Everything remains the same

Hanging around the lunch table on a Saturday and we got talking of gulab jamuns. Perhaps it was right after eating the dudhi halwa that mom made - from scratch with raw dudhi and milk. And we talked about mava - the delicious brown solid that the milk turns into when it has been allowed to slowly evaporate for a a long long time. I've become a huge fan of the solid, and don't anyone ever tell me that the stuff they sell in a can in America is a substitute - cos its not.

Anyway mom talked about how gulab jamuns are made from mava - the brown solid. A little flour a little cardamom and you roll the damp mava into little balls and fry them up, before dropping them into saffron and cardamom flavored sugar syrup. Yummmmmmmm ! The stuff you make from a Gits packet - doesnt even come into the territory.

So mom was telling us about how when she was young they would make huge thalis full of Gulab Jamum for parties and to send to dad's friend, and about how she cannot even imaginge making that many so causally any more. She said, we were young and we would just undertake these huge projects and never stop to think of cost or calories......

And so I thought back to about a year ago in Memphis. Her parents were having a party for many reasons, and for no reason. My young niece Shruti decided she wanted to make "Cake Balls".

She started by making 3 pan cakes. These she proceeeded to crumble in the food processor. Then she mixed in cake frosting to make a big gooey paste. This she chilled in the refrigerator for a few hours. Then at 10pm after the dinner dishes were done, she brought out huge sheet pans and started to mould the cake and frosting paste into balls. The paste was cold. And we had to try spoons, ice cream scoops to ladle out perfect little balls. Finally, we gave up and dug in with our fingers.

The balls were then dipped in a chocolate sauce. Once the sauce firmed, we drizzled the whole platter with more chocolate!  4 hours after we had started the cake balls were done. You ate one and felt like you'd consumed 1000 calories. And we had made about 400 of these things. I made Shruti promise "NEVER AGAIN" shall we talk about making cake balls... though Shruti, the yoga teacher heard this story and is looking forward to making some.

I wonder if Shruti will look back at that evening and think - What were we thinking!!!

Is it or isn't it Maida or The Quest for the Perfect Samosa

My maid Radhika has been asking mummy to teach her how to make samosas. We've always prioritized it down among other Gujarati things, primarily because I can always get a passable samosa in the office cafetaria.

However, since we did not have much to do today, we decided we would embark on Project Samosa.
I hit the internet, and checked out recipes from a few of my favorite chefs. Mummy learnt to make samosas from Rewa Ba but she has hopelessly doctored the recipe over the years, and I was going after a particular taste.

So we made the filling in the morning, and I tasted it till I got it just right. Probably finished a quarter of the potato in the tasting. The plan was to make the dough in the evening.

While Radhika was at her own home and mummy was taking a nap, I decided to make the dough. I decided to add an extra little surprise that I've picked up over the years. I was going to add a teeny tiny bit of yeast to the dough to make it extra flaky.

There were many containers in the many cupboards in the kitchen. I recognized the rice flour and the chappati atta and the besan.. and kept looking for the maida. I wasn't going to let mom do her favorite half maida half atta under the guise of making a healthy samosa.

I stumbled upon what I was sure was maida. I made the atta with a generous sprinkle of ajwain and it tasted yum. The teaspoon of yeast bubbled up nicely. The atta worked very well. I had what I thought was the perfect samosa dough.

Mom woke up from her nap, Radhika arrived, and we embarked upon the process of rolling out the dough. Radhika thought we did not have enough dough. And I said, Yes, let me make some more. When she saw the container - she said she did not think it was maida. She thought it was cornflour. Mom bit into the crispy samosa and said "Oh its too crispy to be maida, it must be cornflour." I told them I did not think cornflour would feel so much like maida while kneading and cooking.

Papa ate up 2 samosas and said he did not really have the experience to tell anything other than that samosas were damn good.

So for the second batch of dough I used the "alleged" maida. It felt like rice flour. But mom and Radhika both swear that that is what Indian maida is like. So we are waiting for that batch to soak up. And soon we shall have the results.

The Das Sisters - Kukoon

Kukoon (Devkanya) - the youngest, and legend has it the most beautiful, talented and charming one of all the sisters, exuberant and enthusiastic.

Married at the age of 16 to a young man in Bhuleshwar, Kukoon moved to Bombay around 1946. She soon charmed the in-laws and their neighbors with her unique looks, her stature, her beauty and her talents. She became friends with mom's cousins and through them with Mom.

At Navratri, she would ofen reduce the gathered crowd to tears with her rendition of the Gujarati garbo "Dikri to Parki Thapan Keh Vay" - A daughter belongs to a different family. Gujarati lyrics can be found at http://gujaratigazalslyrics.blogspot.com/2009/05/dikri-to-parki-thapan-parki.html, and some day I just might get around to translating them.

You might have read in When Mummy Met Daddy about how Kukoon bua was instrumental in arranging my parents marriage. She was a favorite in our home as well as in my grandparents, and that of mom's Somi masi, who lived next door to Kukoon bua's in-laws.

Which made her senseless death all the more tragic, and all the more difficult to bear.

Kukoon bua's mother-in-law was rumored to have been a demanding and domineering sort who placed all kinds of demands on her young daughter in law. Raised in the Gujarati tradition of believing that a daughter's place is at her in-laws, and she must always work on preserving their reputation, she kept most of this from papa and the Haldwani family and the Chokseys.

