The Rhythm of the Kitchens

"Every morning, my mother put two tablespoons of an orangish-mustard powder from a box into a vessel. The entire house would be filled with its aroma, and I'd start to feel hungry. One day, while she was asleep, I snuck into the kitchen, opened the box, put my nose in and took a deep *mmmsssssh (breath)...Aahhhh... My nostrils were on fire! It was sambar powder!"

That's Aruna Ganesh Ram at her 'Memory Recipe' immersive theatre piece. The Bangalore-based artist promotes immersive theatre, a concept that believes the audience can smell, feel, taste and even deliver impromptu dialogues as opposed to them being the fourth wall. This new experiment, which she launched at Serendipity Arts Festival in December, bridges olfactory moments to revive memories and blends the chaos of home kitchens, streets and restaurants into one rhythm.

Hiss, crackle, sputter, sizzle

The setting is a small space akin to a discotheque with pink and blue strobe lights and four, four-seater tables. Amber-lit discs resembling a flat crystal ball serve as plates. There's no food.

Through the 15-minute run, Aruna takes one in and out of several physical and mental spaces. One moment, you're a guest, wolfing down the spread, in the next you're the cook. The third, reminds you of someone who cooked for you. When she poses questions, you can respond or even ask your own.

At times, the room suddenly feels hot, especially when the pan on the table is lit by a portable burner to perform the ritual of tadka. An ode to the cooks who work away in the heat so we can relish the food, I'm told. Different aromas take over; I recognise fenugreek, cumin, thyme, cinnamon, clove, star anise, ginger, garlic, caramelised onion, orange, bitter lime, lemon, ghee, curry, hing... and then lose count.

At one point, sounds of kitchen tools and dialogues converge into a percussive rhythm, interspersed with the tunes of a flute, beat-boxing and even a sitar: "Can you give the pan a shake?" Whisk, chop-chop-chop on the cutting board. "Just turn it up a bit." Oil sizzles. A bustling kitchen crew doles out instructions: "No, no...Not till they're golden!" The pestle pounds. "Four tablespoons, two teaspoons." The ice shaker rattles. "Let it simmer..."

Aruna flits from table to table asking: "Can you make a perfectly round dosa? Can you scoop an avocado? Can you debone a lamb's leg? Can you deglaze a pan? ...Y-You can... Wonderful!" making us scoff at our own limited culinary skills. Another time, she inquires after a few dishes: "How long has it been marinating for?" "10 minutes," I say. "Good! Keep it going," she smiles. In yet another instance, she engages in restaurant chatter: "Hey, you've had this here before?", "On the rocks please", "I think we should split this", "That meat's incredibly tender".

And then she stirs childhood memories with one-liners: "The first time you turned the gas on, watched milk boil, made 2-minute noodles, to those first times..." Food dishes she calls out create hunger pangs: "Baked beans.

Enchilada with a glass of margarita. Mango lassi. Noodles with sesame. Soups not too mushroomy..." And her three-liners sway you: "A kitchen comes to life when the board meets the knife/A kitchen comes to life when oil mixes with spice/A kitchen comes to life when it takes you by surprise" or "The cook becomes the artist/The tava becomes the canvas/The box of spices becomes the colour palette".

Blind man's bluff

The spice box is the highlight of Memory Recipe, with colourful, spice-soaked threads that one must sniff, identify, and perhaps push us into the kitchen. But most of us are left with a gnawing frustration: "Damn! I know this smell, what is it?" and the amber plate sits mockingly empty while we're supremely famished!

The performance doesn't unfold in a breakfast-lunch-dinner or appetizers-main course-dessert progression, "because memories don't have a structure". It reminds me of Paulo Coelho's quote from The Witch of Portobello: "Everything moves, and everything moves to a rhythm. And everything that moves to a rhythm creates a sound. At this moment, the same thing is happening here and everywhere else in the world".

I leave with a cauldron full of memories, a roaring appetite and the impulse to rustle up a spicy dish.

From the horse's mouth

"We consume food only for sustenance, eat with our eyes and move on. The moment the visual is eliminated, people don't know the smell. The only way they do, is by associating it to some dish they've eaten or if their grandma's kitchen smells like that. I try to replicate that," says Aruna, who has a Master's in Advanced Theatre Practice from the Central School of Speech and Drama, London. She's run immersive theatre workshops all over India in the last four years, and plans to do a full-length 60-minute piece that will also include alcohol and scents of different cuisines.

For workshop updates, visit: www.visualrespiration.com