How it all began

Siddika Kabir – the name may mean different things to different people but to me she is the woman who taught my mother how to cook. I still remember my mother scouring through her worn out copy of “Ranna Khaddo Pushti”, covered with an old calendar page, trying to preserve the actual book which was coming apart at the seams anyways. 

The book was a thing of mystery to me. I could not really understand the text or the instructions that the book contained but I knew that the text held grave importance to my mom and everything had to be followed to the T. She would make notes in a separate notebook, read over the lines over and over again with full concentration as I would sit by her side trying to make sense of it all. 

Then after sometime my mother would turn to me as though she had finally uncovered the big secret and was ready to share with me these secret clues that would help make sense of this big mystery. 

The clearest memory I have of one such cooking expedition was the one time that my mother and I baked an apple pie together. I don’t remember specifics but I remember how she let me whisk the eggs, peel the apples, knead the pastry dough, stuff the pastry dough with apple sauce, and finally poke holes on the pastry top for the steam to escape. She kept me involved at each and every step of the way. I was so proud of what we accomplished together. 

My mother was a daughter, a wife, a daughter in law, a civil servant, and thanks to Siddika Kabir she became a cook as well. It’s been over 18 years since I last tasted her food. It’s been over 15 years since I last saw her copy of “Ranna Khaddo Pushti”.  It’s been over 24 years since I baked. 

All that changed in November 2014 when I accidentally found this bookshop in Chittagong – Batighar. I stood holding the book and reminisced and decided that I would purchase a copy of Siddika Kabir’s book – just for the sake of nostalgia – if not for anything else. 

Since then, I have read through the recipes, scoured through the lines, and made notes in the sidelines. This book has been therapeutic for me – I have found that by scouring through the recipes I am somehow connecting with my mother. She had once read the same lines and the same recipes as I am doing today. We are both uncovering the same clues to piece together a puzzle we started once before.