Chopping
My grandma moved to Luxembourg in the middle of the pandemic. She had been living alone in her house in Bangalore, ever the independent (stubborn) woman, surviving and thriving by herself. But she is 80-something (she won’t tell me her age), and an extrovert in the middle of a global pandemic, so she moved across the world to a continent much colder than her warm blood was used to. Shuffling around the house in 3 layers minimum that first summer, she got used to a completely new way of life with an unparalleled and unquestionable sense of determination . She learned many, many new things and adapted expertly with the help of her only living daughter, my mother.
One of the new things she learned was how to use a knife. In Bangalore, my grandma (ever the creature of habit) uses an old gas cooking stove that still requires canisters, pots and pans and ladles that have been passed down through generations, and a curved bladed tool that she uses as a knife and I am strictly forbidden to use (unfair). She moved to Luxembourg, and in the midst of all the culture shock and health struggles, had to relearn how to chop vegetables. Isn’t that crazy? She has chopped vegetables almost every single day of her life since she was a teenager, a daily task for over 60 years and had to completely relearn something she had expert muscle memory in. and she did. Of course she did.
My grandmother is the most resilient and unwavering person I know (read: stubborn). She simply does not care for death. She knows it’s coming one day, and isn’t afraid of it, but has told it in more polite terms to fuck off more times than I can count. She’s been in road accidents, taken some hefty falls, had heart surgery and who knows what else- and each time she brushes it off, refuses help until she’s wrestled down and forced into accepting it and then makes an extraordinary recovery, almost completely unphased. Only now, at her mysterious age of 80-something is she learning to ask for help from my mother- who cares for her in more ways than anyone can visually comprehend.
Every day, my grandma walks. When the weather is good enough for her, she’ll go outside but if it’s cold, she will pace the kitchen relentlessly, making sure she stays active and able. While she walks, she has taken to listening to motivational speeches by various people- why, I’m not sure- but I LOVE IT. She refuses to sit and be sedentary, and fulfils her purpose in life by helping out. I admire it so much. So these pictures of her chopping vegetables are simple in essence, but there’s so much attached to who is doing the most simple and loving of prep tasks- assigned to the bottom of the barrel in a professional kitchen, but the top of the matriarchy in my home.