picking by hand any defective (what?) Suji. Sieving again the super clean flour. Then, setting aside for roasting. The Suji grains are smaller than miniscule. I tried to scoop one or two of the so-called flawed grains. I failed. I tried to use the tip of my index finger to lift the ones that didn’t pass my mum’s quality control standard. I failed again. It was painstakingly difficult. I stopped sieving. Naturally, I didn’t get to the second part of the process – roasting.

At that point, it was already past her lunch time and fast encroaching into her nap time. There was no plan B for food. What to do? It was a toss-up between old and dry Upma, and Bengali bread in the fridge. Upma won. I soaked the Upma with milk and let it sit for a while. Microwaved it. Voila, it was revitalized, and tasted creamily milky. Lunch sorted. I’m not one of those people who can magic a fresh meal in a few minutes. I don’t have the skills or recipes.

Just 2 years ago, my mum was in charge of her kitchen and inventory. She did her own cooking and cleaning. With some help from me. She knew where was what. What needed to be bought, and replenished. She still does but in a fuzzy sort of way. She was also territorial with her kitchen utensils. No mixing her vegetarian pots and pans with the carnivore cookware. She still is but a little less now. And, she’s sort of relinquished her role as kitchen boss.

My mum is her old self in many ways, and yet not. She is certainly frailer. Her heart and lungs are plodding along. She requires a lot effort to do things. Very slow. More forgetful. Not interested in anything new or different. But… gratefully, there are still flashes of spunk and spark in her. A determination to do the things that matter to her. She completed her 2-step Puttu preparation, one afternoon, a week later. She didn’t tell me, lest I scupper her plan by getting in her way aka volunteering. She sacrificed her nap. Was visibly tired when I saw her in the evening. But, very pleased with her accomplishment and herself. So was I. Yay to the old girl!