Amma’s Special Box
Updated: Jun 14
For as long as I can remember, Amma had a secret, special box on the kitchen platform, always tantalisingly close but just out of reach. When I was five, I always wanted nothing more than to open the box and see its mysterious contents. Nothing seemed fancier to me.
Neither the blue flames erupting from the stove nor the sharp knife glinting under the harsh tube light. Even the colourful display of various cereals and pulses didn’t draw my attention as much as this box drew me towards it.
In reality, there wasn’t anything unique about the way the box looked. It was just like most others. A little steel utensil, plain and unobtrusive. However, it was inconspicuous to everyone except me, and so I wanted to know everything it possessed.
My fascination began when I was four years old. I still remember returning from the hospital after a vaccination. I was bawling, and the horrendous hospital smell was everywhere, adding to my woes. I was red and misty with chocolate smeared over my round face after my parents’ last-ditch attempt to pacify me failed.
My Dad carried me around to distract me. He wiped my tears and played with me, but I continued screaming. Nothing changed until I smelt a wondrous aroma which made me silent.
I noticed Amma cooking something which sizzled. So I asked my Dad to take me to the kitchen, suspecting it to be the source of the aroma.
Various vessels were placed around the stove, each with a tray filled with chopped vegetables. I couldn’t find the source for the aroma, but my father noticed that I was silent, and he let me stay there for a while.
It’s not like the aroma was a new experience. I must have smelt it many times while I passed the kitchen. Yet that was the moment I realised its true taste.
Even to this day, even after twenty years of spouting words and yapping about anything and everything. I’m still unable to describe the aroma that took my breath away and, more importantly, stopped a tantrum from reaching danger alert levels.
I kept entering the kitchen after my first experience, even after my mother denied me access by making flimsy, random excuses. All I hoped for was to smell the heavenly aroma again.
As the days passed, unable to figure it out, I questioned my mother about the contents of each box in the kitchen until, one day, I arrived at the special box. I knew the rest of the ingredients couldn’t have produced this aroma, given what I knew about them.
I had an inkling that the contents of this special box might be the cause of my happiness, and, to my disadvantage, the box was always jutting out of reach, and my mother refused to reveal its contents, noticing my undying curiosity and a worrying concern that I might harm myself.
Over time, I could always see the box’s lid from my low vantage point. If I stood on my tiptoes, I could even see the special box in all its glory. I could even touch the box by stretching my hands. My fingertips could feel the cold steel after a little effort. With my mother refusing to reveal the contents, I wanted to learn more to see if it was the source of my heavenly experience.
After being denied for years, I reached an age when I could get a hold of the box myself. After many failed attempts, I held the most curious thing I have always wanted to explore. When I opened the lid, I could sense the scent for a moment before noticing that it was nothing more than a spice box.
A box with compartments to hold commonly used spices like turmeric, cumin, paprika, among others. A commonplace, bland box is found in every household. A box that wasn’t particularly special except for my fascination. Though exploring the contents felt anticlimactic, it gave me a gateway back to my childhood.
A meandering walk down memory lane, a shot of nostalgia back to simpler times, a reason to smile when cutting onions, a silent hope for the trampled inner child in me and even after all these years, Amma’s special box will always be more than just a spice box for me.
Credits
This story was written by Manognya Bethapudi, edited by Sreekar Ayyagari and photographed by R. S. Chintalapati.
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Manognya, the writing is very beautiful. You took something as mundane as spice box and made it so special, you get all the appreciation for that. And your story is true nostalgia experience for me.
This narration brings back so many relatable memories that when picturing it, I used the very spice box we had at home. Great job, Manognya 👏
Nostalgia-inducing and evocative.
Outstanding ❤️
👏👏