Kitchen of my Amma and her Rituals…

Angithee and the Agni Dev

During my childhood, in early sixties, in Shimla, for my Amma, a routine job like, cooking food was not less than religious ritual. Amma would  cook food on a Angithee which would have coal in it. Old iron buckets would be used to make this Anghithee.  The ironsmith would cut a hole on one side of the bucket and would fit an iron grill at the center of the bucket. Mixture of fine clay and shredded drass would be used to line the inside of the Angithee and the top would have three round projections to hold the cooking vessels and also to let the air and fire flames pass from below!

The last kitchen chore that my Amma would do was to give this Angeethi a fresh coating of clay. Even this was a ritual worth explaining. The used coals, still hot and buring, would be put out from the Angithee and the Angithee would be prepared for the morning use. Amma would give a fresh coat of clay to the Angithee. The liquid clay would at once dry as the angithee would be so hot even when there were no burning coals in it. The vapours would fill our small kitchenette with a smell which no perfume today can compensate for.

And why did Amma do all these rituals! For my Amma, and most of the women of her generation, Angithee was the abode of Agni Dev. Amma would purify her Angithee every time after cooking food. When she would cook food, the first offering of the food would be made to Agni Dev! Such was her belief that Agni has to be fed the first thing before serving food to anyone else. The food had to be pure! Nothing could or should defile food while being cooked.

During my recent visit to my Amma, I saw an old Angithee lying in the storehouse. No one ever uses it. It lies discarded lamenting, perhaps, her golden times.  I thought of all the ritualistic performance that this Angithee had seen and paid my obeisance to it for having been instrumental in feeding us.

I wanted to peep through relics and memories of my childhood—some old paraphernalia, books, papers and yellowed black & white photographs! I thought of annual issues of Purana, published by Gitapress Gorakhpur, Uttar Pradesh. I craved to find them.

“Amma, where are the old Puranas?” I shouted while searching for the old heap of books and paraphernalia that seemed so out of place in the marbled new construction that is my Amma’s proud home now. I had asked her as I was not able to locate the old books that during my childhood had made a small abode in Shimla, our home! I was searching for a part of my childhood that still was alive in the yellowed papers of the old books.

All those Puranas lay peacefully in a steel trunk lying in a corner of a room that had all the old unusable paraphernalia spread in it. I opened the trunk and scrambled through so many old papers, each of which had something or the other to remind me of. And then I came across Agni Purana. Now this was a Purana that I remembered only glancing at during my childhood as it didn’t have any stories in it! I loved reading anything and everything that had a story  but AgniPurana had description of many of the tricky religious practices. So this is the Agni Dev that my Amma fed everyday during her daily ritual.

But now when I had reached an age where such religious practices and methods interested me a lot, I picked up this Purana and went through some of its pages to have a look at it. The Purana had Agni Dev as the recite of various Akhyanas of the Purana and I found tits and bits of the Purana very interesting. The Purana was in a very bad shape. Its pages had yellowed, the paper cover had come off but luckily the inside was intact and in good shape. I wanted to carry it back with me to Hamirpur to read it and to find why my Amma religiously fed the god of the Angithee, the Agni Dev. And what I found in the Purana was nothing less than a miracle to me.

To be continued…..

Missing my three musketeers on Holi…

Today while going through the old pictures, I came across many among my treasure. I looked and looked at this picture and was able to relive those days when all three of you would tire me to death because of your hyperactive lifestyle. Kids in those days used to be real kids and mothers the real mothers unlike the ones that I see around these days. Howsoever small a demand of yours may have been, nothing came to you easily. You had to earnestly demand it and then the decision would be ours whether to grant your wis or not. Even this small, seemingly, cheap toy truck  would seem to like a much sought after item as it never came to you easily. You learnt to value money and the material that money could get. It is for this reason that I am critical of new-age kids and new-age mothers who get anything and everything that their child may put his hands on, at the drop of the hat. Not that I am critical of anyone but looking at this picture with fond memories of the golden past (the past always seems golden), I am grateful to you for giving me something to remember, something that sustains me today. It may be as simple as this plastic toy truck!I can vividly remember the blue and white check shirt and nickers that Ashu is wearing and the army-green colored plastic toy truck in his hands that he would constantly ply on any, preferably, smooth surface.

