Random memories

I must have been about five. Sat on a bench with this boy called AZ in the class. One day, we both eyed a pencil fallen on the floor at the same moment and bent down precisely at the same time to get it. Our heads knocked hard but I grabbed the pencil and firmly held on to it.

It was mine; I noticed the teeth marks I had made the night before. But, AZ claimed my pencil was his. I maintained that the pencil was mine and we kept on arguing and pushing and pinching one other till a teary eyed AZ pleaded in desperation, "But my mother will beat me up if I tell her I lost my pencil!!!"

Now, this argument made the most perfect sense to me. I knew it was my pencil and in a way, AZ had also admitted it was mine. My parents did not beat me for losing things. The thing is, I was a regular at the school's lost-and-found department. I reached home jubilantly waving a retrieved lunchbox to simultaneously announce the loss of new pencils or a water bottle.

That day, I got home and told my aaji that I had lost my pencil. Then I clarified that in fact I had "found" my "lost" pencil but had let AZ take it home as his mother would have beaten him and aaji wouldn't do that. My aaji had a good laugh that afternoon and still makes fun of me by reminding me about "the lost pencil" when I take irrational decisions.

This was more than two decades back. Hell! I better start claiming what is mine. Pencils et al.

Methi na dhebra / Savouries made from millet flour and fenugreek leaves

This snack was a staple at my maternal grandmother's house. I remember coming home with a box of the dough that Baa or my aunt would coax me into taking home to make dhebras for breakfast the next day.

I mainly referred to this post, but made many changes along the way to replicate the taste I remembered.

This is how I made the dhebra:

Dry ingredients

3 and 1/2 cups  millet flour (bajri no loat)
2 heaped tablespoon roasted soji (cream of wheat)
1 cup wheat flour (rotli no loat)

1 tablespoon chickpea flour (besan)

1 teaspoon ajwain (carom seeds)

1 tablespoon white sesame seeds (til)

Mix the above ingredients well in a large plate / bowl that you will use to knead the flour in.

Ingredients to be processed in a grinder:

4-5 green chillies, chopped

1-inch piece of ginger, chopped

10-15 cloves of garlic (adjust if using huge cloves)

2 tablespoons of yogurt

1 1/2 tablespoon of jaggery (Use sugar if you don't have jaggery)

1 spoon salt (adjust)

Grind the above stuff, use yogurt instead of water to adjust consistency. Spoon the jaggery carefully that may get stuck to the blades, add some yogurt if required to aid the process.

Additional ingredients

200 gm of fenugreek leaves (methi) and 50 gm coriander (kothmir), finely chopped

1 1/2 table spoon oil

Pinch of turneric, asafoetida, red chilli powder

Method

Mix the chopped fenugreek and coriander leaves and add the oil, turmeric, asafoetida, red chilli powder, and the ground paste to the flour mixture and knead as you were to knead bread dough, dusting some wheat flour in later stages. Slowly add more yogurt if required (I used a quantity equal to the yogurt that can fit the white plastic cup shown in photo 1).

My grandmother is very particular about how we knead the dough for roti (Indian bread) and her rules are: to use only the right hand, no flour should stick beyond the wrist, and no dough should remain stuck on the bowl / plate. Thanks to her constant nagging, I now manage to knead the dough to her satisfaction, see the first photo, it's just after the dough was ready, the plate is clean and so is my hand.

Dab the kneaded dough with half a spoon of oil (take oil in you palm and use your hands to dab the dough) and then cover the dough well. Let it stand at room temperature for 30 minutes. You can store this dough in a platic / steel container for two-three days in the fridge. I made the dhebras for breakfast the next day.

Preparation to fry the pancakes

On one side of the stove, begin heating oil in an iron pot or a heavy-bottomed, deep pot on medium flame.

Take a piece of thick plastic / polythene bag and spread it flat on clean kitchen platform or the rolling board. Rub a little cooking oil on the plastic.

Make equal sized balls from the dough.

On the plastic piece, flatten each ball with your palm and then tap the edges gently to make a small round pancake that is not too thin.

Once the hot is piping hot, slowly release these pancakes, 3-4 at a time.

Gently press each pancake down with a ladle (preferably a ladle with holes as shown in the photo) towards the bottom of the pan so that it will fluff up.

