1984....5 dreadful days.....

It was just another day, very hectic , the servant on leave, and two naughty boys 4 and 2 year old keeping me on my toes as usual. Ravi was on leave preparing for his promotion test and didn’t want to be disturbed. He wanted to get through and we wished to get a transfer back to Kerala.

This place, Dhar in Madhya Pradesh wasn’t that bad, but we always had a longing to get back to home town. The housing colony where we lived had 30 MIG houses, and people from all states of India lived there. We were all very friendly and we women spent the free time sharing our knowledge on knitting, stitching, cuisines and what not…..while children played outside.

Just behind our house there was a row of LIG houses which were still under construction. A few days before this incident a newly married Punjabi couple came to stay in the house just behind ours. As usual Anu was the first to make friends with the Sardarji. He was an engineer in the housing board. Anu would climb on the window and talk to him.

Arun was having slight fever since two days and Ravi was on leave, so we didn’t know what was happening outside our home. I finished off my work and had a nap with children in the afternoon. I woke up hearing a weak sound calling “Bhabhi” repeatedly. When I realized the sound was from the house at the back, I opened the window and looked out. The Sardarji too opened the window slightly and asked me in a low sound , “Bhabhi, can I send my wife to your house for some time?” I said, “Why not? Ofcourse you can send, without knowing the reason. Both of them jumped the wall and entered through the back door. He closed the door and I found them shivering in fear. They refused to come to the front room but sat on the floor in the corridor.

It was then that we came to know what was going on in the country. There was no television in those days and who had the time to listen to radio? Now we switched on the radio and the news of what was happening frightened us. On the previous day Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was assassinated by two Sikhs and there was a riot going on in the country. The description of the happenings in North India was terrifying. Indira Gandhi was shot dead by 2 Sikhs and in protest, people were killing many Sikh people. The houses and shops of Sikhs were looted and set on fire.

The Sardarji said people were after them, and they would be killed any time. I didn’t understand anything, but Ravi listened to him and assured nothing will happen to them. Ravi made them comfortable in the sitting room.

Not knowing what to do next, I opened the front door. A little away on the main road I saw fire and smoke and I thought the post office which stood there was on fire. But later we came to know that a truck driven by a Sardar was set to fire by people. As I stood outside I noticed with shock that the otherwise busy colony was deserted. Not a single human was seen outside. Just then I heard Meena’s sound calling me, “Aunty, go inside close all doors and windows, there is a curfew. “ I did as she said. Then we heard the announcement from the police jeep about the 24 hour curfew, and requesting all Sikh people to get shelter at the Police station.

Living in God’s own country, the peaceful Kerala, what could I know about communal riots and curfews? Even Ravi didn’t know. Sardarji begged us not to throw them out to be killed. Ravi promised him, they would be safe here. Little knowing of the dangers that could happen, I played the part of a good hostess, cooking a good dinner and trying to make them cheerful. All India Radio was giving elaborate description of the riots in Delhi. By midnight Sardarji told Ravi that he would find shelter somewhere else and begged us to take care of his wife until he returns. We promised, so he walked out into the dark & cold night, covering himself with a blanket.

We had no means of communication with the outside world, so we spent the next day quietly in the house. I started feeling something was wrong, though Ravi didn’t agree with me. Towards midnight the Sardarji returned to our house looking tired with hunger and fear. Ravi let him in, I gave him food and we asked them to sleep in the living room. We didn’t sleep that night.

We were getting short of things for food as we had postponed the grocery shopping to this week. I made tea in Lactogen instead of milk. It was 3^rd November and there was a relaxation of curfew for half an hour that evening.

Ravi went out to get milk and other things. As he opened the door, children ran out and joined their friends. I met the women who were standing outside and got some fearsome news of happenings all over North India. Just then I saw Anu entering the house with his friend Bittu, though I ran after them, it was too late. Anu already showed his best friend the guests we had at home.

The over smart boy, Bittu ran out shouting, there is a Sardar hiding in Anu’s house!.That was the end!. The women asked me about it and I had to say. The police jeep came whistling and the crowd dispersed. Another night passed in fear and there was silence in our house which made us uneasy. Next morning there was an hour of relaxation on the curfew. All our friends gathered in a neighbor’s house and they asked Ravi & me to join. Then they explained to us how serious the problem is.

They said, “If people come armed with weapons, we won’t be able to help you. If someone set fire to your house at night, what will you do? Why are you hiding them in your house and risking your life? Ask the sardar & his wife to take shelter in police station. Or ask that man to cut his hair, as he is new here, no one knows him.” We had no answer to their questions. Hiding them was not done purposely. Things just happened and we were not so inhuman as to throw them out to die. Fear gripped me.

Our friends then met the sardar at our house and asked him to move from the colony to a safe place. But Ravi was adamant in his refusal to ask them to leave the house. The fifth day passed in silence and the food Meena brought remained untouched. In the evening a jeep filled with people was seen in the colony searching for the house where the Sardar stayed. Noone betrayed us, but called the police. Those people escaped before the police came. With the sight of the jeep I almost fainted.

