Ten things from the market.
Tomato, tamarind, black pepper, cumin, garlic, curry leaves, coriander, red chilli, turmeric and toor dal. Bought fresh, and nothing else added.
Roasted slow, pounded by hand.
Each spice is dry-roasted until the kitchen smells right, then pounded in a stone mortar, the way it has always been done at home.
One glass of rasam, folded into one bag.
A measured spoon of podi goes into every sachet. Filled, sealed, strung and tagged, one glass at a time.
Ten bags in a box.
The lid goes down on ten sachets. No preservatives, no colours, just what was pounded that week.
Out the door, the same week.
Packed in small batches in Bengaluru and sent on its way, across the city or across the world.
And there it is, at your door.
Small, light and easy to keep in the cupboard for the evenings you need it.
Lift the lid. Breathe in.
Pepper, tamarind and roasted cumin, the smell of a South Indian kitchen at lunchtime.
Take one.
No measuring, no pots, nothing to wash.
Hot water. Three minutes.
150 ml, just off the boil. Dip the sachet now and then and watch it turn rasam-red.
Both hands. Eyes closed.
Hot, sour and peppery. Exactly like home.
Real rasam, ready to sip.
Drink it straight from the glass, or pour it over hot rice with a spoon of ghee.
That’s the whole story. Your turn.