The Fall Sense

My friend Poornima Bhilegaonkar , recently posted this photograph of Fall foliage /colors in the North Carolina Mountains, in the US.  She works in IT, and blogs  at The Balancing Act.  She is also a poet .   You can read her poetry  here .

For someone like me , staying in a tropical climate ,  the only change of leaf colors I see, is when new leaves appear on Mango trees and display a wonderful translucent copper shade , before slowly becoming the mainstream green.

In colder climes, winter days are shorter, there isn't enough chlorophyll, because there isn't enough daylight, and when resources are short the population suffers.

But then again, there are some trees that remain green yet.  And I wondered what the veterans of Fall colors would be thinking......

(photo by Poornima Bhilegaonkar)

दोन भारदस्त आजी वृक्ष , वयोपरत्वे थोडं वाकलेले आणि अंगातल्या क्लोरोफ़िल्च्या कमतरतेचे परिणाम भोगत हळहळत… " आयुष्यात ऋतू प्रमाणे चांगले वाईट दिवस असतात , आणि त्यांना तोंड देण्यात शरीर आणि मन खूप काही शिकून जातं . कधी कधी रंग बदलावे लागतात , पण निष्ठा नाही , कधी कधी काही लोकं ऋतू बदलला कि सोडून जातात, पण आपण विश्वास घालवायचा नसतो, आणि क्लोरोफिल वैर्याची रात्र लांब असते , आणि तरी सुधा पान गळीमुळे आपल्याला बाहेरचा सगळं सूर्य किरणात स्वछ दिसतं…. आता तू पिवळी आणि मी लाल , दर वर्षीचा हा खडतर प्रवास , ह्या कायम हिरव्या राहणार्या वृक्षांना आयुष्याच हे गुपित कसं समजणार ?"

Two wise and stately Grandmother Trees a bit bent in age , and conversing, philosophizing, ruing the loss of their chlorophylls..... "You know, there are seasons in life, both Good and Bad. And facing them trains both your Body and Mind. You sometimes need to change color, but never your basic loyalties; Some folks leave you when the season changes, but you learn, never to lose faith. The Chlorophyl-less night is long and difficult, but the fall of leaves, often opens your eyes to the clear world around you basking in the mild sunlight. For us both, in our red and yellow days, this is a routine but tough yearly life event. I just wonder how these perenially green types ever learn  about Life ...? "

The Making of Ghewar ... (and no, it is not a movie starring Bachchan )

If there was ever to be a category of a theoretical food person, I think I would qualify.  I keep seeing amazing photographs of amazing yummy things made by amazing friends, only to be intimidated by the procedures involved.

Being more of a food imbiber and taster than a cook, the only good thing is, that  I end up  creating the recipes in verse form.  For someone else to follow.

This activity has been immeasurably helped by various friends on our FB group Angat Pangat: Rediscovering Traditional Maharashtrian Cuisine, putting up brilliant photos of their preparations, more so now, since we are into the festival season. 

This photograph of the making of Ghewar, a traditional  sweet, possibly a ghee millionaire,  and its subsequent ornamentation by waves of  shrikhand  was posted by my friend Preeti Deo.  Ghewar is a traditional Rajasthani Sweet, made popular in various parts of Maharashtra by the large Marwari population domiciled there .

I researched the recipe on the Net .  And the poem happened. in both Marathi and English.   

Those not wishing to imbibe the calories, may look at the picture, read and drool.   

