Ballad of the Kanda Kairi

A summer relish made out of raw mango and onion. Returning from morning school on hot afternoons in the plains, to enjoy this amazing preparation, its recipe and sense of lipsmacking wonder indicated so well by my friend Shruti Nargundkar of Melbourne , in her post ,"The Summer of our Content".

The recipe I follow has the same ingredients, but is not as homogeneous in appearance, since one uses grated raw mango(kairi) and slivers of onions, often ornamented by stiffly hot kadhipatta leaves and halfburnt fenugreek seeds.

Nevertheless, this remains a star side preparation, to be had at lunch, a ceiling fan groaning overhead, followed by cool spiced buttermilk, a glass of matka water , and a lingering taste in the mouth, that transforms into dreams on a somnolent summer afternoon...

Just a peek into the tumultuous life of the Kairi....... original in Marathi, an afterthought in English...

 (photo by Shruti Nargundkar)
लहानपणापासून तिला वाटे
आपण नाटक सिनेमात काम कराव ......
तिच्या जन्माच्या वेळी, आम्राईभर आलेला
सुगंधीत मोहोर,
तिचे डोळेभरून झालेले बालपणीचे कौतुक,
मोठेपणी
थोड्या पिवळसर लालसर छटा दिसायच्या आत  ,
सात च्या आत घरात चा नियम .
आणि मग एकदिवस
बाजारात पळून जाणे,
एका आजीबाईनी  आश्रय देणे,
आणि शाळेत जाणार्या काही मुलींनी तिच्याकडे
अधाशीपणाने बघणे. 
एवढे  सर्व तर सनेमा सारखेच ....

पण आजकाल एका सिनेमात अनेक नटनट्या  असतात .

रणरणत्या माळरानावरच्या  कडक उन्हात
अचानक अवतीर्ण झालेले कांदा सिंग ,
त्यांचे नाच्या पाठीराखे
तापलेले, घासून पुसून  स्वच्छ  भुईमुगराव दाणे,
घाबरत मागे आलेल्या  जीराबाई ,
आणि   कैरी च्या पाठीमागे भक्कम पणे उभ राहून
"भिउ नकोस, तुला सावरायला मी आहे न .."
असं म्हणून सगळ्यात पडणारे मोठे गूळभौजी....

शेवटचा सीन ,
सगळे एकत्र फिरतात,
एकमेकात इतके गुंततात ,
स्वतहाला विसरतात.
गुंडांनी गरम तेलात मोहर्या उडवल्या , त्याच्यावर टाकल्या
तरी फक्त एक मंद चर्रर्र ......

आणि मग
भाकरीबुआ पापुद्रे येतात,
गवारीबाई, हिरव्या शालूत  ओव्याचे अत्तर शिंपडून
हझर  होतात,
दही आणि  भात एकत्रच यीऊन पोचतात ,
आणि
पोक्त वरण राव
मन घट्ट  करून बसलेल्या लोण्याकडे बघून
म्हणतात ,
"काय हो, लोक म्हणतात
कांदा सिंग आणि कैरीबाई
यांच्यात काहीतरी  चालू आहे....
खरं कि काय ?...."

She always wanted
to be
in Films....

Her birth celebrations
amidst fragrant
mango blossoms,
an indulgent protected childhood,
and strict timings and rules of life
as she came of age....

And one day, she took off
into the market,
only to be rescued
by a old vegetable seller grandma.

Watched greedily
by school kids,
as she transferred
from basket to house.

Almost like a movie, this.

But this is a age of multistarrers....

And so Hero Kanda Singh
suddenly appeared on the burning plains,
accompanied
by his Monkeynut sidekick;
an apprehensive Jeerabai,
worriedly following behind,
and Lord Jaggery,
sensing Kairi's  discomfiture
and saying,
"Fear not, and proceed;
remember, I am there to support you !"

The last Climax scene.

A massive mingling
and becoming one
of all the characters,
so much, that
there is barely a squeak,
and just a hiss,
as some
hot oil with crackling mustard
is poured over them all....

Which brings on the watchers,
Bhakribua "layer" Papudre,
Lady Cluster bean,
with Ajwain perfume
on  green silk,
and
the Curd-Rice folks hand in hand.

The thick and portly
Dal representative,
looks at the White Butter Man,
sitting desolately,
trying not to dissolve,
and clearing
his Hinged salty  throat
asks ,
" Tell me,
everyone says,
there is something
going on
between
Kanda Singh and Kairibai....
Is it true ??...."

Onion Man

“You're so wrapped up in layers, onion boy, you're afraid of your own feelings!”

                                                                                                - Shrek
 
Not so , our man , Sakharam.....

 For everyone  who captures  nature, ethereal creations in life, and the magic of the Sun and Moon,  there is my blogfriend Slogan Murugan, aka M S. Gopal, who loves to capture the nitty gritty of a Mumbai Life, and vignettes of people who make the city run. One such , is the  Kanda-Batatawalla , who looks like a wholeseller, and has temporarily downed shutters on a hot afternoon, to rest amidst the onionical coolness. 

Most such, today are a story of fields sold off, family left behind, and a troubled stoic immigration into an unforgiving  city.

Amidst it all, he dreams.

Lives,
stirred in uncertainity
fried in the
suffocating heat,
recalling
fields,
once green,
with her coming by
with bhakri and chatni
for his lunch,
as he washed his hands
at the hand pump.

Fate today,
has washed its hands off,
he slogs far away
in a town,
in a dingy room,
powerless,
but
with a huge supply of
potential tears,
a great medium
for Stir-fries....

He catches a
shuteye,
crowded in mind,
his bandi
turned up over his nose,
some think,
to keep the
onion smell away,
but its actually
so he can dream,
of the bhakri and the chillies
and the tinkle
of her green bangles,
by the side
of a field,
that was,
but no longer,
is.

Golden memories

Scribbler stood Wordless on a Wednesday in Ganpatipule on the beach.

I had to write, once in Marathi and then in English.

(photo by Nupur Phatak)
एका उभ्या आयुष्याच्या
शेवट बघत
ओहोटीच्या लाटांवर दूर
तरंगणार्या अस्थी,
आठ्वणीन्च्या वाळूत
रुतलेले भरलेले मन….
सूर्यास्ताच्या थंड वार्यात
पदर लपेटून ,
मावळत्या सूर्याच्या साक्षीने
ती परत निघते ;
अग, डोळे पूस ,
उदय आणि अस्त
हे होतच राहणार,
पण
ह्या समुद्रावर आलेल्या तेजा समान
कुणा एकाच्या
आयुष्याचं
अगदी सोनं झला ग….

Bidding goodbye
to a life,
the ashes strewn
into the
ebbing ocean waves,
her mind
is loaded
like wet sand
where memories
like crabs
make inroads
and
house themselves
snugly.....

A cold cutting breeze
in the light
of a setting sun,
and
and
she wraps
her sari
around her shoulders,
and turns to leave.

Don't weep, child,
for in every life
there is a rising
and a setting,
and the golden glow
of that wonderful life
was
no different
than this
golden panorama
that enhances
this ocean....