The smile on the faces of all three of you in the rays of the morning Sun is deeply etched in my memory! Nidhu and Anshu are so excited to go to school though they walked themself to the school. The new school bags that they put on their back the previous evening and ran around the neighbourhood would still be in their memory though the numerous Reebok backpacks that they later bought and discarded may never have been registered in their memory. It was my Click III camera that I had used to take this picture. The picture turned out excellent and so have you!

I am happy that I have a treasure full of memories and of old pictures that fill my, otherwise, placid life to excitement and happiness. Today, on Holi, my life seems to be full with colours of pleasant memories of the past that you have lovingly filled with. Do I need any other colours of  Holi that I would try to wash off the moment someone would apply them on my face? You have coloured my life with true colours.

I remember all three of you today and need I say that I miss you as well!

Gift from my son–my first NIKON DSLR…

And then he started opening his case, his suitcase, and we all sat around it like curious kids. I thought of the Faujis who came on annual leave with bags full of gifts for all the members of the family. We felt the same. With a childlike curiosity I was waiting with a throbbing heart for my turn for a gift. Though, as a family, we have never inculcated a culture of gifts to the members of our family but I could feel the excitement of receiving a gift. Handing me a camera, my son said to me, “this is for my Mammu to take pictures and then to write.”

“But I already had a good camera and never needed another one”, I protested feebly though my strong but wrinkled  hands had started to fondle lovingly the beauty! “And I am too old to learn to handle a DSLR”, I added.

“You,ll learn”, Ashu said and then added, “next time I would bring lenses to add on to this camera and you can take professional-like pictures.” He added dreamily, “I would bring a big bag-pack for this camera with many compartments which you can use to carry all the paraphernalia.” He even talked about his intention to buy a Tripod for taking excellent pictures. I thought of carrying a bag-pack only having a camera and its accessories and burst out laughing. I am a kind of person who travels very light carrying just bare essentials to harp on a bus or walk by myself. The big bad-pack with only a camera didn’t suit my persona but I didn’t it to my son as he had so many dreams about his gift to his Mammu!

It was not the camera, truthfully, that touched my heart but the account of how and why did he buy it for me that touched my very soul. I  might have mentioned in my blogs that my Sony DSC H-1 was not working and might have lamented the loss of a faithful companion on my journeys that made my son think of gifting me a camera. He was a student at that point of time and had not much money to spend on such frivolities. He never asked us for any money for his maintenance when he was studying in the US. The job scene was not very good at that time and he, like many other students, was saving money from his part-time job to be used at the time when he would be staying in the US searching for a job, though he never shared this with us. Whenever we would ask him whether he needed any money, his answer would be a firm No.

In about less than three months he got his first job. He was happy. We were happy. And that day when I sat fondling the DSLR, a gift from my son, in my hands, he said to me, “Mumma, the first thing that I did when I got the job letter was to order online for this camera.”

My eyes filled with tears of gratitude. He said,”I had saved money from my part-time job on campus and now when I had full-time job offer, I wanted to buy this camera for you.”My son had saved money to sustain him in the US during his job-searching time. “We could have sent you the money, why you had to cut on your basic expenses?” I said him with a feeling of hurt in my voice. The fact that my son might have lived almost frugally pained me a lot. “But your job was gone and Papa was to retire in a few months so  I didn’t want to burden you anymore”, he said in a mature voice. My little son had matured a lot. He always had valued money but now had learnt to use it judiciously. His mother’s travails had made him wise beyond his years. I could see how devastated he must have felt, in an alien country, when he must have learnt that his mother was suddenly out 0f job! A man of few words he kept his feelings to himself but became more determined to get a suitable job as soon as possible after his graduation. And when he finally got the job he wanted to buy a gift for us!

