My maternal grandmother, chooti aththa, was a tiny lady; prim and proper, always neatly dressed. I have never seen her in anything other than the traditional Osari (Kandyan saree). My mother hails from an aristocratic family and as a child, I always thought my grandmother was a shining example of that heritage. A lady in every sense of the word, ruling her household with a gentle but firm hand.
One of my fondest memories of her is how she would prepare food for Avurudu (Sinhala & Hindu New Year). Every school holiday, my parents would drop me and my sister off at my grandparent’s walawwe in rural Kandy and I would be the happiest.
I liked watching her prepare the Sinhala achcharu (a pickle) that she would prepare weeks ahead for Avurudu celebrations and keep under a table in the pantry, in a clay pot covered with a clean white cloth and tied with a rope. The undu wel (a sweet) were also lovingly prepared, at least a week ahead, and then hidden under a different table, in a clay pot, covered in a white cloth, tied with a rope. She would get me involved when preparing undu wel; my all important task was dipping the piping hot swirl as it comes straight from the frying pan, into a deep clay pot full of Kitul treacle. I took this task seriously, much to her amusement.
Every morning, she would prepare a simple breakfast that was the same everyday. White…
