The Rhythm of Rice

From grain to grain

Denzil Jayasinghe
2 min readDec 15, 2023

The air was heavy with the scent of wet rice, and the rhythmic sounds of wooden tools colliding filled the surroundings. Amma, adorned in a blue housecoat, stooped beside the ancient wooden mortar so big that I could get into it, gripping the rice pounder in her hands. Sweat trickled down her forehead, glistening in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen’s open window. Beside her, Kadayamma, her white hair radiating like the moon’s reflection on the water, sang an age-old melody while skilfully transferring rice from a basket using her gnarled fingers. Seated on a small stool, I observed them with awe as they engaged in this age-old labour.

With a resounding noise echoing the distant drums of a faraway home, Amma raised the stick high, moving with a grace reminiscent of a beautiful bird. Her eyes, the colour of dark brown tea, followed the stick’s descent, striking the rice forcefully with a loud impact. Rice grains scattered in every direction, creating dust that glittered in the light. Kadayamma swiftly seized the dust, depositing it into another basket. Her movements mirrored Amma’s, a testament to the duration of their shared experience. They continued the rhythmic process of striking the rice, the stick rising and falling in a manner that induced a drowsy spell. It felt as though the entire village moved in harmony with their actions.

The air, saturated with the fragrance of rice, also resonated with the ancient song Kadayamma sang. The sounds of the impact, the yielding of the rice, and the melody in the air harmonised into a music of the past — a song of our people. As the rice transformed into flour, Kadayamma smiled. “Look, Putha,” she said, her voice gentle like a bird. “This is how we bring the rice to life. With every strike, we unleash its power, its spirit.” In that simple task, I held not just flour but the history of our people, the essence of our culture embedded in every grain of rice. The aroma of warm rice would soon fill the house as hoppers or string hoppers, manifesting the love and hard work invested in every yummy bite.

Image generated by Bing AI

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Denzil Jayasinghe

Lifelong learner, tech enthusiast, photographer, occasional artist, servant leader, avid reader, storyteller and more recently a budding writer