Steeling up the Ranks

Even before I completed my degree, I landed a good job through campus placement. I was posted in Chennai (formerly Madras), and in about six months, I grew reasonably familiar with the city. Eventually, I persuaded Amma and Appa to come stay with me for a few days, despite them being a bit wary of big cities. Chennai’s Ranganathan Street has a huge shop that exclusively sells steel utensils. It’s a five-storeyed building with a hall as large as an auditorium on each floor. I planned to take my parents there. But Appa opted out, saying that he would rather stay home. Amma, of course, was on her toes, ready to go. So, off we went. 

As someone who regarded the Bellary steel shop as quite huge, Amma was flabbergasted to see the vast expanse of the Chennai store. Except for some space to move about, the entire place was stuffed with a variety of steel vessels. While an array of plates, forceps, pans, ladles, spoons and spatulas adorned the walls, many types of jars, bowls and vessels dangled from the ceiling. Struck by the awe and the stupor of the sight, she held my hand tightly. Putting my arm around her shoulders, I smiled genially. Tears of joy filled Amma’s eyes. Every vessel in the shop reflected the two of us standing in that posture. 

‘Buy whatever you want, Amma,’ I said. 

Like a kid in a firecracker shop, overwhelmed by the sheer variety, she stood there, confused for a few moments. Then, prancing across the hall, she kept choosing and rejecting many utensils with great excitement. After repeatedly seeking my approval and endorsement, she bought a host of articles. The moment we were home, Amma laid the entire loot before Appa, and gaily described each and every item, adding, ‘My son has got all these for me,’ emphasizing the word ‘son’! 

But that made Appa sulk. ‘If I had drawn as much salary as your son does, I’d have bought and dumped an entire steel shop before you,’ he said, irritably. 

Amma didn’t buy a single steel vessel after Appa passed away. Lunch served on the Lepakshi plate reminded her of him and made the food taste sour. With the passage of time, all the steel vessels at Akka’s house started finding their way to the attic. Porcelain cups and saucers were now used to serve beverages, aluminium cookers for cooking, non-stick pans and bowls for roasting and frying, airtight Tupperware containers to store the grains and groceries, casseroles to keep food hot, wooden forks, coffee percolators, and other fancy stuff slowly replaced steel utensils in Indian kitchens. Once, when Amma offered water to a colleague of my brother-in-law, Akka peevishly said, ‘From now on, please serve water in a glass tumbler only. Otherwise, people will think we’re lower middle class.’ 

When Amma died, I was unable to set fire to her pyre but was able to perform all other rites of her funeral in Hampi. At the end of all the rituals, when I offered the Kage Pinda, no crow turned up to eat the rice ball. When all our efforts to lure the crows failed, our maid, Narasakka, suggested, ‘Since Amma dearly loved steel utensils, make a vow that you’ll take good care of all her steel utensils and call the crow.’ 

Strangely, Narasakka’s idea worked like magic. The moment I stood before the rice ball and prayed as she’d suggested, a crow came flying and ate the pinda. Even in that hour of grief, it seemed funny to us. 

Although we’d cajoled Amma saying we would take good care of her steel vessels, we couldn’t fulfil that promise. ‘Where do I store such a heap of steel vessels, putta? I’m sorry, I don’t want them,’ Akka renounced. I, too, wasn’t particularly inclined to carry all that stuff to my sophisticated house in Bangalore. As a souvenir, I took just the Lepakshi plate. Akka took one tumbler. We washed our hands off them by donating some to a mutt, and gave away the rest to some of our relatives and Narasakka. Even today, when I come across any steel utensil store, I get overwhelmed by Amma’s memories. When I run my finger over sparkling steel vessels, I feel as if I’m caressing her.

Excerpted with permission from “I Love My Amma” by Vasudhendra, published by Harper Collins India, 2026.