Around 10PM there was a knock on the door and an elderly friend an Income Tax Officer, came in and told us he wanted to help us in this situation. He persuaded the sardar to go with him. The wife was to stay in our house. That gentleman had a large family staying in his 2 bed room house, but he asked the sardar to join them.

The sunrise of next day brought good news that the riots were under control and curfew was withdrawn. One more day the sardar and his wife stayed in that house and then returned to their home.

I can never forget those 5 days of my life.

Of Taj, Mumtaz and Me…..

Burhanpur in Madhya Pradesh is a small town of Historical importance, but unfortunately little known to the tourists. The original resting place of Mumtaz Mahal was here, on the banks of Tapti river. But all the forts and monuments were in rot and ruins, when I saw them in 1979.

My husband was working in a bank in Burhanpur. Everything I saw was amazing as I just got out in the open from a somewhat secluded life in a joint family in Kerala. We explored the town and surrounding areas on every possible chance. We even travelled by bullock cart to reach some forts. Many of the evenings we spent at a garden on the banks of Tapti River.

On either side of the river stood the Mahals where Mumtaz rested in times of illness and pregnancy. She even died in this Mahal. The cool breeze, the silent river and the forts in ruin would have stories of love, passion, greed and hatred to say.

The Mughals built a quilla along the banks of Tapti river. It was like a protective barrier to the entire town of Burhanpur. We could see the traces of a long tunnel which might have been an escape route from the fort.

Ahu Khana is situated in front of Royal fort in Zainabad. It was just across the river .The place was Royal leisure pavilions during the Mughal time. Body of Mumtaz Mahal was buried at this place for six months.

The inscription at the Ahu Khana — or royal pavilion —says “Constructed during the reign of Shahjahan, Mumtaz Begum was buried here before her remains were transported to Agra”.

How many of us know this fact? On 7th June 1631, Shah Jahan lost his beloved & favourite wife Mumtaz Mahall at Burhanpur, and her body was buried at first in the Garden of Zainabad, across the river Tapti. This is History.

The local people in their struggle to make a living had no interest or means to protect the historical monuments.

In 1981, we left the place but I still remember the evenings I spent imagining as much that I became a part of the life of Mumtaz. I think I felt her presence in the ruins, in the gardens, and the river Tapti whispered the story of love and passion it witnessed, in my ears.

The scenes from the old Hindi film “Taj Mahal” went through my mind and I made friends with Mumtaz in that very garden where she spent many days of her life…..

In a shopping mall.......

Today when I went around the shopping mall, I realized that I was enjoying the shopping. There was not much to buy so I watched others filling their trollies. Then I remembered my first shopping experiences.

I'm amazed at the way my life has changed with time..

In my childhood as other girls of those days, I too never went to any shops. Our clothes were bought by mother and her sisters. We all had enough gold jewellery, that too was selected by them. I remember the enthusiasm they had in shopping clothes and jewellery. It was a celebration for them .

No women in the family went to provision store or vegetable market. During weddings, shopping was a grand event. Only on those days married girls and the bride to be, were taken to shops. I too went to the textile shop and the jewellery shop just before before my wedding.

After marriage, I was taken to a place unknown and unheard…father bought a map of India to find out the place….and he cried when I left on the 15th day after marriage, to such a far off unfamiliar place.

The place was Burhanpur in Madhya Pradesh. We had to travel by train, K K Express, 3 days to reach Itarsi. Then another train to Burhanpur. It was a very small town and the only vehicle that went through the roads were the “Two wheeled Horse-drawn vehicle” called “Tonga” in Hindi and “Kuthira vandi” in Malayalam. There were also Bullock carts and human pulled carts and some bicycles.

My husband had a room in a Palacial house of Bohra Muslims…He was giving Rs.10 as rent..There was a Dargah or place of worship of the Muslims. Double storied building with many rooms. Rooms had large stained glass windows in vibrant colors and Italian tiled flooring. The wooden carved doors had brass handles and curtain rods were in beautifully designed brass. The building was hundreds of years old and the land lady had no money for maintenance. So she kept many tenants.

My husband took me along the roads of the small shopping area of the town. The crowd, the dust filled and dirty roads were nowhere near my dreams to have any liking for shopping. Many varieties of food were cooked in the open and people eating the hot snacks on the road itself, was an amazing sight for me. The restaurant like shops were adjacent to each other and the air was filled with flavors of different sweets, unknown to me. Gradually I too relished on Gulab jamoons and Paani puris and kachoris.

The shopping for vegetables and provisions I disliked mainly because of the dust and foul smell of the market. Water was a rare commodity for the people of Burhanpur. Rain was something very rare. People collect water when ever the Municipality was kind enough to send water through common taps on the roads. The taps inside the houses produced sounds, but no water came out of it.