He had seen this camera and had wanted to buy that for his mother when he would have money. The fact that the money spent on this camera is the money my son had saved from his hard earned money makes it very precious to me. I can imagine him cutting on his expenses to save money when many of his friends were pampering themselves with the money that they earned. I thought of a chocolate that he may not have bought or an ice-cream that he may have deprived him of! I think of him cooking his food late in night after working at ITS when he could have dined outside. All these thoughts make me look at this camera with an added love as it symbolizes his love for us. It is not just a simple gift, it is his love personified!

Amen!

Life in Rear Mirror…2

When I started to write a post I suddenly remembered about another blog that I started in 2005 and had written something about my childhood. I thought of reading that today and ended up pasting the same post to my readers:

The Real Me…

by Sarojthakur @ 22/09/05 – 11:35:47

Unmasking the real self would be a torture and I never would have thought of doing it had it not been to see my real self. I think that I have hidden myself behind so many masks that even I would have to meet my real persona through this blog.

Have I really grown or it is the same old girl inside me that has refused to grow with time. I am old and have three kids of my own who look at me for inspiration and safety but I am really baffled at times as I think that I am not what everyone thinks me to be—a strong person.To find answers to as to why I feel like that I have to peep inside my innerself and this self realization through self-questioning would help me, perhaps to see the real ME. The quest may go on and on and I may not find answers to questions that trouble me.

Should I start from the very beginning when as a child I starting introspecting myself as an entity different from my parents and having an identity of my own! The feelings, emotions and dreams that I had at that time would perhaps help me find the real me.

I remember myself as a very young girl who was called Kaloo as she was not as fair as her elder sister was and the first memory that I carry is quite negative in its inception. Wait there is another flooding the gates of my memory and I can vividly see my mother and my aunts talking about me and laughing at the THING that I was during my infancy.

I remember hearing a number of times the story about me being so frail and weak during the early months of my childhood that my mother took me to a Peepal tree and bathed me under one of its roots that had somehow above the ground leve as according to some hearsay that would make me healthy.This story made me love my mother who had a real concern to see me healthy or was it just to make me look at least somewhat respectable so that noone could blame her for neglecting her second daughter. I am really happy that there was no such concept as a small family during the days of my childhood otherwise I would have blamed my parents for all that I hold against them– to their frustration for begetting a second daughter when they aspired for a son.

So it was a mixed feeling for my mother that I have a recollection of even today. A feeling of love or gratitude for caring for a daughter who was sick, frail and weak during her infancey and a feeling of anger that she still could laugh at my looks and finally the name they gave me -Kaloo-substantiated the second feeling.

I have not written anything about my father till now, but what I remember about him, is that he really cared for me. Though I feel that, looking back at him today, I find myself again filled with mixed feelings for him as well. He always addressed me as Saroj Singh. By adding Singh instad of the official version of “Kumai” he made me feel like a man. Was it his frustration at having sired another daughter when he waited for a son? But thankgod all these questions never raised their poisonous head during my childhood and I really loved him for making me what I am today.

I find that during early childhood, I developed a tough exterior as compared to my elder sisterwho was the apple of everyone’s eye whereas I was a son to my fahter that he really wanted to have. This tough exterior hid inside a weak little girl who was scared of her fraility, her looks and her weakness as a girl.

See how useful this self analysis has been as I have been able to find some answer to my persona that has started troubling me at this age when I am 49. Even today behind the so called striong womabn resides a young girl, still unsure of herself. When my colleagues comment upon me that I am the only woman employee who has the guts to take abny challenge and question the wrongs of the power that be, I realise that it is the tough exterior of SAROJ SINGH–a masculine persona –at work. But is it the real ME?????

