Tears flowed freely following this cookery class. It was held in a primitive kitchen, behind the curtain, in a spice shop in the back streets of Jodhpur.
Not tears of laughter caused by mishaps with the mixing bowl.
Nor stinging tears caused by exotic spices so strong that one’s sinuses will never be the same again.
Rather the tears flowed from the absolute privilege of spending time with a woman so at peace, content and fulfilled by her world.
We walked out in awe of the lady who, with such pride, taught us, not only how to cook, but also about appreciating life.
Our small group entered the little spice shop located in a busy side street in the old quarter of Jodhpur, Rajasthan. We were ushered through to a small room, which we did not even realise was the kitchen, so sparsely equipped that it was.
The room contained a single portable gas burner on what looked like a laminated office desk, with a sink and single tap in the corner. It was here that we learned how to make masala chai, chapattis, lassis and biryani. It was also in this room where we learned an unintentional life lesson.
No words can describe the humbling effect this lovely lady, Reetha, had on us. She showed us with such joy and pride the drawers her husband had made for her desk/table to keep her favourite spices and herbs. The same way we would show off our imported marble benchtops with the latest electronic touch-button gadgetry.
She told us with good humour how she had to purchase chopping boards, an item of unnecessary luxury she had never used before teaching her cookery classes.
Her cooking tips were naturally interspersed with stories of her everyday life, which captivated us more than any Hollywood or even Bollywood blockbuster could ever do.
Reetha’s life was around us. Her smiling husband, from an arranged marriage more than a decade early, who she obviously adored with all her heart. He occasionally dropped in from the shopfront to help where he could.
Her two young daughters arrived home from a family birthday party. Soon after she explained how lucky she was to have had the choice to stop at just two children.
Then her elderly mother-in-law shuffled past us to go into the storeroom off the kitchen. We did not realise the storeroom doubled-up to be this elderly lady’s bedroom.
With the door just ajar, she unrolled a thin swag of foam and an old green sleeping bag out onto the cold concrete floor and lay down to sleep. We didn’t stare, because just a passing glance of this image was enough to burn the picture into our memories for life.
The thought of our own mothers/grandmothers sleeping like this was incomprehensible. This was not a show, this was real life.
She continued smiling as she recounts stories of how lucky she is for the wonderful life she leads.
This was not a ‘pity-me’ scenario. Reetha did not subtly close the door embarrassed that we may have seen what went on behind closed doors. She continued talking to us like we would continue to talk if a child had come into our kitchen to get a glass of water. This was nothing out of the ordinary to draw attention to.
It is what it is. And what it is, or was, was a snapshot of the life of one of the happiest and content women I think I have met in my entire life.
I thought we were there to boil some rice and add some spices. How very wrong I was.
Lessons learned?
Gratitude.
And humility.