कार्तिकातली रम्य पहाट , घरात पणत्यांची , निरांजानांची आणि पूजेची मंद दरवळ, आणि रात्री घासून ओट्यावर आडवे पडलेले एक चकाक्क्णारे ताम्हन , दागिन्यांची कारागिरी बघत थक्क होउन कौतुकाने 'प्रीती'पूर्ण कटाक्ष फेकत राहते … एका हट्टी तुपाची, दादा पुता करून, पळी पळी ने दुधाने काढलेली समजूत, गरम डोकी शांत करायला त्यात भीत भीत पडलेले बर्फाचे पाणी , आणि दोघांनी मिळून मैदबाईनच्या सल्ल्याप्रमाणे , सामुदायिकपणे पणे आणि तरीसुद्धा आपापल्या परीने प्रयत्न सुरु ठेउन , सर्व अडथळे दूर करून, मार्ग सुकर करण्याची केलेली अगदी ढवळून निघेपर्यंत केलेली धडपड आणि क्रोधाग्नी शांत झाल्याने थोड्याश्या केशराच्या शिडकाव्यात शांत बसलेले मिश्रण नेहमी प्रमाणे, आपल्या खास पद्धती अनुसार साखर मंडळींची बघ्यांची भूमिका, नाईलाजाने त्यांनी शेवटी केलेलं पाण्याबरोबर पातेल्यात पदार्पण, आणि "आता पुरे , ज्यास्त चिकट्पणा आपल्याला शोभा देत नाही ", असा पाण्याने म्हणून, त्यांचे एका पातेल्यात पाकरुपी स्वस्थ बस्णे. उच्च विचार्सरणीच्या पातेल्यात आजकालच्या टावर बांधकामाच्या पद्धतीला अनुसरून, त्यात वरच्या मजल्यापर्यंत राहायला गेलेलं उकळते तूप , लिफ़्ट गरम झाल्यामुळे निकामी, आणि पळ्या पळ्या मिश्रणा ने नाईलाजाने खूप उंचावरून त्या तुपात केलेली धारदार एन्ट्री ; सुरवातीला खळबळ, मग असंख्य दिलाचे तुकडे , आणि मग सर्व तुकड्यांनी , परत परत धारेत पडणार्या मिश्रणाचे एकत्र केलेले सुंदर नक्षीदार स्वागत. एक सोनेरी जाळीदार कलाकुसर, नवीन जगात येण्याच्या तयारीत , "घे वर, घे वर " अशी तिने प्रीतीला मारल्रली आर्त हाक , तुपात व्यवस्थित पोहणारा , पण आता पोहून पोहून दमलेल्या दागिन्याला प्रीतीने दिलेला उलथ्ण्याच्या दांड्याचा आधार, आणि मग एका सफेद कागदी चादरीवर केलेला आराम . पाक चकाकून अधाश्या सारखा बघतच राहतो . घेवर आलेली आणि गेलेली सुद्धा त्याला कळत नाही। आणि एका सुंदर बशीमध्ये , घेवर श्रीखंडाला बघते, खुदकन हस्ते आणि म्हणते, "इश्श , काय हे , ते ताम्हन बघेल न …"

A cool twinkling winter night in the month of Kartik, a house quietly redolent with fragrances of lamps and worship, and a tamhan *** spic and span after use, lies awake on the kitchen counter observing some amazing kitchen ornamenting. A strong willed, solid stubborn ghee, being desperately wooed patiently by spoonfuls of milk, and iced water rushing in to help cool the hot heads. Much careful stirring, thoughtful mixing, and cooling of tempers, advised by Maidabai, with much expertise of being one with all, and the angry mixture, sits quiet on the counter top after a last sprinkle of a peaceful cooling  saffron. As Usual, the Sugar folks, unconcerned observers all, being dragged into performing by much heated disgusted water folks, and then reminded about sitting quiet and dissolved before becoming too sticky. The Patelas, simple thinking and high living, in keeping with the architectural tower concept, allow ghee residents almost half the way up, scorching the elevators, and forcing the mixture to fall from great heights in a slim stream into the agitated ghee. The perturbed ghee, in a golden sunburst bringing the mixture together in a fine filigree , a welcome for the best season of the year. " Me ghee war, me ghee war" an exultation from the fine sculptured one, and Preeti lends a rod in support to one who emerges, golden , tired but beautiful from the ghee on to a cool plate. The sugar syrup, stunned and under a spell, doesn't realize, that the beauteous ghewar has come taken a dip, and gone, now to rest on a beautiful plate, as a besotted Shrikhand pours his heart out. Ghewar watches , giggles a bit, and turns to the Shrikhand, to say, " Shhh. Please behave. The tamhan***  is watching...."

