Muchri Roti : And reminiscing about Dad...

I find it strange how memories have a way of popping out of my head at the vaguest moment.  

Recently, I came across something called Muchri Roti on a blog post.  I had no idea what it was. But as I read through the recipe, it was though I was 10yrs. old, standing in my mom's kitchen watching her serve warm-straight-from-the stove rotis to my dad. She had a way of picking up the roti straight from the tawa onto the palm of her hand, lathering it with generous amounts of ghee, and then mushing it up by rolling her palm so that the roti separated into crusty layers. My dad called that roti "Muchri roti"- just like that blog post did.  I had never attached much significance to that name, or that roti. Although sometimes I did wonder why I could never get the flaky layers to separate in my cooking ever. Always attributed it to my lack of experience.  But turns out that Muchri Roti is in a class of it's own....

Daily Dinner (17): Rajma Rasedaar

This then, is the prelude to last week's post. 

The only thing I loved more than rice growing  up, was Rajma...

The ongoing joke was that for me to get married, my maama (maternal uncles) will have to make sure that I had enough Rajma-chawal to last me my whole life. For no one in Rajasthan (in my naani's world) ate either rice or kidney beans....

My grandma (naani) had not seen Rajma (red kidney beans) till they shifted base to Bhatinda, Punjab.  And then, all the age-old inhibitions came to the front. She never learnt to cook or eat these beans. To her, the color, shape and meatiness of them was a big put off. To some extent she even refused to believe that red kidney beans were a plant product.....not so, though, for my mom's younger siblings. All four of them would scout the neighborhood Punjabi families, and make themselves available at whoever's table was serving Rajma. 

Simple and Sweet- Cheeni-Ka-Paratha.

The earliest memories I have of my grandma are of feeding my toddler brother a smushed up roti with ghee-boora (powdered sugar with clarified butter).  She, on a low woven seat we called peedha; and he, toddling about around her with a ball in his hand. All through the summer holidays that's what he and I ate. Naani was the best when it came to indulging picky eaters like us. She didn't insist we eat our veggies, was always ready to make a meal especially for us, and if both options failed; handed us a huge bowl of ghee-boora. 

Back in Delhi, my mom opted for a no-mess route incorporating the boora, ghee and roti together to make us a Cheeni ka Paratha. When we were very little, she'd roll it up, and hand it to us so we could  eat while we played. My dad occasionally threw a fit, threatening us with cavities and toothless grins, but mommy always found a way to ignore his rants.  As I grew older, my ma and I were often at loggerheads. With daddy gone for work or at school most of my growing up years, this Paratha was what resolved most of our (my) skirmishes....

A breakfast to remember- Carrot and Orange juice

Our juicer got a new lease of life this weekend...and I had nothing to do with it. It was A's insistence. He remembers it off and on. Actually, he's the one that bought our machine a decade ago. Sadly, it hasn't been used as many times as the years it has lived in our house though. I knew that's what would happen to it when he brought it home one day from Macy's, excited as a kid, ostensibly for a very pregnant me.... I've lived through the juicer experience with my mom. Back then, it was a brand called Inalsa- might sound familiar to those of you growing up in India in the 80's. A brand new company at that time, exclusively sold and serviced through door-to-door sales, and came with a box-ful of attachments. 

Too expensive- my mom said.

I can take care of that- said daddy.

I don't need all that stuff in the box. Who needs a juicer when we have a juice-shop around the corner.

He's a filthy fellow. And his glasses are dirty.  (My dad really was a germ phobic....)

I still don't need it- too many little things to put together and clean up afterwards.

I will do the setting up, and cleaning. You get get the fruits washed and ready for juicing. I am there for everything else. (A typical Main Hoon na...clause, that works well putting an end to inane arguments...)

Holi Greetings, and some chit chat...

