Dosa delights

 One of my fondest memories of childhood is the dosa. I am a big fan of a crispy thin round dosa. And the only one to blame for this is my mom.

When my sister and me used to come back from school, there would be hot tiffin  waiting for us daily. It would be upma, poha, bread toast, idli or dosa.

I eagerly waited for the dosa. All other items would usually be ready by the time we reached home. But not the dosa. 

The dosakallu would go on the stove just when we opened the gate. Even as we cleaned up and got ready to tackle the evening, the first two dosas would be made for my sister. She was a regular dosa eater and didnt trouble amma with too many rules about the dosa. As she settled into her dosas , mine would arrive royally!  

Mine had to be  hot , crisp, round and slightly brown. No cold ones for me. No white ones for me. No thick ones for me. And definitely no torn ones for me. I remember amma narrating how as a toddler I had asked her to stitch up a torn dosa! She used to make  dosa after dosa and I would gobble them up even as the next one got ready. There would be days when I would ask her, how many did I finish? Eat as many as you want, she would reply, why count? 

When I got married, my mother in law obviously never expected a dosanazi as a daughter in law. She usually prepared dosas and kept them aside, as one by one people kept walking into the kitchen picking them up. She informed me that one of the major life hacks she had learned with four hungry teenagers, a ravenous husband and a band of motley relatives who perenially occupied her home was to make fat thick dosas so that no one demanded a third one! While the hack worked for her, my dosa sensibilty refused to toe the line. I offered right away to make my dosas myself,  so that I could make them crisp and brown and thin and hot and eat them even as I was making them! 

Sonny boy and me love it hot crisp brown and thin while my husband and daughter need the dosa slightly thick, white and warm. It may be served with molgapodi or chutney or sambar or even jaggery or jam. That is immaterial.

What is supremely important is it adheres to my standards of being dosa! 

My Great Indian Kitchen

 

This list is not just a random list. Each of these incidents have happened to me! 

Patriarchy is alive and kicking!

All the people who are mentioned here are not just educated, but highly so! 

Male members in my family leaving chewed up drumsticks and unclean plates on the table to be cleaned by the women.

Males being served food before women. 

Male members in a friend group asking my husband why he allows me to express my opinion openly in the whatsapp group!

A female member telling me that her prayers  have been granted when my son was born, as now I had a male heir( to what grand palace , i still wonder) 

Female members insisting on me following period rules and eating last.

A plate of food being hurled across the room on the floor towards me by a female.

Female members in my family asking me why i wanted to clear my post graduation  , now that I was a wife and a mother.

My son being gifted a gold chain for his naming ceremony,  while my daughter was gifted a dress as she was just a girl! 

Male members especially telescopically related guys who wanted to know if we have released the horoscope of our daughter the day she turned 20 into the marriage market! 

Patti and me !

 

She wept copious tears at my wedding , even more than my mom! When I asked amma why she cried so much, amma told me that she was so happy at the wedding especially since I was a late  arrival  to the world and their first grandchild born after much prayer!

My paati as I remember her was always draped in a typical nine yards saree, madisaru.  She loved her jewellery and wore many gold bangles as well as chains. Diamond earrings and nose rings adorned her face. A huge red pottu with her hair tied in a neat bun. The bun always had false hair in it. I used to enjoy combing the false hair, rolling it up and keeping it safely for her. A net would be set up on the bun, neatly tucked in with U hair pins. Finally a gajra  of mullapoo or kanakambaram would surround the bun!
Her sarees were grand. She had amazing silk sarees in the most vibrant colours. She was poona paati to me, but she was Seth maami in Pune. My tatha was Seth Maama, having set up his own business there. She was Manni to all. Even her own children followed their uncles and called her Manni and my tatha was called Anna by the whole family.
Tatha was usually an angry man who snapped with most people, but with his grandchildren he had all the patience in the world. Paati was his backbone, pandering to all his fancies and whims.He too took care of her like a gem. After all she lived with him since the age of 14! They grew up together!

Poona meant vacations and cousins. When my mom and us, and all my aunts with their kids would assemble at Pune for every single vacation, be it summer,  Diwali or Christmas.
Paati used to keep feeding us. Apart from the regular breakfasts,  lunches and dinners, there would be a constant flow of snacks from the kitchen. Murrukkus, vadams, karuvadams, thenguyal, manoharam, mysore pak, barfi, theratipal and many more would keep coming into stainless steel boxes. It was almost like she woke up with an agenda of making some new item each day.
Evenings would be dosas, idlis, bondas, bhajjis and such savouries which we would happily devour before evening trips to the local temples or gardens.