I lost all enthusiasm in shopping…….I didn’t even know the price of anything, rice, oil or sugar. So my husband took over the job of providing the commodities and I was happy to remain home and cook. Today when I saw the different varieties of green chillies neatly displayed in the vegetable section in the shopping mall, I remembered the Burhanpur market ..33 years might have brought drastic changes to Burhanpur too…..But I have yet to look back and find when I got this passion for shopping……

Chakka varattiyathu

Today Shari, my cousin wrote on Facebook about her first attempt to make Chakka varattiyathu and it took me back many years to the flavours and mouth watering palaharams our elder generations made.

Malathi valliamma was an expert in cooking. Her Palaharams were famous among the family. She made Boli, Chakka varattiyathu and Ila Ada in a way no one else in the family could make. It was her Kaipunniam in making all that she touched, delicious. Whoever goes to her house would get a taste of her culinary expertise and would go back home with something packed for their kids.

For many years Valliamma and Valliachan lived in Ettumanoor, and we children spent many holidays with her. Valliachan was very religious and followed all Hindu rituals and taught them to us through stories and keerthanams. He wrote many songs or keerthanams.

Malathi Valliamma spent most of her time in kitchen. The bharanis were always full with Chakka Varuthathu, Varattiyathu, Upperi, Sharkara varatti, Avaloose podi, chammanthi podi, murukku, and what not……She could make everything..If we were lucky, we would land there when Ada and Boli were made. As that cannot be stored long, only the lucky ones got their hands on them.

My mother too made use of all chakka and mango available in the house and would keep them stored and wait for her children to visit from other states. Kumari valliamm's speciality was the laddus made of rice, jaggery and coconut, what we call 'Mavunda'. It would just melt in the mouth.

The last time I visited she gave us those freshly made laddus. Me & children ate them all, little knowing that it was her last, and she would leave us forever after 2 days.....The soft spoken, loving Kumari valliamma who loved us all as her own children is still fresh in our memories....Now Amma, Valliamma, chitta and all others are all gone . Bharathi chitta was the last to go and her daughter Sharadakutty is trying to keep the tradition of chakka varatti alive..If Chitta succeeded in making the mouth water with the smell of Chakka varattiyathu, Shari published it in Facebook to make some mouths water….Anyway I’ll try the taste of her 5 hour long Bhageeratha Prayathnam and give a comment on that family special dish…..Till then............

The smell of rotis.......

When was it that I ate a chappathi for the first time? I think it was in 1962. Wheat came to Kerala during those days. May be people knew about it, but the scarcity of rice due to India-China war was the reason for us Malayalees to introduce a new dish made of wheat to our kitchen. Though Chappathi is said to be of Dravidian origin, it was less known to South Indians especially the Malayalis of Kerala.

Rice was our staple food in the old days. When I was very young, I ate many varieties of food made with rice. Our family, as well as most of the families at that time had their own Paddy fields. Most of the houses had underground wooden airtight chambers [Pathayam in the Nilavara] where paddy was stored. When we needed rice, paddy was boiled in huge copper vessels [chembu] and dried in the sun. When it was properly dried, it was pounded at home, husk was removed and cleaned. Everything was done at home. Wheat was something unknown to us.

I think it was in 1962 after the India-China war, we came to know about Chappathi made of wheat flour. My father was working in Bihar before that and my mother might have seen people making rotis there.

Anyway during or after the war, food grains were too costly or even unavailable. Our family’s paddy fields might have been sold by that time. Somehow we children too knew that food was very costly. I think we had to buy rice, wheat or sugar only through ration shops as they were by then rare commodities and not available in open market.

One day father brought the wheat allotted to our 7 member family. We curiously watched mother washing the whole wheat in water, removing the dirt and stones, and drying it in the sun. Then the servant took it to the mill and brought the wheat flour.

As mother had watched the Bihari women making the dough, she had an idea how to knead the flour into chappathi dough. Somehow she succeeded and then the herculean task of rolling them started. All the dough was made into small balls and rolled into shapeless chappathis and spread on the newspaper kept on the floor. The iron tawa was kept on firewood and each chappathi was made pouring a lot of ghee on it. The first attempt was not so successful though mother became an expert in chappathi making, in no time.

We all started loving chappathis. Potato stew was served with it to elders while the younger ones ate it soaked in milk and sugar. For a long time we believed chappathis are eaten only with potato stew….May be no one knew how people of Northern India ate the chappathis.

My parents had travelled out of Kerala, to Bihar, Calcutta, Bombay and Madras. So mother learned to prepare many different foods. As days passed, mother made chappathis for dinner everyday. Sometimes she made non-veg dishes too. We all loved chappathis more than any rice preparation. But the process of making wheat grains into flour was very tedious. Gradually we learnt to make those rotis, chappathis, puris and parottas.

Now during the past few decades, I have made an infinite number of chappathis, in many forms as breakfast, lunch or dinner. I try many different side dishes, but today after a long time we had breakfast of chappathi and potato stew. That reminded me……………..