***tamhan = marathi for Pooja thali

Home Truths ....

My friend Preeti Deo potsed a lovely video of their tenant lady making a bhakri in the backyard  of their  house,  at Jalna , in India.  Preeti  maintains a lovely page at Ruchira Videshini  on FB , and has her own wonderful blog at ISing Cakes.

        Technology has now pervaded the domestic world of Fulkas and Bhakries  with high tech machines that spew out chapaties, mix doughs  , ring bells,  but have no eyes that sense how hungry you are or how much you are enjoying the meal.  

    

Manufactured by a company called Zimplistic, founded by Pranoti Magarkar and Rishi Israni  6 years ago, this 40 cc  Roti Machine machne weighing 39 pounds, generates 1 roti a minute . You don't have to make a dough yourself, but simply add ingredients in enclosures.   

But clearly, there is something amiss .....

Video courtesy Preeti Deo on her FB page Ruchira Videshini on Oct 19, 2015.

फुल्काबाई चपाते , ज्वारीदेवी भाकरे , यांची ठिपक्या ठिपक्यानचे बिल्ले लेउन , तूप लोण्याच्या स्वागतात बृहन महाराष्ट्र पोळपाट संमेलनात कौतुकाची हजेरी . अनेक यंत्र अथिरथि महारथींची भाषणे , बटणासरशी चमकणारे न चिकट्णारे तवे , हात न बरबटता आपली आपण मळ्णाऱ्या कणिका चंद्रासारख्या गोल पोळ्या भाकर्या , आणि तंत्रज्ञानाच्या ढुशीने घसरून ताटात पडणारी पोळी . आणि भाकरी बाई आपला पदर नीट करते, चेहर्यावर चकाकून उठणारे लोणी जर पुसते, आणि फुल्काबाई ला म्हणते, "हे सगळं ठीक आहे ग , पण कुठेही प्रेमाने तीन दगड जमवून सरपण जमवून मनातले आगत्य बोटात उत्रवत , मळ्लेल पीठ , आणि कौतुकाने शाबास्क्या देत थापलेली भाकरी, तोंडावर फिरवलेला पाण्याचा हात , अचानक ज्वालांच्या पाठिम्ब्याने आत्मविश्वासाने फुगलेली भाकरी , मग एका ताटातल्या पिठ्ल्याने , चटणीने , आणि पिघळ्णार्या लोण्याने केलेलं अपूर्व स्वागत , आणि कुणा एका आईने "सावकाश जेव हो," म्हणत वाढलेले ताक …. ह्याला एक वेगळीच गती असते , कधी संथ, कधी जरासा वेग . कधी बोटाला चटका , कधी पदराला पुसलेले हात . तंत्रज्ञानांला मन असतं ? बटणा ला जाणीव असते ? मी जर ह्या सगळ्या यंत्रांपासून दूरच राहते . आपण बरे आणि आपल्या काकू बर्या आणि चपात्यांची फुल्का , आपले फुललेले , बिन यंत्रांनी झुलायचे दिवस आठवते, आणि विचारते, "मला सांग, डिझाईनर साडीला , सासुबाईनच्या बुट्ट्याञ्च्या रेशमी पैठणीची सर कशी येणार ग ?"

Fulkabai Chapate and Jwaridevi Bhakre, adorned with dotted id tags, being welcomed by the powerful Butters and Ghees at the Brihan Maharashtra Polpat Sammelan. Speeches by Tech Geniuses, Non stick instant griddles, and lumps of dough happening without Touch of Hand! Perfectly round Chapaties and Bhakries , being shoved by a mischievous technology on to a waiting plate. And a stunned Bhakribai, adjusts her layered palloo, wipes her buttery shining face, and tells Fulkabai, "Ha ! All this is fine. But what about someone who puts three stones together, collects some burning fuel and pours her hospitality unreservedly into her fingers messing it all up into a wonderful dough ?   Then  encouragingly pats it all up into a great Bhakri, puts her to roast all over and then proceeds to wipe her with a wet palm cooling her troubles so she can roast again.   The Bhakri, now on the flames, blooming with new confidence, as she emerges away from it all, into a plate to the joy of a waiting Pithla and Chatni, as someone pours some Taak into a cool steel glass and says "Enjoy your meal !" ... There is a rhythm in it all, sometimes slow, sometimes a bit fast, perhaps a burn on a finger tip. and then a quiet wiping it all on the palloo. Does technology have a mind ? And do buttons have feelings ? Clearly, I stay away from them, happy with myself and my kaku. And Fulka , rememebers her swinging days of being hot and blooming, shakes her head and says, "Tell me, can any designer saree even come close to your mother-in-law's antique, silk Jari Butta Paithanee ?...."

