SATYAVRAT KRISHNAKUMAR
These are enameled aluminum and stainless-steel kitchenware fabricated in the United States, Sweden, and the region now known as Czechia, made to order for Chettiar households in the non-descript district of Sivagangai in the state of Tamil Nadu. What we have here is primarily enameled kitchenware designed for South Indian food like paniyarams (a fermented rice fritter, with spices), straining Indian tea (which leaves a lot of tea 'dust' debris- necessitating the addition of a funnel), a Swedish funnel for cold pressed sesame oil, and one part of a large spice box. In the high noon of enameled kitchenware, nations often distinguished their industrial products through the use of color- hence the Swedish specimen in this collection goes with a yellow cream and green, while the Czech ones played around with a range of pastel colors but utilized cheap materials like aluminum to enamel- the paniyaram pan is a distinctly American product with a grey mottled enamel style popularized by the St. Louis Stamping Company. If there is any chance that an American has seen this, it is possibly in the incarnation of a watering can, a milk pitcher, or an old basin in the house of a grandparent. However, enamelware is one of those long-forgotten casualties of industrial production- ubiquitous in its time, but now lingering around like ghosts in the form of a Le Creuset or Staub Dutch Oven you purchased during the pandemic.
These pieces came to my family throughout the course of the long 90s- where the Chettiar lifestyle of large homesteads and mansions was completely withering away. This was a period of much change in India, with the first large influxes of foreign capital entering the country and the lesser noted emergence of a subterranean rent economy. Amidst the creation of new notions of value, old fangled articles like kitchenware were tossed aside- picked up by those who didn't think much of it other than an inexpensive (and often free!) way to set up a house. The paniyaram pan dates to the 1920s, the tea strainer to the pre-war years of the 30s, and the two Swedish specimen date to a distinctly post-war period (say, the 50s). The company that manufactured the Swedish ones (Kockums) now deals in military submarines!
What is the significance of this piece for you or your family?
Despite their age and wear and tear- these are deeply treasured in my family for their functionality! All the items I've shared are actively used (the tea strainer needs a new mesh, otherwise it was used daily) and are cherished for their strange colors, functions, and shapes in many cases. Despite how common teflon paniyaram pans have become, or hard plastic spice boxes, or fine mesh tea strainers, we continue to use these old utensils. Interestingly, with the advent of induction stovetop cooking, these utensils have taken on a second life, being extremely effective and resistant to the wear and tear (chipping, primarily) one is used to with a gas hob.
How did you (and or your family) move to the U.S.? Why did you move to the U.S.?
Some context here, most of the people that I grew up with harbored some type of dream of leaving India and moving elsewhere- be that the United States or Europe etc. I had no such notions, and in fact, for the most part I actively resisted it. To be clear, this was not borne out of some sense of immense patriotism on my part- but for the most part, I was happy with my world, my work allowed me to travel to many countries for long durations, and I was content returning home. Through the course of my career, I had been to Latin America, most countries in SE Asia and Central Asia, parts of the former USSR, the Arab world, and some countries in Africa. I had, however, never set foot in the United States until my wife got accepted into a PhD program at Cornell and we were compelled to move here rather quickly- in a matter of months towards the end of 2024, in fact. I have a rather unique privilege in that sense, most people I knew were either compelled to immigrate or moved here abiding a grand vision that they had in their minds about the American experience. I had no such compulsions and was able to accept the experience without any baggage (well of course outside the substantial one carrying all my enamelware). Back when I joined college, I had to hasten to learn the language of the region where my school was located- a mere 300 miles from my home but a completely distinct language with its own checkered antiquity- Kannada. I would resort to listening to popular music, translating the lyrics to improve my vocabulary, as one of my tools towards some sort of fluency. I still remember the words of the unique popular music director/lyricist Hamsalekha when he said something to the effect of "You might find yourself here, or there. The sun that rises there, eventually makes its way here." ("Illu irobahudu, allu irobahudu, alliruva suryane illu barbahudu")- that about sums up my relation to the places I've lived.
What does it mean for you to share these stories with the community here at Cortland (and beyond)?
I'm hoping that my rather quotidian submission reminds us that our histories are all intertwined, and that food persists in a strange way of making us all human. I'm also reminded about what the philosopher Bernard Williams had to say about every text taking on new meanings in the eye of the beholder, “But that reader will also have thoughts of his own, ways of understanding which will make something out of the writing different from anything the writer thought of putting into it. As it used to say on packets of cake mix, he will add his own egg." I would love for people to "add their own egg", much like these Chettiars did when they decided to place an order for a strangely shaped and cast pan.