I tried explaining Holi to my colleagues at work today- and all that came to mind was it is a Spring festival. But trust people to come up with interesting "observations"! I pulled up some pictures on the net, and a student asked- why is everyone wearing white? And why do you put on colors? The explanation I concocted on the spur of the moment- because white is the color of winter, and we're covering it with colors of Spring- sounded so right, even to my ears.....that I let them assume that this was age-old wisdom, rather than a fabric of my imagination :-)

This year, I've been pretty lazy. Haven't done anything to mark the day. But then, I was never a Holi person. It takes a special kind to love all the rowdiness and noise that accompanies Holi celebrations in India :-) The images that do crop to mind are ancient....

Humble Beginnings: Khichdi

In a country as diverse as India, where language, religion, clothes, celebrations....anything you name,  changes within a few miles, the humble Khichdi holds fort as one unifying force. Gujrat may like its khichdi with Kadhi, and the Southern states may call it Pongal, it still remains a rice and lentil comfort food across India. In Eastern India, it represents traditional Pooja food. At many Kali Baris in Calcutta and at the Jagannath temple in Orissa, we've been handed this out as Prasad after a Pooja. Around the locations that I'm familiar with- Rajasthan, Haryana and Delhi- it is a simple dish strictly meant for family times, never ever made for guests or visitors. According to Wikipedia, Khichdi, believed to have originated in South Asia, went global with the British who concoct their own version with fish and eggs and call it Kedegree! And recently, I came across the mention of an Arabic dish called Mujahadra that is nothing but ....our Khichdi. 

Simplicity at it's finest- Achaari Aloo

I find it pretty amazing that most of my "memories" of people and incidents are somehow also linked with food. Even when food is not the central focus in that memory; it is still prominent.  Not only does my mind take me back to the day that I'm reminded of, but sometimes the feel and smell of the day is revoked as well.  

Traveling with food comes naturally to most of the families from the Indian sub-continent. My MIL packs a stash of "Pooris" and a boiled potato.  After peeling and chopping the potato, she'd mix in some salt and pepper and it was ready to eat with her Pooris. My parents, and my grandparents before them, always travelled with their traditional  potato preparation called "Achaari Aloo" along with wonderfully crisp "Parathas".  As soon as the "tiffin" opened, the smell of this mix between an achaar (pickle) and a subzi permeated the whole train car.  I have these elaborate memories of us sharing our food with whoever happened to be our neighbor in the train car, or got drawn to our berth by the mouth-watering aroma of Achaari Aloo.  Not even my mom could make this dish taste like my grandma's. Towards the end of every summer vacation at my naani's, we'd get a letter from my dad (this was the pre-telephone era in India) requesting that she send him some of her Achaari Aloo and parathas. Naani always did. And daddy got to the food the moment we got home, and ate it all up. If, per chance, there was some left over, he'd tell my mom that he wanted it for breakfast - this from a guy who never ever liked leftovers......

My "cook" shelf is growing...

A quick note...to break the monotony of all the other writing I've been doing today....

Last week A came back with a bunch of books for me from the library's bin-sale.  Apparently he thinks that since I write mostly about food in this blog, I have a keen "interest " in cooking.  Little does he know that the best vacation I ever had was the one where all the food came with the lodging, so all I had to venture out was from the pool to dining room :-)) 

At any rate, now I am the proud owner of 5 cook books- the first one is going back to the library bin since it has almost no vegetarian dishes, the second one are "slow cooker" recipes- again mostly meat. But doesn't matter since I don't own a slow cooker- yet.  I  doubt if I even glanced at the other ones. The one that caught my eye and I most certainly intend to use is the one that is sort of like a diary where you can jot down the name of the restaurant you dined in, along with your order and comments.  Going through the month of December in this diary I found a whole page with printed matter.  Curious, I went through it....

