Of lathered lockdowns and a lathering state of mind

 

I am gazing at what looks like carelessly stacked up slaps of some exotic dessert. The wafting fragrance is woody and earthy – like a dish out of a tandoor. The feel is of those sticky chewy sour candies. I nibble (just couldn’t resist!) one: it’s sweetish, gummy, and runs off with a zingy after taste.

This concoction is from my kitchen. Only that it’s soap cake, not baked cake.

After a year and a half of hand acrobatics in foam umpteen times a day, my relationship with soaps progressed to creating it. Supermarket soaps were boring. I wanted a soap that would not just wash off the dreaded C stuff but the boredom of the hand-washing
ritual.

What you cannot find you…create. I just did that. 

In the process, I learnt that there is something called “real soap” and synthetic soap, and
something in-between (natural soaps).

Real soap is a product of the reaction between natural fats and lye resulting in glycerol (or glycerin) and fatty acid salts. This product is rich in glycerin, a humectant, which keeps moisture locked into your skin. The fatty acid salts are the soap part: not “soapy” enough to make big bubbles but more than enough to clean. The natural fats for soap-making are derived from milk, plant butter, and seed and vegetable oils.

Real soap has a neutral smell and will not last for years on the bathroom shelf. Additional glycerin, liquid salts, and natural sugar compounds are added to real soap for re-moulding. This is called a glycerin soap base. 

After months of lockdown hours reading up on soap-making, stirring and moulding in the kitchen, and experimenting on self and immediate family, I was ready with my samples. My soaps were fed and fatted with butter, oils, husks, grains, botanicals clays, and anything in the kitchen that looked delectable. And voila! Frothy desserts for the skin. 

Next, I made tiny gift hampers for friends – that were biked across the city (remember, it was lockdown) and for those rare non-curfew hours meetings. The loving, constructive feedback of some (my soap queens) sent me banging back into the kitchen to brew my potions.

Why is homemade soap, in general, so attractive? One, you know who made it, it’s got that personal touch. It’s not mechanically produced on a factory belt but on someone’s stove. Two, you can feel (if not taste) the home ingredients, and three no harmful chemicals are used in it. It’s not a product off the shelf but a creation of the kitchen. Use it and connect to nature and someone’s creativity. 

Now more friends and friends of friends ordering my natural bath bars. Since my “soap factory” is a one-woman-army steamed by passion not profit, the output is limited. So, please wait on the list while things like production, packaging, and shipping are sorted out.

Coming back to harmful chemicals, I’m not stating anything new when I say our soaps are laden with artificial preservatives and unsafe additives like parabens, sulfates, and whatnots to froth, clean, and last. (Deets on these devils are all over the Internet.) Commercial soaps clean us just like any cheap foaming agent, probably the same product used to degrease our car engines. Ouch.

Synthetic soaps are cheaper to make, so they are sold at lower prices. That’s why glycerine (or transparent) soaps cost more. The bubble consistently and frothy lather, long shelf life, lasting fragrance, and low pricing of commercial soaps come at the expense of chemical additives.  These chemicals are believed to strip the skin of its natural moisture leading to dryness, causing eye and lung irritation, interfering with hormonal functions, and producing cancer in laboratory animals.

But having shared these facts, I’d say take it with a pinch of fatty salts. These harmful effects could be related to the number of chemicals used or the duration of exposure. Besides, it’s not feasible to run around looking for natural or homemade soaps. Plus there’s the cost factor. But if you can afford the cost or know me (my stuff is modestly priced) then ditch the commercial stuff.

Time to reset your relationship with this ancient, humble lump of lard and salts called soap. 

JOY RIDES IN CITIES COME ON PEDDLED WHEELS

Cycling gets heaped with hefty praise for the benefits it gives — great for cardio, eco-friendly, sporty, perfect for bonding activities, easy to explore on, green chic on wheels. More than what it’s lean frame can carry. Perhaps this reverence that many urban dwellers have for this little ride stems from fond childhood memories. Recall ads and movies where shiny, basket-attached, red bicycles were being gifted to ecstatic kids?

We cycled for play and then we grew up. For some the town around them grew up and became a crazy city like, hmmm, Bangalore. And this humble ride couldn’t make the transition from a play thing to a real thing. 

Cycling belonged to childhood for me. Growing up in Bombay, we spent our annual winter holidays in Deolali, a small cantonment town near Nasik. For that one month, I’d experience the joy of small town living that I had only known in the pages of Enid Blyton. Places where cycles were an actual mode of transportation, not joy rides. (Bombay did have people running errands on bicycles but that was for adults only.)

I learnt bicycling in Deolali and rode around in the compound for fun and nearby places on errands or to visit places. On those roads, exempt from heavy traffic, it was safe for kids to go exploring on cycles. 

But that was decades ago. Three years back, I yearned to get back behind the handle. It’s often said for abandoned skills that picking them up again is like riding a cycle — you never forget. I thought let’s give the actual and the metaphorical a peddle.  

The passing decades could be challenging. Not only was I older, the city of Bangalore was not exactly a town. Friends recalled cycling to school but qualified it by sighs of “those where the days.” (Those days I was in Bombay taking a prosaic school bus.) But I did spot cycling enthusiasts on present Bangalore roads, amidst the traffic, oblivious of vehicles and fumes, donning cool cycle helmets. And I was besotted. 

When there’s a wish there’s a way somewhere. I got the chance to spend some ten days in Kodaikanal. Every morning I’d rent a bicycle and pedal away around the lake. I did venture on the streets but the steep inclines made it difficult.

I was back on wheels. 

I returned to Bangalore and took to the road. A few tentative rounds in the area I live (which is still blessed with by-lanes, has light traffic, and is coincidentally called cantonment). And one fine day, as they say, I was ready: helmet, backpack, and all — ridding out into the world picking up groceries, saving the ecosystem, and, hopefully, dropping off a few pounds.