An Ode to the Flying Vada Pav

The Mumbai Vada Pav is going places. Literally.  Like the Nation's Capital.

My friend Sonal Sardesai Gautam,  had the pleasure recently of enjoying a Vada Pav airlifted from right outside the Mumbai Airport , straight to her, and it was enjoyed immediately the next morning. 

This particular photographic memory caused a lot of heartburn amongst  the Capital folks and those staying across the seas,  who possibly got depressed.

I just wrote in my Ode to the Flying Vada Pav.  First in the language of Shivaji, and then, a version  in the language of the Queen.

Enjoy .....

अनेक दिवस वाट बघितली, योग्य वेळ आली न्हवती आणि पुन्हा पुन्हा स्वतःला तेलात झोकून देउन अश्रूपातात झार्यावर रेलून बाहेर येउन मिरची बरोबर आपले दुखः शेर करत , तो विमानतळाबाहेर तिष्ठत बसे . आणि मग एके दिवशी गौतामांचे अचानक येणे एका मऊ पावाच्या शेल्यात त्याचे कढई तून लाल लसून तिखटाच्या अक्षतात लाडाने गुंडाळले जाणे , "थांबा थांबा , मी आsssले" असे म्हणत एका हिरव्या शेलाट्या बांध्याच्या मिरचीचे येउन आलिंगन देणे , आणि अचानक एका थंड विमानातून दोघांचे मधुचन्द्रानिमित्त राजधानी मध्ये आगमन . दुसर्या दिवशी सकाळच्या मुहूर्तावर स्वल्प्लहरींच्या संगीतात गौतमाञ्च्या घरी आत्मसमर्पण . काही काही बटाटेवडे मंडळी झरा अतीच हौशी असतात …।

Time and again, always waiting for a moment opportune, he would fling himself into hot oil, and emerge dripping tears, supported by a slotted spoon, sharing his woes with the chillies outside Mumbai airport. And then, on the day Mr Gautam arrived, he emerged, wrapped indulgently in a breaded shawl, amidst a sprinkling of garlicky cayenne, as a shapely young Mirchi rushed in, shouting "wait, wait, I am coming with you!" and held him close. The two then on their way flying in air conditioned comfort to a honeymoon in the Nations' Capital.  The next morning, their last together, at the Gautam's, hot times in the microwave, before a destined harakiri. Sometimes, some Vada types are just a bit too enthusiastic .

The Citizen Tree ....

I grew up in a house where the garden was not very big, but whatever small space it occupied, it boasted of mango trees, a guava tree, a prajakt(parijaat) tree, jasmine bowers, mogras , a palm, and a jamun tree . Besides assorted flowers like aboli, hibiscus and so on.

 One of my childhood memories has to do with shaking the prajakta tree, and collecting the torrentially falling flowers that descended on the earth. 

My friend Arvind Khanna clicked and posted this superb photograph of a descending prajakta flower, confidently caught by the leaves and branches  of, what is possibly a lemon tree.

Some flowers are plucked from trees, but this one is different.   It is thought to be of divine origin and yet with the first ray of the sun it drops from the branches. Even then it holds the distinction of being the only one that can be picked from the earth and offered to Gods. 

There is a message in it all, for us, who have unfortunately, learned , to now emphasize differences.

Some have grown
comfortable ,
fragrant,
sometimes sour in fruit
and comfortable in
their own leaves, thorns
and branches
over the bygone years.

