For the past 11 years, the cooker whistle from S Bismilla Begum’s house in Jeeva Nagar has been the first sound that rends the pre-dawn air at Korukkupet, Chennai. She wakes up at 4 am, and sits down to chop vegetables and peel onions at 5 am. By the time she’s done, the toor dal she’s boiled in the cooker is ready to be simmered with shallots, tamarind water, turmeric, and coriander powder, to make a fragrant sambar. She will also steam idlis, the batter for which she will have ground the previous night. Every ingredient is fresh, and Bismilla does everything herself; she can’t take chances, for the food will be served to women who’ve just delivered babies, and to those who’ve had C-sections at the Corporation-run Urban Primary Health Centre (PHC) in Tondiarpet.

“I’m part of the Indira Gandhi Self Help Group that was formed by NGO Arunodhaya,” says Bismilla. Food plays an important role in the recovery of a woman who’s just had a baby. Those who come to the PHCs in the city get three hot meals, free of cost. A mother and a grandmother herself — she has two sons, one daughter, and six grandchildren — Bismilla is an instinctive nurturer. And along with the training she received at Arunodhaya, she made cooking for new mothers her career.

The new-mom diet

The vegetables that go into her meals are recommended by duty doctors at the PHC. Protein plays an important role in lactation, which is why all her meals are lentils-rich. “For breakfast, I alternate between idli with toor dal sambar, and pongal with moong dal sambar,” she says. “Each person also gets a tumbler of warm milk to go with this.” Lunch is rice and sambar with vegetables; a poriyal of either beans, broad beans, beetroot, or carrot; pepper and garlic rasam; and buttermilk. Along with the meal, she also provides black chickpeas sundal.

At the Tondiarpet PHC, the first meal that a new mother has, right after her delivery or surgery, is hot kanji made with broken rice. “I temper it with jeera and pepper. She starts taking regular meals from the second day,” explains Bismilla. “These women are exhausted and their systems are drained. I ensure that I give them the best I can,” she adds. “No one likes bland food, so I add a little bit of spice, but tone it down.”

Leaning in

Bismilla says that she can’t take a break even for a day. “Even on Ramzan, I ensure that I cook for the women before my morning prayers,” she says. “I haven’t studied beyond Class V, and didn’t go anywhere beyond the end of my street when I was younger,” she remembers. Which is why for her, to be able to do something on her own, and help others in the process, is a big thing.

B Ganapathy Ammal is her helper; she packs the food in containers and walks over to the PHC three times a day. “I always take extra food for a couple of people, just in case someone delivered that night.” She gets a head count when she visits with dinner, and Bismilla plans accordingly the following day.

Although people from all strata of society come to the PHC for delivery, Ganapathy Ammal says it has a significant number of less privileged women, such as roadside dwellers and daily-wagers. “For them, the three or six days of stay at the centre is when they get three square meals,” she says. “It makes me happy to see them eat with satisfaction.” Every day, when they crane their necks eagerly towards the ward’s entrance at 8 am as Ganapathy Ammal walks in with their breakfast, she sends out a silent ‘thank you’ for the job she’s been trusted with.