Fry till golden brown or crispy dark-brownish/black as you prefer. My maternal grandmother always fried the dhebras quite dark and crisp.

Remove the dhebras on a plate lined with tissue paper / napkin to soak excess oil.

Serve with garma-garam chai.

Coming up next: Fried ground-chicken dumplings / Chicken masala balls

Bel Sharbat- Aegle marmelos cooler

Last week, everyone in the family was sick turn by turn. First Aaji was down with fever, then it was Indiraben with sudden and severe stomach upset. We are not used to seeing Indiraben go silent (she talks non-stop and has an opinion on every word that reaches her ears) and sit still. Our gardener, Bhaiyyaji, happens to be her special friend - they gossip a lot over many cups of tea - and as soon as he heard that Indiraben is unwell, he ran to a neighbour's garden and got me a ripe Bel fruit for her complete with instructions on how to make the cooler: "Make it NOW and give it to her."

Pictorial: Making bel (or bael) sharbat The bael fruit is said to have medicinal properties and can bring relief for a number of small disorders from stomach upset, acidity, cold, etc. The fruit Bhaiyyaji (he had a headache today :-() got was the size of a biggish cricket ball, with a hard yellow shell which had a crack or two. I had to knock it on the kitchen platform a number of times before I could maneuver the knife and break open the Bel into two unequal pieces. The core is a fibrous, orangish mass interspersed with soft beige seeds. Once cracked open, the fruit gives an extremely delicate, soft and sweet fragrance that more than makes up for the slightly sticky fibrous core. The photo explains itself, that's how I made the bel sharbat. Add water very slowly to mash the fruit pulp. I took a glass (about 200 ml) of chilled water in all and used a little more than half of it while mashing the pulp in the strainer. Add sugar, salt and lime to taste. Best if served chilled.

Wordless Wednesday

My best friend's wedding

It's a morning of hope.
As I look back, I see her
in Jr-Kg group photo:
Two thick plaits, kohl-smeared eyes, a huge grin.

I remember the times we laughed to tears,
Her signature eccentric quips
That gave a whacky perspective
To many a life-changing things...

Tomorrow, you will be gone:
Mrs. doesn't sound as fancy as Ms.
But I know you will live it all up
In your flamboyant, who-cares style.

Remember me even as you get engrossed
in the journey ahead, let it be fruitful.
When you look back, I will always be there;
And it's only old friends who can call a spade a spade.

For S.

Freedom fighter dies at 106

Ganga Ba Patel, a freedomfighter and staunch Gandhian till the last day of her 106 years, died at 6.30 am on Sunday.

Ganga Ba was close to my mother's family. "I have never seen her in anything but white khadi clothes. Nor do I remember seeing her wearing any ornaments, not even a bindi. And she was always a skinny woman, never have I ever seen her put on weight. She walked a lot, always walked to our house, even till recently. She ate extremely simple food, without any spices. At her house, we were always served buttermilk, milk, rotlo* and such stuff. Whenever we went to her house, she was always busy doing physical work, be it milking cows, cleaning up the yard. Afterwards, when age made this difficult, she was always alert and supervising the household chores", says Miki Desai, my maternal uncle.

Gangaba's husband and my grandfather were close friends. When her husband was jailed, Ganga Ba's interaction with the Desai family grew and she soon became an integral part of the extended family. She also grew very close to grandfather's mother, Hari Ba.

"She was the 'grand old lady' who could tell anybody anything. She called my father by his name, Chandu. She could tell any man what she wanted to, be it my father, my uncle, us when we grew up. She could call us and ask us to shut up, or do this instead of that. She spoke a lot about women, how important it is for them to be strong and independent," says Miki, his recollection of the strong woman taking him back to his ancestral home and people in Nadiad.

Baba and my uncle had gone to meet Ganga Ba at her residence around March 2010. Ganga Ba had stopped walking her usual long distances, but was as alert as ever. "She had a very mischievous smile and was in perfect control over the household," remembers my father about the last meeting. Before this, they had met Ganga Ba about five years ago at the funeral of a grandmother from the extended family. At 100, Ganga Ba had walked about half a mile to attend the ceremony, talked with everyone concerned in an astute, attentive way.

I do not have any memory of meeting her. But would love to believe I have met her. As a child playing somewhere with dozens of cousins in the sprawling backyard, running about without a care, only to be caught in the spindly hands of an old lady.

