In a world where the Instant Pot has taken over the modern Indian kitchen, I am reluctant to embrace this change. No, nothing against the Instant Pot. It’s more to do with my attachment to the one kitchen appliance (calling it a ‘utensil’ or even ‘equipment’ just doesn’t cut it) that’s omnipresent across almost all Indian kitchens - the pressure cooker or to put it simply just ‘cooker’. A recent viral video of ‘Khaali cooker gas pe chadha diya’ made me realise the sheer amount of mass appeal that this humble appliance still holds. For the uninitiated, the video is of a scene from a daily Hindi soap where a mother in law is very obviously losing her cool (cue : big eyes, angry expression and overdramatic background score) upon finding an empty cooker on the kitchen stove. She is literally mimicking the pressure cooker as she goes on to ‘blow her top’ and asks in no uncertain terms about who was responsible for this seemingly unforgivable act.
Growing up in a middle class home in Mumbai made the pressure cooker the pulse of our kitchen. The whistles or ‘seetis’ were not startling sounds but had come to resemble a routine hum that would reassure all and sundry that ‘food is being prepared’ and that all is well at home. Similarly its absence would be unnerving. Are we not going to eat today? Is there plan to order food in lieu of some celebration? Is mummy unwell?
Many would agree with me when I say that as a child, ‘switching off the gas’ after the correct number of ‘seetis’ was a huge responsibility. It tested your ability to count (obviously), to pay attention and to take timely action. Three important life skills. Also, if you failed this task, the consequences would be rather dire. Eating overcooked food being the main one. I’m not even going to get into the dirty looks and taunts from other family members directed towards you for having put them through this ordeal. You had just one task,no?
These risks however posed to be mild inconveniences in the greater scheme of home life. The pressure cooker ensured that the ‘gruhini’ was ably supported to carry out her daily cooking chores and before you jump at me for making a sexist statement, the appliance owing to its ease of use didn’t give the men the excuse of shying away from the very gender neutral task of cooking! One of the first few cooking lessons my brother and me had, involved use of the cooker. I suppose my mother wanted to ensure that her children were able to cook a healthy meal wherever in the world they’d end up being. For this, I remain grateful.
I remember my grandmother would use the pressure cooker to make anything and everything from the humble dal rice to decadent cakes and bread pudding. And who can forget the wonderful method of steaming that the cooker provides - pillowy soft dhoklas and cloud like fluffy idlis. A healthy, hearty breakfast would be ready in a jiffy. I was truly amazed at the variety of food that she would ever so confidently
whip out of the pressure cooker. Especially true when we had unexpected guests at home, something that occurred frequently enough. If the statement ‘Athithi Devo Bhava’ holds true then I say ‘Cooker Mahadevo Bhava’ rings truer as the cooker is for all given purposes, the provider of sustenance, shared meals and consequently, support systems.
I associate food cooked in a pressure cooker with quintessential ‘ghar ka khana’. A bowl of steaming hot khichdi served straight from the cooker is something else. It screams comfort before you can scream in response to the scalding spoonful of delicious khichdi that you over enthusiastically shovelled into your mouth. Food cooked in a cooker is used to wean babies and introduce them to solid food. It is also a source of nutrition for the elderly. All this whilst quietly feeding entire households multiple times a day. In addition, even today, thanks to the steaming function, food is reheated in the humble cooker as opposed to its more fancy sibling , the microwave.
When I first moved to the UK as a student, we had a shared kitchen in our University residence halls. The kitchen hobs were electric hot plates which by the way are not very cooker friendly. I did use my pressure cooker once but I confess it was the last time too. The number of whistles to cook a cup of dal surpassed ten(!) at which point I had fellow students barging into the shared kitchen to check if there was an emergency of some sort! I sheepishly explained to them the cause of the ‘whistles’ (which one of them termed as ‘siren’), was nothing to worry about. I then mentally promised myself never to use the cooker in that shared kitchen again! Once I started working and moved into a flat, the first kitchen item I unpacked was my prized cooker. It was an almost spiritual experience to cook that first meal in the cooker after so many months. I must add that as the days rolled by, my eagerness to use the cooker became inversely proportional to cleaning it.
Cleaning the cooker was a strictly followed ritual at home. I recall the lemon rind that would be put to task along with other cleaning agents to ensure both a sparkling appearance and efficient function. There was to be no concession for slacking here. However, despite our best efforts, the overworked appliance that it was, it did breakdown once in a while. Consequently, it was an actual emergency situation at home. Alternative food preparation techniques had to be experimented with (electric rice cooker perhaps?) or diets had to be changed temporarily (chapati, ‘tava’ friendly veggies etc). I remember accompanying my grandmother to a crowded market in the heart of Mumbai to procure a replacement gasket (the rubber ring that fits the cooker lid) every so often when the situation demanded it. The commute was far from pleasant - lugging the faulty cooker lid in an overcrowded local BEST bus in Mumbai’s sweltering summer. However, getting the lid fixed was compensation enough as it promised a return to the comfort of routine.
Fast forward some 20 odd years to today. I’m standing by my new age convection hob with its shiny surfaces and touch screen buttons but what remains constant is the presence of my reliable pressure cooker; much like an anchor in foreign waters rooting me to my motherland.
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