deviousways

“ Maalu, Maalu”, where are you? Come quickly, the cashews are nearly done.” In my house, someone is always telling me what to do. But this is different. I love watching cashews go “pop”. I run down the stairs towards our soot-encrusted cheriya adukala . Chechi straightens up. She’d been stirring a bubbling aluminium vessal of rice. There’s a wood-fired stove next to the rice. It’s filled with slow-burning coconut husk and what looks like little black smoking pieces of coal. She takes a stick and turns the ‘coals’ over. There’s a slight spice in the air, wonderfully fragrant nut oil. “Oh chechi , why didn’t you call me earlier, the cashew nuts are already roasted fully,” I wail. Chechi smiles. My little spurt of anger melts away and I take the stick from her. I give the nuts an extra ‘poke’. The cashews are coarsely blackened. She digs them out for me and carefully peels away the crusty skin. Steaming or no, who cares. I crunch on them happily. Chechi is not really...