Daily Dinner (15): Rajasthani Thali

There were times when my mom categorically, adamantly, insisted that her children never inherited any form of "Rajasthani-ness" from her.  When she was really mad, she'd use her limited vocabulary of the Haryanvi dialect to announce that we were all born Haryanvis (there is that subtle underlying disdain in my soft-spoken, Rajasthani part of the family for my loud and boisterous paternal family.......). That is when dad would point out "pointedly" that she technically herself was a true-blood Haryanvi; and that her Rajasthani-ness was just an effect of her being transplanted there as a baby. And all of this drama, because we three criticized her most cherished meal of Rajasthani Baatis as...well...dirty....

But let me back track a little bit here.  So the way baatis were cooked in my grandma's home in Rajasthan was in a chulha - a little area on the kitchen floor outlined on 3 sides by a clay wall about 6 inches high. Naani used pieces of wood in here to create a cooking stove.  More often than not, the high temperature required for the first spark of flame to burst out of wood was achieved using uplay underneath the wood.  These little sun-dried cakes of sawdust and (please ignore the grossness that follows) cow dung smolder, rather than flame, and reach temperatures high enough to light up the kitchen fires for a long time.  And baatis were buried deep underneath inside the chulha to cook. You just brought them out, dusted them off, and ate them with the inevitable daal, churma and ladles of ghee.  Us city dwellers, instead,  turned our noses up at Naani and her "dirty" baatis, and opted for rotis instead.

A New Year (Almost) Wish.

Many years ago I resolved never to bother with New Year's resolutions, and I've stuck with it ever since. - Dave Beard

Now that we’ve survived Doomsday 2012 and the holidays are winding down to a close, it’s time to come to terms with the impending change on the horizon: 2013. The end of the year brings in time to reflect over the last 12 months, and what lies ahead. We look forward to new beginnings and possibilities, leaving the past behind. Now that we’re at the brink of saying goodbye and welcome all at the same time, 2012 strikes me as one of those very eventful years that went by faster than most…

Despite my optimism for the coming year, it is hard to neglect the adverse events that bring this year to an end. In the last month or so, as an American of Indian origins, I felt an immense heartache for all the innocent victims of senseless actions; be they the innocent children in school shootings of Connecticut, or the young, unnamed girl in Delhi, India who lost her battle for life yesterday. My prayers go out to them and their families. There is no greater loss than of those loved, and no greater sorrow than an untimely farewell.

In retrospect, I'm thankful for all good things that happened, sorry to have made some mistakes, happy to have moved on and grateful for all opportunities. The New Year, as it dawns, brings forth promises of a better tomorrow. So lets embrace the unknown…….it is now time to let go, and start afresh. The New Year, will be a New Me; as some one said- a blank book of 365 pages to write in. And I wish to be able to fill it in with cheer and smiles. I’ve made no resolutions, set no goals. For to me, each day brings forth its own challenges that I must overcome. And I shall prevail.

So that is it….

A Happy New Year to You. Put on your hats, bring out your party shoes.  And thanks for sticking by me all these years. I look forward to seeing you around.

Ramblings from a mom's heart - Newtown CT.

The times we live in are unexpected, turbulent and disturbing.  And nothing could bring it home more forcefully than the heart-wrenching tragedy this past week in an elementary school in Connecticut.  The young man who forced his way into school and killed over 27 people, most of whom were 5-6 year old Kindergarteners - did his mom have even an inkling that she'd wake up only to be shot dead by her young son that morning?  The 20 odd children who never came back home with excited chattering of what they did at school- did their moms, in their wildest dreams, ever envision the horror their babies lived through in their final moments? And the adults who were lost, they were moms and daughters and family as well. Life just lost balance and stopped for many people out there.  Grief cast its shadow over a community, irrespective of age of the victims. Including us. Spectators from far away.

All Love; No Food!! Karwa Chauth

This is totally an unplanned post- just a few ramblings for today. 

This morning, I told Anya that she should take a bath and dress up in her Indian clothes after coming back from school. 'So what are we celebrating? Diwali? And I realized she has no idea of what today marks. So here I am, just trying to relive my memories for her.