Life in Rear Mirror…1

I think I became conscious of my ugliness first than of my good looks! And why won’t it happen when I, along with all kids of the neighbourhood, would be fed upon stories of my ugliness during my childhood. It still surprises me why would they do so. “They” here refer to all those people who had known me as a small kid—a small sickly weak kid who would cry non-ceassantly until she was picked up. And who would pick up a child who was not cute by the standards that they had for cuteness. The standards “they’ had for a cute baby were sure tough standards to keep as I am talking of fifties when our elders had the Gori Mems for the personification of beauty and cuteness. I failed miserably to keep up with those standards especially when my elder sister, a fair rather very fair kid, gave me stiff competition. I don’t think that I might have felt this when I was an infant as how did it matter to me whether I was picked up or not but all the stories about how my sister was preferred to be picked up and cuddled, made me wreathe under unexpressed anger. Even today while writing all this I can feel the surge of anger that might have played havoc with my persona while I was growing up!

Amma had an interesting story to tell about my elder sister, “she was born in January and there was snow all around and she was such a fair baby just like white snow!” And would add, without paying least attention to what her outpouring did to me, “Our Jamadaar named her Barfu after the Baraf that is snow!” All the while my sister would listen to these stories about her perfect beauty whereas I would ask God why was he so unfair to me, for making me so dark coloured. Later when I would relate these stories to my friends they would look at me in astonishment and would exclaim, “But you are so fair, why would your mother call you dark?” How could I explain to them that it was not the complexion that she was referring to but relativity of complexions! My complexion was measured in comparison to that of my sister. Now that was unfair. I started hating Angrez Mems as my elder sister would always be compared to Mems, angrezi Mems. Perhaps like multitude of Indians, especially the ones having seen Angrez mems in person in the forties and also having heard a lot about their pinkish-white complexion, nothing else could redeem their prestige than to borne a child as fair as an Angrezi mem! It seems my mother had, with one stroke of delivering a white-as-snow baby, had vindicated all the Indians of her Lower Bazaar Mohhalla that had lived under the shadow of the British Raj not much far from their humble dwelling places. Under these circumstances it was no surprise that my mother would brag a lot about her first born fair child than rue about the second born dark child, especially when both the kids happened to be girls!

Under these circumstances it was not surprising that I became aware of my ugliness much before being aware of what sex I was born under. No one rued or repented the fact that I was the second girl born in the family. Luckily for me at that time complexion and looks were much more important than being a boy or a girl! I don’t blame my mother or our neighbours for flaunting my sister’s fair complexion as I can well understand, today at least, that it was a proud feeling of having turned the tables on the British by siring a child a fair as they were. I can laugh today freely to think how much proud all would have been to have a fair child with golden locks and green eyes! My bad luck that I could not bring the same sense of pride to my parents and my neighbourhood aunties!

I always blamed the month of August for my plight. Having heard umpteen times how my elder sister, born in January, had snow like complexion, I would want to know how a child born in August would turn out to be? I could never find any answer to it and I remember having put this question to my teacher when she read the first poem of our English primer in the class. The poem was “Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace…” I asked Miss, “It should have been January’s child is fair of face…” to be followed by a hearty laughter by whole of the class. I moved and inched inside my self-built cocoon to save myself from jeers and smiles of all those who knew my nick name at home, Kaloo! I could feel them laughing in their sleeves because they knew how obsessed I was for being dark in colour, and also that how jealous I was of my sister’s fair complexion! I was “the other” in the family, in the neighbourhood and in the school as well. It was quite late in my life when I overheard that having been born in the second half of August, I was Bhadron.born child. It had no meaning for me till I learnt the popular name for Bhadron—Kaala Mahina! Oh! My God! I was dark complexioned as I was born in Kaal Mahina—the Black month! I could see the pictures of dark black clouds hovering over the horizon in the month of August, I learnt about the songs about “Kaale Baadal and “Kaali Ghata” and could know why I was born dark! Why did my mother conceive me in a month to have me delivered in the month of August! I could find something fishy in all her planning. She delivered me deliberately and knowingly in the month of August, the Kaala Mahina so that I could be born dark complexioned, I rued. But, outwardly, I would try to balance the score with my sister by saying, “I was born in August, the month when our country became independent!” But not to be left behind, my sister would defend this argument by saying, “I was born in the month of January when we celebrate Republic day!” I could never understand the big deal about becoming a republic though become a free nation always had a special charm for me! It still has till date! The fights would go on and on taking different modes and moulds where both of us would be at our warring best. My mother would exclaim in exasperation, “Why did I read the Mahabharata when I carried both of you in my womb?”

