Kagati ko achaar / How to press flowers in 8 easy, natural steps

Two poems by Shranup Tandukar

Kagati ko achaar

On your deathbed, in that hospital that smelled of stale bread dipped in disinfectant, you said you saw a hooded figure perched on the windowsill, silently waiting, a premonition of what was to come. In your delirium, you turned soothsayer, but you had always held that power, hadn’t you?

A corner of our verandah, where the sunlight romped from morning till dusk, was always crowded with glass jars filled with kagati ko achaar. Lemon slices soaking in salt, spices and oil. They were probably the easiest pickles to make but I still thought they were magic. I never saw you save the carcass of lemons. Yet every once in a while, a new jar appeared with a bright coloured cap. Tadah! Your best trick—making all your love disappear into a jar of kagati ko achaar.

Mustard oil, of course, the best oil for pickling, as you said once, nonchalantly as we weeded our garden under the blistering heat. When you passed away, I thought of your body crammed into a giant glass jar full of mustard oil. Rows and rows of flowering mustard plants turned into sacks of mustard seed crushed under heavy machinery trickling mustard oil for the giant glass that your body would call home. It would take just a little bit of magic.

I snuck a jar of your lemon pickles to Germany in my luggage. I savoured every last piece, every last drop. Boju, I think I have magic too; I stuffed our whole home into a jar.

When I ran away from weeding duties to hide in that park beside the abandoned cell tower, you didn’t come to look for me. Returning home in the evening with a growling stomach, I slinked into my room as you shouted,

Ma marepachi Boju le esto bhannu hunthyo bhanera samjhinchas.

After I die, you’ll remember your grandmother’s words.

And I do. I do. I do.

I eat the pickles bought from grocery stores that taste nothing of home and I remember.

I keep remembering.

How to press flowers in 8 easy, natural steps

1. Wake up before dawn, before the flowers awaken from their sweet slumber.

2. Choose the flowers that are the brightest, the ones who wear their hearts on their petals. These are the ones who can bear the heaviest burden.

3. Before you snip the green necks of flowers, chant a small prayer. Think of the bees and butterflies who will be heartbroken come daylight.

4. During the service, the koel will sing a mournful elegy. After the shedding of tears, ask for forgiveness. Assuage them that this is for the flowers’ own good—what is better than preserved beauty?

5. When you arrange the corpses of flowers on the paper (use recycled paper torn from childhood diaries stained with tears), arrange them as if you are placing plates on a dinner table. Let there be space in between for bodies to wither in dignity.

6. After you entomb the flowers into their paper-coffins, stack stones on top. The heavier the better. Sneak into river beds at night to find stones scorched by sunlight, aching and heavy.

7. Be mindful that your floral taxidermy stays undisturbed in a room with good airflow—if outdoors, ensure constant monitoring. Let the air drain moisture from the flowers like the years drain innocence.

8. Wait thirteen days for the flowers to be pressed. But don’t worry—even if you forget to remove the flowers on time—the mould can be just as pretty.