My excitement at home for Karwa Chawth would begin the evening before; when my mom (with me in tow, of course) went out and bought a big bagful of sweet and savory mathris and fenni (thin vermicelli thats slightly toasted and sweetened). Where we lived, these goodies were very seasonal- you saw them for maybe 2-3 days around Karwa Chauth.  Then we'd trek all the way down to the local kumhar (potter) and pick out a karwa (clay pot) for her pooja the next day.  Third step, invariably, some place where she could buy new chooris (glass bangles) - always red, and always with a big splash of gold in them. I got my share of these too. Finally, we stocked up on some big red bindis and a new bottle of vermillion sindoor.  All spent, we'd stop at last for a treat of some gol-gappe and chaat in preparation for the extensive fasting the next day .

Daily Dinner (14): Vegan Thali; Navratri special

The last day of Navratri fasting is today. Glad to have made it through one more time. These days are pretty easy as far as traditional fasting goes. You only give up grains and legumes for the 9 days; so there's a lot left outside of the diet to eat.  

I followed a one-meal a day diet, restricting my spices to sendha namak (rock salt), green chillies and cumin (can't think of cooking without jeera at all :-)). Also allowed myself 2 cups of chai or coffee a day- one for breakfast, and one to get over the 3o'clock sugar crash at work :-) And finally, I also permitted myself one or two fruits at around noon- some days were more hectic at work than others and even the colleagues could hear my stomach rumble ....

One More ode to Milk: Harira

Never realized how much pain the poor guy was in. I thought I'd been treating him well....he'd never complained. But then he never says much (anything) rather. Three months (four plus one day actually, but who's counting) into his mom's visit at ours, and all of A's desires (of the foodie kind....hold those other thoughts :-))) seem to be rearing up their mighty heads like a giant, multi-headed monster.  Or crawling out the crevices like those never-dying cockroaches. Pick whatever sounds more scary to you...not that I care, not really.... 

It started subtly enough. He saw Parathas for breakfast instead of sugar free dry tea rusks; I saw red flags on his cholesterol count at the next doctor's visit.  Then came elaborate mid-morning and mid-evening snacks. While he decided to pay heed to the "sugar is good for health" mantra; and started wolfing down ladoos and gaundh ki chakki (more on that soon- I promise) after every meal;  I was  calculating calorie per serving ratio and trying to stomp visions of insulin shots. Then came his first demand...for Nishasta. Not only did he ask for it, he even told his mom to teach ME how to make it....That did it... the whole decade plus of training to rein him in unravelled that very instant. All of my "we've got to eat healthier" got quickly drowned into by the "you earn to live" and "how can traditional be not-healthy" philosophy. Right now,  I should rein in whatever is popping in MY mind before it gets printed in indelible ink for posterity to come.....

Dahi-Vada: with Moong Dal; and Das Lakshan Parv

The Jains' observe a week of renunciation and austerity during the months of August-September; and I gave you a glimpse of that in my last week's post on Paryushan. As with any other matter of the heart; the Jain religion is split up in the middle into two major sects. And despite being almost identical in faith and lifestyle, the observances between the two sects vary. Which is why one Jain is fasting this week; ending on Sept 29th - the Anant Chaturdeshi day, equivalent to the Samvatsri in my last post. Which is also why, in my home, the entire experience gets extended to 18 days (A and I come from the two different sects of Jains, and in my zest to neither give up and yet be accepted, I've been trying to assimilate the differences in observance). This year, I've split my observances with my visiting MIL, who is responsible for the 10-day long Das-Lakshan Parv, as opposed to my 8 days of Paryushan. I definitely get the better deal out of this whole arrangement :-))

Paryushan & Samvatsri: The Jain regimen and significance. Plus my menu.

I'd never thought I'd do this...a post about religious beliefs. But then I figured, that I did write about Diwali, and Holi and other festivals that are a part our social culture, so why not Paryushan- something that I grew up with and is an integral part of my memories.  I am not the best person to be telling you about this practice, for I myself know very little. But I'll attempt a little write up nevertheless. 