We never returned from Pune without two or three extra bags of snacks or fruits that would last for almost a month or two.By then we would be ready for the next vacation!

She stayed with us very frequently at Trivandrum. Even there, she would hatch up plans for snack making with my mother and the two of them would conjure up something by the time my sister and me returned home. These were apart from all the snacks she was already carrying with her.
She showed her love and care through her food and her gifts.
She bore six children, four daughters and two sons.  She saw grandchildren and even great grandchildren.  One of my prized possessions is a snap of my paati, amma ,me and my daughter!

She died a Sumangali on a Friday, like she always wanted and went away in her brightest saree and her big red pottu. I am glad she went away thus as it would have been painful for all of us to see her in any other way!

And thus it began...

 I had just cleared college and got into a job. During my second year at the job, one Sunday I planned a movie with some of my friends. Mom  declared that I couldnt go for the movie and a family was coming to 'see' me. I asked her what time they were expected. I would go for the movie once they were gone. " Your movie is not so important,  she snarled. This meeting could lead to the wedding."

I went to my room upset about the lost movie and irritated that someone would plonk themselves on my sofa on a Sunday morning.

The three days next were a whirlwind. My aunt and uncle came home early on Sunday morning. The saree I chose was rejected promptly. My aunt had brought a saree and insisted I wore that one. Finally by ten thirty, I was ready. 

I said I will not carry the tray with tea. Mom and aunt  were glad I was decked up with flowers and jewels. All I could think of was when these visitors would go and I would be free to go for the movie.

They came. And the groom to be was not there. That irritated me further. They said the family came to see me. If they approved the boy would come. 

Oh the high and mighty dont do normal stuff , I thought and went out in the  living room to greet them. I met them with a smile. Some usual questions , some normal conversation and tea and snacks and they left .

A telephone call in the evening confirmed that next Sunday the boy would also come. Oh god! I wailed. One more Sunday gone. 

I am not going to deck up now , I protested. I will wear a sinple saree. Thats enough for the boy who needs two visits to see a girl! 

And so Sunday , I meet the guy. He is tall, dark and handsome. My heart skips a beat. The wait was worth it! 

He tells me he is a workaholic,  but loves to party and travel and he watches movies when he gets time. My ears perk up. The guy watches movies. He clears my test. Thats all I needed. 

The rest is my parents look out. They can figure it out. 

I say ok. He says ok. We get engaged. 

Two weeks later he offers to take me for a movie. I am ecstatic. We will go town side he says. Town side in Mumbai is the hotspot for fashion and entertainment. 

He comes to pick me up in a motorcycle. Wow. This is getting better I think. A movie, a motor bike and a TDH guy. This is dream stuff. 

Halfway through Mumbais skies open up. Even as we drive down the streets getting soaked, my heart sings.. Rimjhim gire saawan... 

The movie of my life has begun. Could it have begun better? 

The Onion

 Mine being a typical tam brahm family, the family had found a chamathu payyan for me for kalyanam. Little did I know that I was enegaged to a life size onion. 

Having grown up outside Mumbai, I didnt know much of the place. So the few evenings Onion  and me met, we went to a near by restaurant called Verandah. The other reason being the timeline set by my mom. Everytime we went out, my mom would insist on me being dropped back by eight p.m. Considering that Onion  would reach only by 7.p.m , that's the best we could manage. Onion would complain, who goes home by eight? I leave home by eight! 

During these outings, he would constantly brag about the wonderful places in town! He casually enquired if I have ever eaten non veg food. I told him that I did taste some fish from a few hostel mates, but never went beyond it.

So finally we decided on a full day outing with a movie and lunch in town.

Post the motorcycle ride, before the movie , we went for lunch to a resturant. The restaurant served sea food. My curiosity was piqued. This is a non vegetarian place. Yes, he said. If your trust me, I will ensure you have the best lunch, he said. Ok, I quipped, I guess I have to trust you, considering I decided to spend the rest of my life with you!

There was a lot of hustle in the restaurant.  He knew the waiters by name. They fawned over him like he was their blue eyed boy. He ordered a beer and I ordered lime juice. 

I asked him, you drink beer regularly? Not really, he said, just when I want to have something light! Little did I know that beer was light when conpared to his staple Old Monk Rum! 

He ordered chicken biryani and some fish curry. But this was just layer one of the  Onion.