I started hating my sister for being fair, to be honest, for being in a true coy of Angrez Mems. I can see for sure that I identified with the suffering Indians, the “blackies”, as they were called by the Angrez masters. Freedom of the country from Angrez masters meant a lot to my small little mind as it meant personal vindication for me! It was in this context that I would listen for endless hours any story or incident that related to the life of Angrez Sahibs in Simla as I identified myself with the all-time suffering Indians and identified my sister with the Angrez Sahibs. My parents by calling my sister “Barfu” among many of her other pleasant-to-the-ears names and by naming me “Kaloo” had, in fact, demarcated the colonials and the colonized in their very home though at that time, and even till much later, I didn’t have any inkling of these theories! I grew up in a small cozy house in Alley no. 2 of Lower Bazaar Simla, as a neglected and near abandoned child. At least I thought so, for a very long time, till I was able to see and feel clearly without any prejudice!

Winter Delights: Til-chauli

Every year during Lohri, I think of all the Winter delicacies that were, during my childhood days, prepared at home. And I start sniffing around for that familiar aroma when jaggery would melt into syrup in a karai put on coal angeethi. The patterns it would form while simmering on slow heat and the aroma that would fill our small house and our minds with, is something that is etched permanently on my mind!

So every year, as an annual ritual, to keep intact the tradition of making such delicacies at home, I try my hand at re-creating the world of my childhood days!

Til-Chauli, is one such simple delicacy which is considered essential in all Hindu households on Lohri evening. Though these days Gazak and Reori etc. have taken precedence over Til Chaui but still in many houses the oblation to the Lohri fire would not to complete if it is not offered Til Chauli. As the name signifies it is a simple mixture of Til that is sesame seed and chawal that is rice. My mother-in-law always would bring out some green paddy plants kept separately for this grand occasion. She would tell me that before the paddy is harvested, they would separately keep some paddy plants, with grains in a tender state, at home. This would be used to make Til-Chauli during Lohri. The grains would be soft to munch and crisp as well at the same time. These grains would be soaked in water, then fried in clarified butter and would be mixed with sesame seeds and sugar along with a liberal sprinkling of dry fruits!

I, on the other hand, make Til Chauli in a different manner as i don’t have these specially kept grains! I substitute it with Chidwas, the puffed rice so easily available in the market. I fry groundnut seeds separate, and finely grated or chopped coconut separately. I fry Chidwa  on low flame in a Kerai where I put a little ghee! When Chidwa turns crispy and turns golden in colour, I add fried groundnut seeds, grated and fried coconut, other dry fruits and mix all these well. I put off the heat and add sugar to taste, stirring the mixture well! The sugar gradually envelops all the ingredients and becomes one with the mixture! And Til-Chauli is ready to be offered to the sacred fire of Lohri and to be relished after that.

This mixture is healthy for the winters and has quite less calories than the chocolates that the modern generation gulps without any pangs of guilt for taking high calorie and high carbohydrates diet!

Enjoy eating Til Chauli! (I am finding it very funny that my daughter has taken Til-Chauli to her high profile, ultra-modern Google office and the imagination of her friends munching Til-Chauli there is keeping me much amused.)

Til Chauli has surely come a long way!