"Eyy chhokri. Koni baby chhe?"** Ganga Ba may have asked, her commanding eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Nayana ni". I would have said and run away...

Yes, I would like to believe I have met Ganga Ba.

-Gauri Gharpure

* Rotlo- Thick roasted bread made from pearl millet
** "Eyy girl, whose daughter are you?"
"Nayana's".

Year-end Post 8- Ame Amdavadi

Aapnu Amdavad!!



The city I love, the city that loves me back.

Year-end post 6

Sunshine does cheer you up. Even for a person like me, who has grown up braving the scorching, angry Amdavadi sun, sitting out right in the sunbeams on a sun-heated floor still ranks highest as one of the simple pleasures of life. As this morning unfolds, I ask myself several questions. How will sun shine on me in 2011? That's the gist of all the innumerable questions that occupy me now.

There's the question of truth, how we analyse our truths and how far we are ready to go to defend them. Having always gone the extra mile to be with what I have believed in, 2011 should definitely be fun on the truth (and all such things) front.

Next comes the question of trust. Should you continue to nurture the innate trust in human goodness that you were born with or should you let the brutality of the real world shake your faith? Will I be able to trust that stranger who smiles at me for no particular reason as he crosses the road? Will I smile back? Will 2011 make me conscious, cautious and thrifty with my smiles? Moving on in the same dimension, comes the question of finding trust in the people around you. Mind you, out of the many acquaintances you may have, only some are friends and out of those friends, only a select few are around forever. Is it worthwhile trusting outside this circle of people? But then again, life puts certain conditions under which trusting is the only option. In 2011, will my equation with trust change?

And the question that frightens me the most.

Will I change in 2011?

...

Year-end post 3

After Sundervan, I head to best buddy's. Christmas baking. For all the times I have drooled on food blogs, this is ironically the first I am trying to bake something. And today was mostly "assistantship" so to say. She had some strange lime cake in mind and we have managed to put together something that looks very very tempting in batter form. Everything ready and we discover the oven is out of order. BB's going to her neighbour's place to use their oven. Yours truly is using up the time to freeze the memory of her first baking.

I guess the party's already on...



Photo added on Jan 2, 2011

Year-end post 2

After more than a decade, I go to Sundervan. Friend's out shopping and I have to while away some time. Pani puri would just take five minutes. On a whim, I decide to go inside the park where my parents took me on innumerable evenings. There's something special about reliving childhood.

You grow old, but age in itself remains constant. The traits of being young and foolish are universal. As I see two-year olds running about without shoes, pinching each other to tears and swinging on swings as if to touch the sky, I know I left nothing behind, everything is the same. May be in the years to come I will live each moment that I lost to the past. May be, some day when I become a mother, I will become a child again. May be...

But for now, there's the heady lure of youth waiting for me. And as this year ends, I promise myself I will stay truthful to my youth.

Let the party begin...

Collage made and added on Jan 2, 2011

Wordless Wednesday

Look who came calling?

A peahen lays eggs on our terrace or in the vicinity of our house each year. There's a lot of excitement when the eggs hatch and chicks jump down*. Thus begins the first adventure of their life: to jump across our boundary wall and into the fields. This time, we saw three chicks.

Two chicks were stuck in a plot behind us and could find no way to escape. The neighbours gingerly caught them in a bucket and we released them in the fields adjacent to our house. The third, perhaps the youngest and the weakest, stayed behind, hidden somewhere. After a while, Baba heard its persistent calls in our garden.

"Mama, where are you?"

The peahen came back for this chick. She was constantly flying up to the wall and was urging the baby to climb one of the plants and jump out.

"Mama's here... Yippeee"

She then guided the chick to the other side, where there are more plants. From here, her baby could jump out easily.

"I will be a good boy now, promise!"

After about 15 minutes or so, we stopped hearing the baby's chirps and the mother's beckoning "quack quack". The chick had jumped outside and started a new life with its two siblings.

* Unlike chicks of other birds that have to be fed and raised for a month or two before they are able to exist independently, peacock chicks are nidifugous and leave nest minutes after hatching.

Happy Dussera...

After so many years, I am celebrating Dussera the Gujju way, with fafda and jalebi for breakfast. You have no idea how much I have missed these, and the delicious grated raw papaya chatni and fried green chillies that go with these deep-fried snacks..