The real citizen tree
in a country's garden,
is one that nurtures
a sudden visitor,
offering tree-tarian support,
despite the
visible shades of saffron,
and doesn't feel
threatened
by the sudden color
in a hitherto
fuzzy
but deemed homogeneous
Garden of Life.

P. S.
Together,
these are the
Colors  of  India;
all it needs is
a visit by a blue bird.

A Bhajani Remembers भाजणीच्या आठवणी.....

गेली कितीतरी शतके ,  थालीपीठाची भाजणी दळणे , हा  महाराष्ट्रातील पारंपारिक उद्योग आहे, आणि घरा घरात , अनेक सुंदर ओव्या गात , खमंग भाजण्या तयार होते असतात .

परदेशात गेलेल्या एखादीस  अचानक थालीपीठ खावेसे वाटले , तर काय होते असेल ?

माझी मैत्रीण धनश्री बोपर्डीकर हिने ह्यावर एक हायटेक तोडगा काढला .  तिच्या किचन-एड  उभ्या मिक्सर ला तिने  धान्य दळायची अटाचमेण्ट आणून लावली,  धान्ये भाजली , आणि भाजणी तयार झाली !

मला आपला उगीच वाटल , खुद्द भजणी ल ह्या बद्दल काय वाटलं  असेल.

म्हणून एक कविता   


For centuries and more, bhajani , or a roasted grain mixture native to Maharashtrian Traditional Cuisine, has been always stone ground at home,  many times as a cooperative venture amidst much singing of songs of rural women's relevance,  handed down over generations.

When you live far away from the motherland, and get an irresistible urge to eat thalipeeth, (which is the reason bhaajani is made ) , what do you do ?

My friend Dhanashree Bopardikar who lives in the US,  simply went and got a Grain Mill Attachment for her Kitchen Aid stand mixer, roasted the grains, and ground her bhajani , in , as they say,  in a jiffy.

(Bhajani is a roasted ground mixture of jowar, bajra, wheat, mung, chana , pohe, , dhaniya and jeera ;  there are slight regional variations also.)

Very clearly, it seemed to have been a new experience for the veteran Bhajani itself.

नव्या जगात, थोड्या बावरून गेलेल्या
जोंधळे आजी ,
लगबगीने बाजरी मावशींच्या
शेजारी जातात,
आणि गहू-चणे-मुगाङ्कडे एक दृष्टीक्षेप टाकून
हुश्श करत स्वतःला थंड करत
म्हणतात ,
" आयुष्यात काय काय बघितलं हो !
खास आमच्यासाठी रचलेली गाणी
आणि
आई मावशीनकडे बघत,
त्या गाण्यांचा आस्वाद घेत
धने जीर्यांबरोबर , पोह्यांना धरून
दोन प्रारभ्दाच्या दगडांमध्ये ,
हळू हळू आयुष्यात भरडले जाणे ,
आणि पुन्हा पीठ रुपी
पुनर्जन्म अनुभवणे . "

मग हळूच येणारे लाकडी उलथने
चुकवून ,
जोंधळे आजी , बाजरी मावशीना घेउन
चुपचाप बाकी सगळ्यान बरोबर
एका चकाकणार्या भांड्यात पडतात ,
एक भाजका श्वास घेतात
आणि म्हणतात ,
" हल्लीचं आयुष धकाधकीच,
प्रत्येक गोष्टी साठी बटण ;
आणि दळ्तात इतक्या वेगात
कि आई मावशी तर दिसत नाहीतच ,
पण त्यांची गाणीही ऐकू येत नाहीत .
इतका मोठ आवाज ,
मला वाटत त्याला
"रॉक " का काहीतरी म्हणतात,
खूप वेगात संगीत,
त्यावर नाचून नाचून अगदी गरम वाटत;

पण शेवटी काय ,
भाजावे आणि पीठ रुपी उरावे …
पूर्वी गोल दगड होते आणि दांडक ,
आता संगीत "रॉक"…

इतक्या दूरदेशी आल्यावर
फिरणे चुकत नाही
आणि
इंग्रजी मध्ये का होईना , 
दगडाशी नात कस टिकून राहत न ?