Serendipity, Saunter and Faux paz

  (Photo by Doina Gavrilov: https://www.pexels.com/photo/delicate-pink-rose-17637049/ ) Gulkanda As the temperatures soar, the warm, seasonal food that was served through the winter changed. Suddenly, butter milk and lemonade became the go to drinks to keep cool through the day. Curries were made with raw mango. But the most interesting was to eat a spoonful of gulkand in the mornings. At other times of the year, gulkand was an essential ingredient of meetha paan (betel leaf with sweet gulkand filling) but in summers you could eat it everyday to ward off heat related ailments. And it was home made! Our tiny rose garden was our pride. It had about 20 variety of roses including climbers in our small front yard! But the ones that Aji took pride in were tucked away towards the backyard, near the bananas. They were the ‘desi’ or local ones in white, pink and pearl. The pearly one known as motiya in Marathi was particularly pretty! It is a delicate creamy rose with just a hint of pink...

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I am writing about Puran poli in the context of Holi because of the popular chant –  Holi re holi, purnachi poli ... Pooran poli is otherwise very important as well. As an offering to the Gods during other festivals and because my Aji made really amazing puranpolis according to everyone! As a kid, I didn’t like them at all. I'm not sure but it must have something to do with grinding all that pooran though I did like eating the puran and while one was grinding it, eating bits of it was totally prohibited. But thinking back and now having developed a liking for them I do prefer the soft ones, stuffed with a lot of pooran  like she made them. And then drizzled with ghee! The soft flavour of nutmeg playing hide and seek with the tastebuds as one took a morsel.  Amongst the festivals purannpoli was made at were Gudi Padva, Navratri – first day and ninth day and just a little bit of pooran on the eight day as well for the aarti. Then we had it for Holi and Gudi Padva and in bet...

Linguistic negotiations  I found the words from the chapter ‘Exile’ from  'In Other Words' by Jhumpa Lahiri, lingering in my thoughts. Even as I read it my mind was running ahead of me in a parallel universe that houses my own experiences. I feel total empathy  for her estrangement with her mother tongue, Bengali and her comment that her mother tongue feels like a foreign tongue. Having spent several years in non- Marathi speaking regions, I am reminded of the struggle to keep my mother tongue alive. Trying to keep it flowing for my daughter CC; she may not have yearned for it as she had the resilience and the innocent adaptability of the very young to adopt another language and make it her own with remarkable speed. But for me my mother tongue was the bridge between being a young, bumbling parent and my own happy childhood. Language of course formed a large part of it. So with enthusiasm I got her CDs of Marathi plays and story books and sang her songs from the language ...

Discovering Chicory and Fava Virtual travelling during the pandemic, I kept making lists of what to see and what to do and what to taste on the next real trip. Researching Puglia, looking at various top 10 suggestions, what caught my attention was  ‘chicory and fava.’ A puree of fava beans soaked overnight and chicory leaves. It sounded wholesome and comforting but I had never heard of chicory leaves being eaten before. Chicory! My association with chicory is it's presence in coffee and endless debates about whether coffee is better with it or without it. My grandmother, dressed in her voile saree, sipping from a steaming cup of coffee, standing under the arched doorway that separated the dining room from the kitchen and strongly advocating chicory in coffee in her warm, cultured Maharashtrian manner. Grandmother refused to have coffee that did not contain chicory as according to her it was the chicory that brought out the flavours  of coffee.  The way she said it chi- ko...

Forever roses In addition to beautiful memories some other things travelled back with us from Kashmir.  Among them were the famous papier-mâché pen holder in black with an intricate floral design, a massive carpet that came in a few months later, a kangri (the wicker basket enclosing an earthen pot with coals to keep warm) and a branch of a rose bush. The beautiful cane basket, kangri, soon had a money plant cascading down the side of one of the display shelves, right next to the inner living room door. The pretty leaves, pale green and white contrasted beautifully with the dark polished wood of the cabinet and caught everyone’s attention. But this story is about the rose. As soon as we were back it was planted in the garden right next to the large window with a window box of China roses. It was hoped and indeed talked about that the velya gulab (vine rose) would grow tall and strong and cover the sun-shade of the window and fall over to the other side. This would be reminiscent o...

To read and to re-read! I came across some posts about re-reading on social media and I think re-reading books is such a pleasurable activity. When one re-reads a book after some years, the slightly blunt edges of  some of the some of ths things one has read suddenly sharpens, like sitting up in a chair in which you were almost slumbering when your flight is announced. It also reminds you a little bit of the time you first read it which can be pleasant or unpleasant or just different from the now.  And then you are a different person from then when reading the same book again. Whether the change is remarkable or slight there is no denying the change in turn making the book a little bit different to the earlier read. Some books feel like you are reading them again, some feel like they are a lot different to what you remember. And one notices different things - words, ideas, characters, traits of characters, associations.  So all in all most interesting, re-reading.