Cheeni kum, namak zyaada

It’s funny that the first question Lakshmi asked when she met mom was the same one dad had posed as he wheeled his suitcases into the house after a month-long trip.

Much to mom's chagrin, neither of them gripped her hand, looked deep into her eyes and asked, “So, tell me, how are you really doing?” (Such a gesture would have caused the floodgates to open, resulting in both parties wiping mom’s snot off their wet shoulders while deeply regretting the question.)

Instead, they enquired about more pressing issues. Both wanted to know if mom still had the same maid.

Sigh! Unfortunately, the status on that is still quo. But the woman did chase a lizard out today, for which mom is willing to overlook the urine stains on a “I-swear-I-just-cleaned-it” toilet bowl.

As though her cup of frustration were not running over, mom recklessly invited a cook into the household a few days after she hired Rani. (To spare Lakshmi’s gentle heart, we cannot disclose her salary.)

“Don’t worry, madam,” the woman had assured her. “So what if I’ve never made North Indian food before? How difficult can it be?”

Very, apparently, as two months down the road, mom’s the one standing over a hot stove sprinkling masala over the sabjis, while the woman mutely watches and wonders why this family cannot be content with rasam and rice every day like her other clients.

“No, no!” shrieks mom, entering the kitchen a tad too late. “Mustard seeds and curry leaves don't go with rajma!"

"But, vaasanai ..." argues the cook, shocked at mom's blatant disregard for time-honored South Indian tadka.

"Isn't the moru kozhambu a little watery?" asked mom one day, watching the sweat drip from the tip of the woman's nose onto the boiling pot in front of her.

"This is how Iyers make it," said the maami with an air of authority, wiping her face with the kitchen towel mom had just used to wipe her hands.

"Well, can you make it the Iyengar way instead?" suggested mom gently, watching in horror as the woman proceeded to wipe the spoons with the same cloth she used to wipe her face.

Maami thought it best not to dignify the question with a response as she swiftly wiped the kitchen countertops with the same towel and started rolling out rotis.

Watching the woman operate, mom is tempted to post "Wash hands before returning to work!" signs around the kitchen similar to the ones posted in staff restrooms. She could even add a few of her own:

• Conserve water!
• Cover food to keep flies away!
• Do not use kitchen towel to wipe your face!
• Wash vegetables that fall on the floor!
• Tell me again how you can mess up curd rice!
  

This past week, mom has been making the rounds calling home service agencies in search of a replacement cook and a new maid.

“Make sure your cook is a Brahmin,” well-meaning aunties advise her. "Whatever you say, only Brahmins are clean pa!"

Is that right? You mean to say that the Iyer maami coughing and sneezing in our kitchen without covering her mouth might be an aberration?