When we were little, my brother and I dreaded falling ill. Not because of the fever that gave us chills or the cough that made our ribs hurt or a million visits to the bathroom that left us dehydrated. All that was manageable. The thing that scared us the most was our Mom showing up with a cup of poison…er..potion that refused to go down our throats, activated our gag reflexes and clung to our taste buds with super glue. She, on the other hand, believed it was the cure for every malady.
As luck would have it, I married into a family where the new matriarch had her own version of the potion and she was just as enthusiastic about making it at the first sign of trouble. Sickness in their presence meant the grand ladies standing over us several times a day and waiting until we chugged the potion.
The two mothers were grand indeed and ladies not to be trifled with.
My mother Aparna was born and raised in Bihar. She dedicated her life to uplifting the people of the state. She studied Psychology in college and started her married life working in a photo shop in England. In the late 70s she opened a shop to provide a platform for women artisans of Bihar to showcase their art and embroidery while also supporting her husband who was a renowned doctor in Patna. Among her many talents was her extraordinary culinary skills that spanned continents and cuisines.
Santi, my mother-in-law, was born and raised in Kolkata. She spent 25 years in Jamshedpur where her husband worked in TISCO. She studied Mathematics in college and is remembered as the beloved matriarch who instilled a sense of achievement in every member of her family. In the mid 80s, she and her husband migrated to Canada and then to the USA to be with their sons. She quickly assimilated in her new environment while improvising in brilliant ways to adapt traditional Bengali cuisine to the western context.
The potion they administered, like their presence, had a lasting effect on their families. It took five decades and a pandemic for me to take the potion willingly. The recipe calls for turmeric, ginger, black pepper, and honey to be mixed in water and then slow cooked and cooled into a sludge.
Turmeric is a proven anti-inflammatory and antiseptic. In India, an ankle sprain or broken bone means the injured limb is generously lathered with turmeric paste to reduce inflammation. We marinate fish and meat in hefty amounts of turmeric to kill the germs and we infuse every dish with the spice. No surprise our kitchens are basically yellow.
Ginger is a close cousin of the turmeric root and has anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties. It’s used in India for nausea, upset stomach, and colds. It is said to help with weight loss, lower cholesterol and relieve chronic indigestion. Ginger tea is the go-to remedy in our house if we sneeze excessively, burp, feel warm or ache.
Black pepper is also high in antioxidants and has anti-inflammatory properties. The stews in our kitchen have an abundant helping of peppercorns for good reason. Honey is rich in antioxidants, suppresses cough, reduces cholesterol, and improves overall heart health. In summary, these two things that taste like burning rubber, one that is fiery, and a dash of sweet that spectacularly fails to offset the madness. Heinousness rooted in science. What a conundrum.
Fast forward to the pandemic. Covid is an inflammatory disease at its core and the maternal potions made fleeting appearances in my dreams when we began to isolate. When my dear friend told me that she and her husband do a similar potion several times a week, it gave me pause. Knowing that the second dose of the vaccine had felled our adult sons, I grudgingly agreed to gulp the potion to combat the side effects of the vaccine. My husband was none too pleased but he is a good sport and went along. We did the potion regularly before his second dose and we were grateful that he had a mild reaction. In the gap between our shots, I forgot to do it (really, I swear!) and the second dose sucker-punched me.
I have no statistical proof on the potion’s efficacy, but I can feel my MIL wagging her index finger at me going, “You should have!”
Later when I took it willingly, I knew I was headed for a new reality as I grow older. Even though it will never be my favorite, I am going to hover over my kids like a demon next time they are sick. The potion in my hands will confront the dread in their eyes because I am the proud sum of my two wise mothers.
Besides, I kind of like the thought of delivering “heinous” to my kids!
Rumy Sen is a technologist, entrepreneur and author who writes to chronicle her world for her children and to make sense of what is coming in the context of what is in the rear-view mirror.
Rumy lives in Virginia, USA.