Or I could call it "My damp squib Diwali and other stories..."
Ok this post is just for laughs (seriously, wink wink). Hopefully I'll laugh at it some day.
Back from mom-in-law's where we celebrated Diwali.
It was an adventure for many reasons, starting with the fact that it's a jungle out there!
No really. It started raining real hard the day before we landed.
The courtyard in the back of the house was teeming with slimy slugs and little shiny black frogs, among other things. And of course a whole lot of slippery green moss.
The loo is on the other side of the courtyard!
So all through our vacation, we were running across the uncovered courtyard to take a leak, mostly in the rain...haha. And I had to traipse carefully, avoiding slugs and trying to keep my balance on the slippery courtyard. And if Sonny Boy wanted to pee, I had to carry his highness across with me -- he refused to step on the slimy courtyard, though he loved watching the slugs and bugs.
The main source of water for the household is a well in the courtyard. Something had happened the day before (very strategic of the well, i was thinking) and the water had gone smelly. MIL insisted nothing had fallen in it (it's an open well and i didn't dare to peep in; no one wanted to consider the possibility of getting the water checked or cleaned!). She cooly told us to add some Dettol into our bathing water and supplied us with two huge bottles! For rinsing our mouth, there was stored tap water (piped corporation water comes once in four days). In Rome, do as the Romans do....
The much-loved and revered ancestral house (over 60 years old) is crumbling. And in the rains, water seeps into the walls. There's a musty smell about the house and a dankness i can't explain. The much-loved and revered house cannot be repaired or re-built because the grandfather built it! There's no running water in the kitchen and it's stayed that way all through...even now. MIL says she doesn't need it. I squirm every time she washes vegetables/greens/coriander.
Due to a small family feud (ahem ahem), I didn't have to cook for the entire khaandaan as expected -- just for the six of us, as against the expected 11 or 12.
Sonny Boy and I fell sick because of the rains, the wetness of it all, the cold... so MIL said "No curd!" We both sulked so much. :-(
Most of the holiday was spent ferrying wet clothes from the open courtyard into the kitchen and then running back again when even a ray of sunshine was visible, in the hope that the clothes would finally dry!
And in between all this was MIL's don't-touch-me madi phase in the mornings when she would cook for the Gods. So I would do a little dance as i made breakfast or tea, and remember not to bump into her and spoil her sanctity.
Oh and tea! I made lots and lots and pots of that. That's one thing MIL loves to give up whenever I'm there -- making tea. And the family drinks lots of it, over and over again. Fresh. Never from a flask, mind it! I get better and better at brewing tea every time i visit them.
The family also does not believe in vegetables! I mean it. After the first day when we ate sprouts and a side dish with greens, and the second day where there was brinjal/eggplant, there was just LOADS of fried food and dishes with oodles of besan flour. Result: Sonny Boy and I were constipated! And we both developed a throat infection :-(
Ok enough....I've been cribbing and bitching too much. But just to re-live the experiences over and over again, thinking and writing about it, lets me cut free from the cycle of that existence. And to move on with the grind back home.
Showing posts with label festival. Show all posts
Showing posts with label festival. Show all posts
Monday, November 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Festival = food, festival = nostalgia
I swear I wait for festivals to come around mostly for the food it brings with it.
I'm so outright lazy I'll never really cook any of it on my own. But honestly, I don't see the need to, because there are so many generous people around me, piling on the gorgeous fried and sweet food, while I pile on the kilos.
And the first generous person who'll pamper me is mom. Who always invites us over for every festival in her own bastion. Again, I'm not complaining, because I get to enjoy so much food. And don't have to slog in the kitchen for it.
What i do miss, though, sometimes, is the nostagia attached to the process of making it. I still remember learning from my grandmother how to "seal" a kadubu or a modaka for Ganesha. Roll out the little ball of wheat-flour dough, pat on a bit of hoorna somewhat towards offcentre, carefully lift up one edge and pull one half of the dough over to the other edge. Seal the edge with a few dabs of water and then the tricky bit -- what my grandma called "murige haakodu" or literally pleating the edges. The dough had to be gently pinched and twists, and patted down and the whole process repeated all over the moon-shaped kadubu, each pleat folding into the next. It's quite crucial because if it's not sealed right, it breaks open and the hoorna remains uncooked. Over the years, i dare say i became an expert of this process. Provided my mom made the hoorna!! (Ya, ya laugh in my face.)