The 8-day long change in lifestyle that we call Paryushan typically adhered to at the end of the rainy season; or Chaturmas. Normally, we associate festivals with gaiety and indulgence. Instead, Paryushan is a celebration of solitude, minimalism, introspection and self-restraint.  The guidelines to be followed for spiritual up-liftment include modesty, self-restraint, penance, renunciation and celibacy. The strictest of my family members would sustain themselves only on a handful (chullu) of boiled water for these 8 days. The others took a pledge, or Niyam, to alter their lifestyle to fit the soul of this whole process.  I remember my dad making more time for meditation and introspection (Samayik); while my mom, who was always restless about getting things done for us kids would give up some of her favorite foods and activities, and just slowed down.

Nishasta...milk, the Indian Way.

I was never a milk person....all my life I remember hating the white stuff, and my mom trying her hardest to make me have my pre-requisite 1 cup-a-day during the growing-up years. As far as I recall, she tried all the additives/ flavorings available in the market-  which was pretty restricted at that time. We finally settled on Nescafe-flavored, unsweetened milk for my breakfast; and even that, I'd try to skimp out on, most times. My constant whine being that milk 'smelled'. All that would change during the summer months when we went to my naani's place. During my stay there, I became a milk guzzler for some reason. 

An open Letter from a grandfather....

Dearest Betu, 

    Your mom is going to throw a fit when she hears me call you Betu- but that is what you are to me.  Betu and Ghughu.  I gave you those names- the first, because it came to my lips the second I saw you. And the second, because those were the first sounds you made in my arms. All of 5 weeks old; and you were already connecting with me. It's been a while since you and I had a talk. Maybe now is a good time.....A part of me wants to give you advice; but today, I'll just let you know me.

   I'd wished for you even before I had my own children - your mom, and your maamu. You are so much extra special because you're my first grandchild. Your naani and I were so excited the day we heard that you'd be coming into our family.  The day you were born; we called up the entire family with the news. I couldn't wait to meet you.  But I had to. We finally met when you were about a month old. You probably don't remember. Your naani and I stayed with you for 6 weeks that year.  All that time, I never left you alone. I even held you while you slept. And after we left, your mom complained that we spoiled you because you'd no longer sleep on the bed!  :-)) I brought back pictures of you with me; and I had them all over the house. Even back in Delhi, I used to talk to your pictures and hope that my thoughts would reach you somehow.  When your mom called to speak with us, I'd ask her to make you cry or laugh; just so I could hear your voice.  I missed you so much, that soon after meeting you, I decided to quit my job. So we could come and stay with you for longer.

A cuppa chai.....

Nothing's as comforting; or as nostalgia-evoking; as a cup of Chai....

My parents began their mornings; and ended their work day; with some alone time together.  Just the two of themselves, and their cups. My mom's without sugar; my dad's with honey. They planned all things important at this time- their monthly budget, holidays, celebrations, our future and theirs. As I grew older, I learned to leave them alone with their thoughts in the mornings. With their Chai in the evenings, we talked about our day at school and my dad's day at the court. My mom listened to all three of us, and said very little. 

Things that matter....summer picnic with long time friends.

I started my life in USA as any other new immigrant - lonely and homesick.  With no one around me, not even distant relatives, and at a time when calling home was relatively expensive, life was as hard as it could get. A followed about 6 months later; and a year later, I had my first baby. Life got busier, but not less lonely. A lived and worked 3h away from us during the week, then lived and went to school in the same city, but away from us, on weekends.  I made friends with other moms on the playground, or in the library -  but they didn't feel like the friends that I was craving for - they didn't share my language, for one.  Festivals were the worst....and loneliness grew to a new level at this time. About the 4th year of our life in Philadelphia, A took me to a 'Diwali Party'. I remember not wanting to go mingle into a crowd of strangers. But we went, and I've never regretted that decision ever. I've made some very lasting friendships within this group.  Plus my holidays are cheerier with them around!!