Fafda, jalebi, cholafali ane papaya ni chatni

And then, my faithful two-wheeler got all the credit that's due to it on this day.


Am so used to zooming off on this, trying to drive a car seems cumbersome. After two paid driving lessons for a fortnight each, it's high time I start driving. But that would be unfair to my Activa...

***

So, how did you celebrate today? Happy Dussera!

A party for four

I had planned a homely little party for four.

For starters I made potato-cheese balls shown on a Marathi cookery show called 'Aamhi Saare Khavayye'. I also deep-fried baby corns in the same pepper-cornflour batter used for potato wada. Strawberry jam squeezed on Monaco biscuits topped with cheese gave a namkin* touch.

For the main course was Khoya mutter, with khoya made from milk-powder in microwave. Thank you Sangeeta for this quick, hygienic and delicious trick. On the side were butter corn and onion-mushrooms. Yellow and red capsicums, which I used for the first time, added a brilliant dash of colour to these items.

For the dessert, I made mango ice cream using this super-easy recipe given on Homecooked .



*Namkin = Sweet-sour-salty snacks
* Khoya= Granule-like remain after milk is boiled at length and finally evaporated. Used in a majority of Indian sweets
* Mutter= Green peas

Ganesh Chaturthi 2010 and delicious Olan

Today is Ganesh Chaturthi and I bow down to Ganapati with all humility and hope. My grandmother decorates the little family idols very aesthetically each day, but special occasions call for special tribute.



Ganesha is also called Vighnaharta or Vighneshwar, the one who removes obstacles. Vighna means obstacles in Sanskrit. He is prayed first before starting an important task, be it laying the foundation stone of a house, starting a business or anything ambitious that needs the grace of God.



God has not disappointed me thus far. In spite of the many obstacles, there's this faith that things will eventually be fine and they have. So, as we embark on a series of festivities and auspicious dates from today, I resolve to maintain my enthusiasm and faith in the time to come. Ganesha, continue to protect me, my family and my loved ones.



Ganapati is also the official foodie of all Gods, so the huge tummy. Therefore the name Lambodar... Talking about food, I made Olan today, following Maiji's recipe given in a beautifully written nostalgic post. The 82-year-old is a very active blogger and you must read her blog Memories and Musings - Life in Pondicherry. (You may want to read an article on other senior citizens who are active bloggers in this article. I wrote it almost a year back)

Olan is a popular dish made in Kerala with pumpkin, coconut milk, green chillies and curry leaves being the main ingredients. Add potatoes and green beans to enhance the flavour.



I made a few changes in Maiji's recipe though. I started with a tadka of jeera*, hing*, curry leaves and one slit green chilli in ghee*. Then I added potato, sauted it for 1-2 minutes and added about 2-3 cups of water. After five minutes, I added long beans and followed the recipe till the end. We usually grind green chillies in a mixer with salt and lemon juice and use this paste in all dishes.. In addition to the slit green chilli in the tadka, I used about 2-3 spoonfuls of this paste in the Olan I prepared, for the coconut milk, pumpkin and potatoes give the dish a slightly sweetish bend. Adjust according to taste.

I surfed several Olan recipes online and none mention the tadka, instead, all call for pouring 2-3 spoonfuls of coconut oil towards the end. But, even if the tadka version may not be authentic, I assure you it turns out every bit as delicious.



* Jeera= cumin, Hing = Asafoetida and Ghee = clarified butter.

** Do not use photos without permission.

Divaso judaai na- Gani Dahiwala- A translation

Gani Dahiwala, born August 17, 1908 was a Gujarati poet with numerous soulful gazals to his credit. I heard this particular gazal being hummed by my father when quite a child. Baba even met Mr. Dahiwala at his residence in Surat sometime in the early 70s (Dahiwala died on March 5, 1987). Recently, the lines from Divaso judaai naa were quoted by a friend on a social-networking site. Years show things in different, if not better, light and now I could appreciate the melancholy of the song much better. What's more, on You Tube, I found it sung by Md. Rafi...



It has been immensely challenging to even attempt a translation and I have been putting away the idea for a good few months now. Last evening, though, things started moving and today, I have here with me an English translation. It is not literal, and it is in a way in which the words make meaning to me.