By the time Mom and Dad had been married 2-3 years, Kukoon was approaching 5 years of marriage. She still had not conceived and provided her demanding mother-in-law with an heir. Little is known or discussed of what all transpired in that household leading up to her death.

Mom and Dad were busy with the next big family wedding. Mom's older brother Bhagwan mama was getting married to one of Mom's classmates from High School. It was an arranged marriage. The bride, Urmila mami,  was the oldest daughter of a wealthy business owner in Bhuleshwar. Though regulation of the gold market had slowed down the Chokseys business, Urmila mami's father had planned a grand wedding.
The bridal party travelled in an open convertible bedecked with flowers through the streets of Bhuleshwar. And a good time was had by all. .....except Kukoon bua.

She spent the day planning exactly how she would commit suicide. She knew that the wedding was important to my parents. She did not want to do anything to spoil the event.

And so she waited until it was all over. She wrote a note explaining that she had chosen to end her life, because she saw no way ahead. That she did not want to cause any more pain or inconvenience to anyone.

When her in-laws finally found her, she had consumed a whole bottle of a lethal acid compound. By the time they got her medical attention, it was too late to do anything for her.

Emotions in the family raged high. A beloved daughter had been cornered into taking her life. The Das family wnated the in-laws to receive the toughest punishment imaginable. That was when Gordhan kaka, the uncle that had arranged the match, and a powerful magistrate in his own right, stepped in.

He persuaded the family to think things through - "We have already lost our daughter. Pursuing a court case will not bring her back, and will drag all the families through the muck." He persuaded my grandfather and my dad to help bring a speedy conclusion to the case, protecting Kamala ben and family.

Kukoon bua - we never had the opportunity to know you, but your spirit lives on, in the countless nieces and nephews who may never have heard of you, but who have learnt from my parents and their siblings that ill-treatment of a daughter-in-law is unacceptable.

The Das Sisters - Shanu Foi

Sanu (Sukanya) foi - Sanu foi was a gorgeous, outspoken young woman, with many talents. I remember her singing on the terrace in Haldwani on the summer evenings when we all gathered there, thinking that is whom I want to be like. She had a strong, powerful, confident voice.

She was married to an accountant from Calcutta - the oldest son of one of the Gujarati families from Kapadwanj that had moved to Calcutta. Bhupendra fua also had a great zest for the arts, being raised in the Rabindranath tradition, and was a great singer himself. We met their four children during our summer vacations in Haldwani or whenever they came to Bombay.

But I always remained impressed by Sanu foi's outspokenness, for her championing of the right cause and her willingness to speak out for things that were important to her. And I was even more impressed by fua's championing her in each of those circumstances. 

The Das Sisters - Shant Foi

 Shant (Chandrakala) foi

Another tall woman, Shant foi bears a striking resemblance to papa, and at various times in my life I have looked remarkably like her. She was married to a young man from Ahmedabad with strong literary skills and a strong interest in Gujarati literature. They set up home in Bombay and had 3 children. Shant foi was also a multi-skilled, multi-talented woman who could do literally anything she set her mind to, and always moved onto the next thing before she had perfected the art of the first one. I see so much of her in me.

Their first home in Bombay was in the Bhuleshwar area but on the side closer to the Masjid Bunder docks. The day the ammunition ships exploded in the Bombay harbor, they lost all their worldly possessions and had to start life all over again.

Never reaching a stage of great financial wealth, Shant foi "made-do" , supplementing the family finances by taking on odd jobs and raised 3 fine children. I remember her as bold, almost audacious, in her approach and outlook to life and situations. I wish I knew more about her.

The Das Sisters - Cho Cho bua

Cho Cho Bua and Shant foi with random cousins

 Cho-Cho (Shashikala) was the oldest. Even in her older years I remember her as a tall woman of great stature, with jet black hair (never dyed) and very fair skin. She was married at a very young age to a young man from the family home town of Kapadwanj. By the time she was 22 years old, she was the mother of 2 boys and a widow. The cruel ritual of Sati was banned by the time this happened. However, even then widows were required to shave their heads bald and wear white saris for the rest of their lives. They also could not adorn themselves with flowers, jewellry or any other decorative objects. Society expected them to merely exist in the background, taking little, raising the children and awaiting death.

Very fortunately for Cho Cho bua, her mother-in-law did not subscribe to the thinking of the times. She was allowed to keep her hair. But she did have to give up all adornments and opt for the simple white sari.

Mom remembers an argument between Cho Cho bua and her mother Rewa Ba. Cho cho wanted to wear her hair with a part in the middle. Rewa Ba telling her that as a widow, she could only wear it pulled back. Cho Cho bua was only 24 years old then - condemned to live without heed to fashion remaining functional and never allowed to appear attractive.

While Cho Cho bua was not allowed to appear attractive, she was encouraged to become independent, which was a very rare privilege for women of that time. Her mother-in-law took over the responsibility of raising the 2 young boys while Cho Cho bua went away to college to study . She stayed in a hostel at the college, and returned to take on a job as a teacher in the local school in Kapadwanj.

This ended up being a career with many good results, as she was able to raise her children with the support of her mother-in-law. She was able to make up for the dent in the family finances following her husband's death. And every summer she was able to take the kids to Haldwani on vacation. Most importantly, the teaching career gave her a place where she could express herself in a gainful manner. And it gave her a pension guaranteeing her an income till she died in 2008 at the age of 81 or thereabouts.


Certainly a lonely and difficult life,but one that might have been much worse had her mother-in-law not encouraged and supported her independence.