Halfway through lunch, Onion vanishes amd doesnt come back for a good ten minutes. This is the pre mobile phone days. I am stuck at the table, wondering where he has gone. 

Then I see him chatting with the manager and smoking a cigarette. The next layer  is peeled. 

Onion is a pattar who drinks , smokes and eats non veg food. 

Post the movie, Onion gets philosophical and says , this is the real me. I am a pattar by birth, but I am this guy. I smoke,  drink and eat non veg. I love to party and  stay out of home late night. I dont wear the poonal. Nor do I follow all religious stuff. I pray in my head and not at temples. 

What do you have to say?

What did I have to say? 

My parents picked up a chammathu pattar  payan  whose horoscope matched mine. His credentials were checked by other family members and duly stamped amd certified. But here he is confessing to a lifestyle that is wholly different and as non pattar as can be. 

What did I say?  I know for sure I am in for a lifetime of adventure. I say, Chal bike start kar. That backseat is now booked forever! 

The Gap year

 

Oh god! Won't she lose a full year?

How can you let that?

This was the question that people asked me when my daughter decided to leave Kalakshetra and come back home. The idea of joining Kalakshetra and focussing on dance hadn't gone down too well with everyone in the  family.

Now she had the audacity to leave the course! 

The idea of losing a year in an academic career is blasmephous in itself in our country. It's a crime. It's a crying shame

As children grow into their teens it's has been noticed that their thoughts are fiddled.  They lack clarity. This happens because of the way the brains are wired.  

While we expect them to grow smarter and sharper as promised by the multitude of health drinks and the schools campaigns we may not see that happening. This doesn't mean schools didn't do thier job or health drinks didn't work.  Teen brains function like that.

Some teens need that one year gap to just get their thoughts in place. Some are not clear with what they want to do in life.  Some are not clear how they will reach there. Some are not sure what's your role in helping them reach there.

One of the saddest part of parenting is parents usually are the last ones to know of the dreams of their children. 

Being an educator helped me bridge that gap. I knew what my daughter wanted and was ready to support her through it. Or so I thought.  

When she told me kalakshetra was not working for her I was convinced she was not working at it. I tried to motivate her to keep at it . I gave her stories of how all places are similar and problems never can be eliminated and how new places will have new problems.

Finally when all that didn't work I decided to bring her home.

One year gone! Was the reaction of many people.  But I figured an unhappy soul will not learn anything. One year in a long life is not everything.

She came back and joined a school as a pre nursery co teacher. She loved the job so much. The little kids healed her. She was happy ; dancing and teaching. She had more clarity in life now. She wanted to be a dancer and a teacher!  She told me now that she is very clear with what she wants to do.

In my career as a teacher I have met many students who are confused as to what they want to do with thier lives. Parents seem to stuck up with chooses of engineering medicine and commerce. 

There a strong star rating that parents in our country follow when it comes to careers

Five star for engineering and medicine and mba

Four star for commerce

Three star for architecture.dentistry and other semi medical professions

Two star for teaching 

One for preforming arts.

Vocational  Subjects are not even counted. 

This  star rating is so ingrained in our psyche that schools want to cater ot it ao that they can get in the numbers. Parents believe that a good life is possible only with this.

Teachers believe that they are in the teaching profession because they didn't succeed otherwise .

Tuition classes churn out toppers like icecreams in a factory.

In this when a seventeen year old says I am confused and I need time society comes down heavily on her/him.

I am glad mine stood up for herself.  She is today a post graduate in dance and successful teacher, loved by her  students. Most importantly she is happy with her self and has the confidence to take her own decisions. 

