Jasentha Joy | Pickles and Chuckles

No one walks past the kitchen at aikyam space without sharing a word or two with Jasentha chechi. And conversations with chechi are heavily punctuated with laughter; once she begins chuckling heartily, her audience is inevitably pulled in.

What’s equally riveting is her story that begins at the INS Dronacharya Quarters in Kashmir, where her father was posted. She fondly remembers the mulberries she plucked and the cooking experiments she undertook alongside her father. “At the age of thirteen, we returned to Kochi, and as the syllabus was drastically different, I was back in the first grade. Having grown up speaking Urdu, Punjabi, and Kashmiri languages, I attended after-school tuitions to learn Malayalam,” she recalls. Since then, her life has been scattered with unexpected overhauls, all of which she has waded through with a chortle.

Post-marriage, she shifted to the hills of Idukki with her husband, who opened a photography studio. But they soon discovered that business in the hills was just as erratic and unpredictable as the weather in the hills. Years of effort proved to be futile, and they locked up the studio – a decision that broke her husband’s spirit entirely and urged her to pick up the reins.

The couple and their two young children relocated to Kochi, where Jasentha chechi kickstarted a new life. She says, “We had neither a livelihood nor plans, but a single goal: to raise our children. It was difficult, but in retrospect, it is a great joy that at a time when we thought our life had practically ended, we were able to persevere and educate our children.” 

Bearing in mind the cooking lessons from her beloved father, Jasentha chechi set out in search of jobs in hotels, which were beyond delighted to hire her.

“No matter what I grab, I can make something with it. A feast can be cooked with close to nothing,” she claims confidently.

Resolute and witty, she also excelled in clerical and sales positions in a pharmacy and an advertising company, respectively, and quickly garnered the trust of her employers and colleagues. At another of her favourite jobs, she assisted elderly people with exercise and helped a man and three women living with restricted mobility get back on their feet.

“It’s not just about the body; a happy mind is what pushes the body. Physical touch and attention can go a long way in strengthening the mind. Sometimes, all they need is a little affection.

Meanwhile, she began experimenting with pickle and jam recipes, endeavours that have now crossed over thirty years of perfection. “I add nothing artificial to my jams and pickles, whether for additional taste or preservation. For this reason, I also don’t send them to shops. People come to me personally to place orders, often in larger quantities to transport while travelling abroad,” she explains the nuances of her business. After her daytime responsibilities, she flicks the kitchen light on and starts concocting her pickles to be packed off to faraway places.

For over two decades, she handled her hectic professional life and an equally bustling personal life with the finesse of a master juggler. In 2015, everything came to a screeching halt as she suffered a fall that affected her spinal cord. Nevertheless, she did what she was best at – shrugged, let out a chuckle, and kept going. It was during her search for work that would not be taxing on her health that she crossed the threshold at aikyam space, where she is now known for her skillful whipping up of meals and familiar warmth.

“At aikyam, I found a comfortable space and a bunch of lovely children. Each one of you is my child, you see," she says, smiling.

Jasentha chechi is a strong advocate of urging women to work in order for them to live with dignity. “Aren’t women often seen as incapable?” she asks, her defiance etched onto all the decades behind her. “I see women around me who have well-employed husbands but lead lives of distress. Stepping up to work by ourselves makes a world of difference. Literally any job can provide a living, and with it, a more dignified life.” She expresses her indebtedness to God for never having her listen to a stern word, her fingers brushing the rosary beads around her neck.

“What gives you hope?” I ask.

“Hope? Hope breeds expectations, child. My father taught me not to place expectations or trust even on the chain around my wrist. When I see someone suffering, I give them whatever I can because I can never forget the help I have received all these years. That’s all. I will happily pass away any day. There’s no need for big desires,” she replies, ever so simply. 

Humming a song under her breath, “Aadi vaa kaatte, paadi vaa kaatte,” she takes my leave. Her grandchildren are waiting for Jessi Amma to get home and conjure their favourite dishes, and of course, there is a lot of pickle-making to tend to.