Amma’s maiden visit to Delhi…

Today Amma reached Delhi! it is her first visit to the capital of the nation! it may be surprising for many of you but it is true that my Amma has never been to Delhi. It is her maiden visit! She is always contended being where she belonged  to. No pilgrimages for her. No LTC tours though she retired as a teacher from Government jobs. Perhaps she would always  relegate backstage all such visits and would prefer to be with her children and grandchildren. I have written earlier that she traveled a motor bike on a rough and rugged road when she knew that I needed her. That is how my Amma has been!

Treat her well Delhi, with love and care, she is very special person! At least very special to all of us who adore her.

A Gaze from behind the Gauze…

Sunday,12 December, 2010

Amma was sitting in a chair outside my home. The Sun rays of the morning time made her face shine in a glow that made me fetch my camera. Amma was busy talking to one od my neighbor and friends and she would not look at me or my camera. Recently she has become shy of camera, I don’t know why? But undeterred by her stance, I clicked some pics of her without her knowledge. And while watching the pics I found them to be beautiful  shots as the focus in these pictures is not on the subject but on the dialogue between age and youth, between experience and adventure and between hope and belief!

The iron gauze has acted as a filter to distinguish between the chaff and the grains and I could see a new-look Amma! A new dimensional Amma!

Happy B’day to my youngest one…

Thursday, 16 December, 2010

Dear A,

Today when I got up in the morning and looked at the picture of Lord Shiva, I silently asked for all his blessings for my son as it is your B’day today. I know I have never written anything about you except a few random remarks but today I had an inner urge to bare it open for all to see what I felt like when you came in my life and that too when I already had two daughters! Everyone can imagine how happy I might have been! I am like anyone else, a typical Indian woman with very average and small dreams and aspirations and one of those was to have a son! So you can understand what it meant for me to have a  son after two daughters. Although the fact that you have many a times accused me of being very strict with you, is another story. Perhaps I might have talked about a number of times but again would love to tell you that I was waiting for the birth of a daughter when the midwife announced you to be a son! You were a red mass of flesh soaked in blood, part of my flesh and my blood! Your eyes were shut. I was afraid for you and was guilty for keeping you in pains for a long time. You might be wondering why am I writing all this to you today of all days? Perhaps it is because of two reasons, one is that Aarush, your nephew, is with us and his antics remind me so much of your infancy and the second is that your Dadi is also with you and it acted as a catalyst for surging up of all those emotions that I had long back forgotten about! I would write to you more about your life when you were a part of me but some other day!

Today, I wish you all the best for your life ahead. You may be miles away from us but I know that nothing ever can have any impact on the special bond that we share. And today when you are so immersed in your work, the work that you love, I have a resurgence of all those good times that we had together!

Happy B’day my son!

Maa

Amma:The Real Source of my Strength…

Sunday, 5 December, 2010

Talking to Amma in the morning and listening to her, full of life, banal details made me suddenly realize that here is the real source of my strength. She always has stood for me and is there when I need her. Her benign presence around me has always filled me up with a new courage. Whether it was when Nidhu, my eldest daughter, was blessed with a baby and I was all alone at Hamirpur to look after her, Amma came all the way travelling a distance of over 100 kilometers on a motorbik eas she could not wait a second when she knew that I needed her. Or whether at the time when I had to go to Shimla to consult a lawyer but could not leave behind Nidhu with a young infant, Amma was there so that I could be free to go to Shimla. Amma has always provided me with strength and courage whenever I seemed to dwindle and weakened!

I know where I have got this strength from. My courage, the stamina and indomitable spirit comes from my Amma! Though I was always closer to Bauji and was always his favourite but looking back I can see clearly that it was Amma who was the force behind even my Bauji.

Like all small girls I, sometimes, would hate Amma as she was so strict with us. She still is a perfectionist and does the things in a manner that puts to shame all the youngsters. Recently I have been able to see another aspect of her courage that makes her the most revered person in my life and I can say loud and clear that the genes that made me so strong, come from her!

Amma, I simply adore you!