We usually steam it and not fry (the more popular variety). I used to take great pride in being given the responsibility to make these two dishes for the naivedya for Ganesha. I just don't know why, but this year, we didn't make it. It never struck me till last night and I haven't yet asked my mum "why?"
While I myself don't really cook festive specials, I still feel terrible when I don't get the homemade staples. It's rather rude and demanding of me, yes, but that's what they've made me used to ;-)
Another dish I miss at festivals now is the bhajji. On most festive occasions, we would fry bhajjis -- either potato, or heerekai (ridge gourd). We slowly stopped that saying fried food is not good for health; it's too tedious; there's so much other food anyway. Then slowly, after granny died we started outsourcing other festive food too. We would place orders and have them door delivered to save my mum the trouble.
I still have cousins who'll do the entire retinue of dishes for each festival without fail, and feel terrible that i never got around to learning them. Still, I'm not exactly motivated to learn either. So i admire all those women/girls/moms who handle all other responsibilities and this too with aplomb.
Ganesha Chaturthi is also when i remember my dear neighbour who used to walk with her head bent the whole evening because then she would surely see the moon. It's a time to stop and wonder why no group of young kids come to "see" the Ganesha in your house, count them, say they are going to see at least 101, take prasada and go. This year, no one came to collect donation for putting up a Ganesha in any neighbouring street either. It's sad. This year, I didn't go to any of my relatives places either to see their Ganesha. I'm as much a part of the changing tide as the others are.
I'm so outright lazy I'll never really cook any of it on my own. But honestly, I don't see the need to, because there are so many generous people around me, piling on the gorgeous fried and sweet food, while I pile on the kilos.
And the first generous person who'll pamper me is mom. Who always invites us over for every festival in her own bastion. Again, I'm not complaining, because I get to enjoy so much food. And don't have to slog in the kitchen for it.
What i do miss, though, sometimes, is the nostagia attached to the process of making it. I still remember learning from my grandmother how to "seal" a kadubu or a modaka for Ganesha. Roll out the little ball of wheat-flour dough, pat on a bit of hoorna somewhat towards offcentre, carefully lift up one edge and pull one half of the dough over to the other edge. Seal the edge with a few dabs of water and then the tricky bit -- what my grandma called "murige haakodu" or literally pleating the edges. The dough had to be gently pinched and twists, and patted down and the whole process repeated all over the moon-shaped kadubu, each pleat folding into the next. It's quite crucial because if it's not sealed right, it breaks open and the hoorna remains uncooked. Over the years, i dare say i became an expert of this process. Provided my mom made the hoorna!! (Ya, ya laugh in my face.)
We usually steam it and not fry (the more popular variety). I used to take great pride in being given the responsibility to make these two dishes for the naivedya for Ganesha. I just don't know why, but this year, we didn't make it. It never struck me till last night and I haven't yet asked my mum "why?"
While I myself don't really cook festive specials, I still feel terrible when I don't get the homemade staples. It's rather rude and demanding of me, yes, but that's what they've made me used to ;-)
Another dish I miss at festivals now is the bhajji. On most festive occasions, we would fry bhajjis -- either potato, or heerekai (ridge gourd). We slowly stopped that saying fried food is not good for health; it's too tedious; there's so much other food anyway. Then slowly, after granny died we started outsourcing other festive food too. We would place orders and have them door delivered to save my mum the trouble.
I still have cousins who'll do the entire retinue of dishes for each festival without fail, and feel terrible that i never got around to learning them. Still, I'm not exactly motivated to learn either. So i admire all those women/girls/moms who handle all other responsibilities and this too with aplomb.
Ganesha Chaturthi is also when i remember my dear neighbour who used to walk with her head bent the whole evening because then she would surely see the moon. It's a time to stop and wonder why no group of young kids come to "see" the Ganesha in your house, count them, say they are going to see at least 101, take prasada and go. This year, no one came to collect donation for putting up a Ganesha in any neighbouring street either. It's sad. This year, I didn't go to any of my relatives places either to see their Ganesha. I'm as much a part of the changing tide as the others are.
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