Three-Stone stoves of life....

My blogger friend Harekrishnaji, visits all kinds of nice eating places across various towns, from 5-star buffets to places where they organically cook native food of my state. This is his depiction of some fragrant rice cooking on a typical 3-stone stove, fired by wood.

While folks cook this way on camping trips and stuff, for some people across the country, this is the only way they know, because its their only source of fuel.......

The original poem was in Marathi. As usual, the English effort follows.


आयुष्याच्या चुलीचे तीन दगड,
आईवडील,
सासूसासरे ,
आणि नवरा ;
कधी चटके, कधी धूर ,
कधी फोडणीची तडतड ,
कधी आनंदाने उकळणारी आमटी,
एखादं भाजणार बोट ,
शिजणार्या आंबेमोहोर चा सुवास,
चुलीत शिजणारे छोटे छोटे बटाटे ,
कधीतरी एखादं जळक लाकूड ढकलावं लागत ,
कधी कधी मोठा ज्वाळ होतो ,
कधी तर फुंकणीने
कुणाच्यातरी हातावर फुंकर घालावी लागते,
अगदी डोळे पाणावतात ,
आणि जेव्हा ती
कौतुकाने आपल्या मुलांना
गरम भाकर्या करून वाढते
तेव्हा
चुलीचे तिन्ही दगड
दीर्घ श्वास घेउन,
ज्वालांना गप्प करून
हळू हळू सुखावून
शांत होतात

A raging Fire
amidst
the
3 Rocks and Stones
of Life:
her in-laws,
her parents,
and
the husband........

A few burns, some smoke,
perhaps
a sizzling
hot dressing;
maybe
a curry boiling in glee,
suddenly
a finger singes,
as the
Ambemohur rice cooks,
and
small baby potatoes
bake and brown
amidst the stones.

Sometimes
a need
to shove in
a length of burning wood,
occasionally
a sudden conflagration
in burning gold,
and someone
quietly bends,
and blows
air,
on a hurting hand,
amidst the watering eyes.....


She turns back,
to
make fresh bhakris,
hot off the gridle,
for her kids....


With a deep sigh
the fire relaxes,
and
the three rocks
nod in appreciation,
as the
little ones
polish away their plates...