Once upon a night in Mumbai

First of July 2019 began as any ordinary day. It would have ended so too, but for the floods.
I was to leave for Patiala the next day and had some last minute shopping to do.
And of course the film buffs that we both are, we didn't want to miss Ayushmann Khurana and his Article 15.
So off we went to Phoenix Market City in the evening.
And as we came out discussing the movie , we realised it was raining.
One auto rickshaw driver agreed to take us to Kalina after a dozen of them fled away.
We had crossed two signals when suddenly the water levels began to rise. It looked like a  river had engulfed the other side of the road and the water from the other side had begun to overflow into the side we were on.
Gopal and the auto driver pushed the auto for sometime before it broke down in front of a kebab shop.
The shop was at a slightly higher level than the road. One of the guys asked me to step out of the auto and sit in the shop. He immediately set up two chairs for us and made us comfortable.
Suddenly a huge garbage bin was floating in front of the shop. The boys ran to get it back. It was their prized possession. They couldn't let the floods claim it.
Soon the water level began increasing even more. The shopkeeper began winding up his shop. He came up to me and said, 'Madam, go from this side to the tea shop. There is a bench there. You will be safe there.
I moved to the bench all scared and worried whether  we would get home safely.
The rains were lashing. The entire road was now  a powerful river. Cars had stopped moving and more people were getting on to this safe place.
A rat or two also scampered to safety. A man descending into the tea shop from the chawl above was pretty pleased with himself. He told Gopal, 'Sirji, maine aaj dopahar mein hi bol diya tha ki shaam ko paani bharega. Meri bhavishyavaani sach hui!'
Wish he worked with the MET department!
The tea shop also slowly began to flood.
So the tea seller, Raju,  sent us to a truck weighing office.
There were two guys there trying to get all their stuff on top of the cupboards to keep them safe. They offered us two chairs.
Even as I was just settling in , a lady walked in , all in tears. Her daughter came in behind her asking her why she was crying
The poor lady was obviously in panic and yelled at her girl, 'I told you not to come out in this rain. But you won't listen.'
A family of eight , they had parked their car outside and were fervently discussing further course of action. The mother obviously was still perturbed and suddenly screeched ,' Can you guys stop the discussion and pray? We are trapped all thanks to your plans.'
The family chose to ignore her ofcourse and continued with their discussions. They finally decided to move out and go to a relative's home.
A few minutes after they left three men came into the room and they were joking about how each one reached there.
I couldn't do nothing but admire how they stood so strong even in this situation , while I was all down to bits and pieces.
One of them, Majid bhai( yes by now I knew their names too) suddenly got a call. And then he panicked. The building where his house was had caught fire! There had been a short circuit and all his family members has rushed to the terrace as they couldn't run down because of the rising water.
The man screamed in pain. I saw the transformation of a man who was able to laugh at his own pain into someone who was scared at the pain of others. Along with two more people he ran to save his family.
Even as he went out in came the tea seller and asked 'bada danda hain kya?' Apparently a manhole was open and he almost slipped into it. He had saved himself and now had to do something to save others. He pushed in a plastic stool to block the manhole and tied an iron rod on the stool as a warning.
The water level inside the office was steadily rising. I was offered one more chair . The officer, a balding middle aged guy, told me, 'Madam pair upar rakhhke baitiye.Paani badh raha hain.'  He had marked out a spot on the cupboard and was constantly checking the level of the rising waters.
He then began hunting for a slipper. He narrated how he always kept an extra pair because people would steal his from the masjid. But he never wore anyone elses as he felt that then his prayers had no values.
Soon he and Gopal settled down on the existing seats and were narrating stories to each other. The waters were rising. The rains were incessant and relentless. I was tired and soon was lulled  into a dull sleep. I drifted in and out of sleep hearing bits and pieces of different stories. And then someone announced ' Barish Ruk gayi'. I looked at my watch . It was 4 a.m.
I checked my phone . It had two missed calls from my son. I couldn't call back as there was very little charge . Both me and the phone were drained.
The tea shop had opened. Gopal told me there were BEST buses stuck on the road. The staff and the passengers had spent the night in the buses. The water level had started reducing.
The cigarette shop also opened for business. Now people began to walk down to buy cigarettes and tea.
The officer who helped us out , Anwar miyan was glad he found his missing chappal and was now worried about a missing broom !
He had to clean the place, he told me before all the water went away. After a whole nighy of being awake, he was more worried about his office than himself.
A few friends of Majid bhai came back. Majid bhai almost fell into a manhole while running home to save his family. The others pulled him out. When the reached the building , the inmates had figured out a way to reach the terrace of the adjoining building. The family was safe after fighting a night of fire and water.

Gopal and me began walking down the watery street to see if we could get an auto. School children were out on their way to school , unaware that the government had in the middle of the storm updated on Twitter that's educational institutions would be closed.
Finally we got an auto rickshaw. As we moved towards Kalina, it looked like a different world. No water logging. No floods. People out on their morning walks.
Did we just come from a different world altogether?
Well , for me , it was a night I will never forget. For Gopal it was a milder version of 26 July!
Did anyone think if they were Hindus , Muslims or Christians? No! All people thought was about how to keep each other up and floating.
This is the India I believe in and I am glad that though it was a fearful night, it was a reassuring one that the world still knows peace. Atleast this one night in Mumbai was about standing up for each other ! It didn't matter whether you said Allah or Jesus or Ram!
All that mattered was being together and being safe.