The coming of age of Anarsa.....

My blog and FB friend , Shruti Nargundkar of Melbourne, writes a wonderful post recalling her childhood Divali celebrations, and preparation of some Maharashtrian traditional foods like "Anarse" by her mother and grandmother.

Please read her post "The Chest of Hope" ,  to know more.    As well as the recipe for Anarsas. Made from rice powder, suitably fermented with sugar /jaggery, as Shruti says  "These anarsas/delectable morsels taste earthy yet intriguing due to the rice wine like flavour!"

Naturally, this inspired a poem on Marathi about the "wedding of Tandula"....(Tandul is marathi for rice) and her state of mind just before the big day.  An English version also happened. 

कार्तिकात ठरलेला विवाह , कौतुकात भावंडात रमलेली तांदुळा , आणि आजकाल मनाची होणारी घालमेल .... स्वच्छ तोंड धुतले तरी सतत वाहणार्या गंगा जमुना आणि आईने पुन्हा पुन्हा तिचा चेहरा धूउन काळजीने फिरवलेला हात . बाल मैत्रीण गुळा ने येउन एकजीव होउन घातलेली समजूत, आणि दोघींनी लपून केलेले चार दिवसाचे हितगुज. वयात आलेली तांदुळा , सुखाने विवाहास राजी झाली . पिकलेल्या केळाबाईन्चे ऐकले , आणि त्यांना आनंदाने जाउन मिळाली . शुभ मुहूर्तावर सोनेरी शालू चापून चोपून नेसून बोहल्यावर चढली , आणि खसखशीच्या अक्षता झेलत सौ. अनरसा फराळे झाली ........

Tandula, giddy in anticipation of a wedding in the November Kartik Days blessed with a festival of lights, suddenly apprehensive of leaving home fussed over amidst brothers and sisters. And the tears of separation flow unchecked, as her mother washes and wipes her face again and again. Her best friend, Jaggery closeted herself with her and spent four days setting her mind at rest. Tandula, coming of age, now ready for the Big Day. Cooperating with Lady Banana, drenched in the pulp, she appears in a golden silk saree, draped in slick style, as she faces the moment. A confetti of poppy seeds, a dip and anointing with hot ghee and the Tandula of yore emerges as Ms Anarsa Faraley, ready to enjoy Divali.

Tea generations ....

There is something comforting, about pouring yourself  a decent cup of brewed tea in a verandah, just coming to terms with the arriving sunrays on a reflecting glass table. 

And unlike dainty bone china matching sets  with a dainty tinkle, this tea is all about brewing in an old silver/pewter teapot handed down from your folks,  a sugar pot that bears an inscribed date of significance etched on the steel, and a huge tough  sensible tea cup, the likes of which a kid might use to have his cornflakes  in a hurry. 

My friend Sangeeta Khanna obviously enjoys her tea like this on these cold mornings in new Delhi, as she enjoys her garden from the window .....


(photo by Sangeeta Khanna )

The chubby ceramic
young one,
freshly awake
glinting in the
early morning Sun.

You need
to be made of steel,
as a parent
dispensing sweetness in dollops,
as you straddle two generations,

One,
indulgently disseminating
warm spiced flowing love
from its warm silver heart,
to the modern grandkid
who is
thrilled to bits
but all ears,
as it asks for
that one extra spoonful
of sugar ,
from its Ma.

Good Morning !

Ode to the Bhindi ! भेंडीची गोष्ट

Times have changed. Folks actually are going back to old tried and tested , simple recipes .

Like simple Bhindi(Okra) sabji, made in stirfry fashion , sometimes with onions and/or potatoes, , with sprinklings of salt, chilly powder, maybe cumin powder.

My blogger friend Shruti Nargundkar, of Melbourne,  posted a delicious capture of Bhindi sabji in her FB group Sikandalous Cuisine. As she mentions "For some, this is the only vegetable they eat apart from potato (is potato a vegetable?)  ....  Others hate it with a passion!   Goes well with rice or rotis, with dal, sambar, rasam or kadhi!"

This vegetable is sold at $12 a kilo in Melbourne!

I thought it deserved an Ode . In  Marathi and English.....

(photo by Shruti Nargundkar)

बाळबोध, साध्या, दोन्ही खांद्या वरून व खोपा घातलेल्या डोक्यावरून हिरव्या साडीचा पदर लपेटून, बायकांच्या गोतावळ्यात फिरणार्या , एक खूप हळव्या आजी . कधी मनात छोटे विचार येतात कधी लंबे लंबे विचार तंग करतात , पण आयुष्यात कढइवाले गरमीचे दिवस आले कि खरच मसाला भरभरून रडू येत . बिया सुद्धा जवळ रहात नाहीत , आणि चक्क साडीभर बुट्ट्यानसारख्या सैर भैर होतात . थोडा आंबट जवळ काही असलं तर बरं वाटतं, रडारड कमी होते .... समाधान एव्हडेच , कि कठीण दिवसात कांदा भौजी , आणि बटाटा भौजी नेहमीच साथ देतात, आणि हल्डीबाई, हिंगोबा, मिर्चीमाव्शी आणि नारळरावांनी आजपर्यंत तरी नेहमीच साथ दिली आहे . शेवटी, आपलं आयुष्य भाकरीच्या तुकड्यावर अवलंबून असतं न ?

An innocent softhearted green grandma, hair in a simple khopa bun, wraps her green saree majorly around her head and shoulders, as she hangs out with her folks thinking of her life. Sometimes small thoughts, and sometimes, some long worrying ones; the trouble is, that she weeps into the masala in the heat of a kadhai moment, and even the seeds go haywire like the design dots on her green sari.... Of course, having someone sour and strong around always works at controlling the tears; And she is grateful, to Monsieurs Onion and Potato, not to mention, the loyal ladies, Turmerica, Asofoetida, and Jalapena, who with the Coconut chaps have always stood by in support. At the end of the day, you are only good, till the Bhakri piece wraps you up and goes away, isnt it!

The case of the magical Doodhi .....

In a world where eating out is acceptable and even routine, you will never find this proletarian, light vegetable being served in restaurants. Bottle Gourd, or Lauki/Doodhi, as it is called in various parts on India, and my blogger friend Shruti Nargundkar of Melbourne writes a wonderful blogpost  ,  describing this vegetable preparation of her childhood.

 Which incidentally is exactly the way it was made in my childhood and still is.

It probably will not make it to Masterchef anywhere (India, Australia and so on);  but no amount of fancy "plating", presentations, and secret ingredients can beat a simple doodhi sabji with chana dal and peanuts, garnished with coriander and shredded coconut, and eaten with a piping hot phulka, which sheds its tears of happiness as melted golden ghee.....

(Photo by Shruti Nargundkar)

The paneerized Mercedes man
zipping
rough shod
on smooth table tops,
changing gears
on sighting
tandoorized chicken
spicily grooving amidst
red sizzling
tamasi forests,
moves on
to emerge
out of the ghat tunnel
and takes the Right Turn.

An old cottage,
an older Mom,
an even older lap
to lay his tired head on,
and he stops,
switches off, and
lunches on
hot phulkas with
Chanadal Doodhi Bhaji,
with a glass of chhaas,
watched indulgently by the
approving Kothimbir,
and Mirchi ladies
and dashing Kadhipatta,
who helped with it all.

Yes, they serve best
who only stand and wait.....