The stanza "Tame raank na chho ratan..." was particularly hard. I asked my father for help but I could not relate to his interpretation and so, here it is in the form that makes sense to me.

This translation is a super-micro effort to make Gujarati poets / works more accessible on the net. It was disappointing that there aren't many online archives to document Gujarati poets and authors. This observation, though, I admit, is limited to the Google search I did for Dhoomketu, Gani Dahiwala and Kavi Kalapi... But I take the risk of assuming that yes, database on Gujarati works is limited — translations rarer.

Here goes the translation:

Divso judaai na jaye chhe
Ae jashe jaroor Milan sudhi
Maro haath jhali ne lai jashe
Muj Shatruo j swajan sudhi


I am certain the days of separation will lead to union;
With my hand in theirs, my enemies will lead me to my loved ones...

Na dhara sudhi na gagan sudhi
Na unnati na patan sudhi
Fakt aapne to jau hatu
Ek mek na man sudhi...


I didn’t aim for the earth or the sky,
Nor did I want to witness the abyss that comes after a pinnacle.
All I wanted was for us to know each other’s hearts.


Tame raank na chho ratan samaa
na malo ey aansuo dhool ma
Jo araj kabool ho aatli
to hriday thi jaao nayan sudhi


You are like a jewel desired by the destitute, (so) those tears of disappointment are vain...
If only you could accept this little request, try knowing first by the heart and then with eyes...

Tame raaj rani na cheer sam
Ame rank naar ni chundi,
Tame raho tan par ghadi be ghadi
Ame saath daiye kafan sudhi...


You are like the attire of a queen, I am the rags worn by a tramp.
You stay on the body but momentarily, I accompany till the grave.


Jyare hriday ni aag wadhi Gani,
Khud Ishware j kripa kari
Koi shwas bandh kari gayu
Ke pavan na jaye agan sudhi...


When it became too unbearable, God himself came to my rescue,
Someone cut off my life breath, or no one’s stoking my desires any more...


Translated by Gauri Gharpure, July 28, 2010

If you like this, also read and listen to my English translation of Bela Bose by Anjan Dutt

Meet Yahoo

Uttarayan 2010

I keep reading Ahmedabad newspapers often and today being Uttarayan, I had to see the paper, with all those photos of families gathered on terraces, colourful kites, the talks of bor, sherdi and undhiyu...

I have come across an excellent article in the TOI's issue dated January 12, 2010. It's about an 86-year-old Ahmedabad-resident Homi Pestonji Ghadiyali who has flown kites every day, for most of his lifetime... The story has been written by Yogesh Chawda and the e-paper dated Jan 12 also has a very endearing photo of the octagenarian.

Read this story here.

Important dates

From September onwards, till the end of the year, my days often pass in a restless gloom punctuated with reasons for celebration.
In India, come September and a series of festivals start. So, in general you are engrossed in a festive atmosphere.

For me, its my birthday that kickstarts the month. This year, towards the end, I finished a year of my first full-time job and was feeling pretty happy with myself, and grateful.

October is a breeze, but just towards the end of the month, I start missing my grandfather. On 26th, he would have been 87.

Bhau was a jolly fellow with love for good food and piping-hot dalwadas. He adored me with a very open bias. Anything was allowed for me, and his swiftest solution to aaji's complaints that I don't study as much I should was to 'take a year off'. Better still, he would say let her fail once. I was humiliated in front of my whole class when I failed in all possible subjects and from then on, I was stunned into being serious. So, it's good to fail, he would say.

And then, he had told me once, "I am going to live till 100. Even after that, I will become a ghost and meet you." That 100 bit always pinches me the most.

November is extremely uneasy. In the first week falls a date I remember in spite wanting to wipe it off from my mind. Towards the end of the month is a date that struck our family real hard.

December offers hope. Promises a new year that would be better, gentler. And in that hope, I have spent a wonderful decade in which God more than made up for everything.

Hooch killed him eventually

I remember the tired man

with a cycle cart.

He took us four-year-olds

On a joyride round and round

on days when he was sobre.

On days he was high on hooch*

He used to swear and make a scene

And snatch her home at odd times.

As hundreds die in my city

I remember him, long dead now;

He didn't die in a mass tragedy, no

But hooch killed him eventually.

*Hooch: Country-made liquor / spurious liquor.

Ahmedabad death toll crosses 100: Read article