Wednesday, May 10, 2017

In the Maize



          
It's one of those post rain mornings. The wind lashed about last night after a hot and humid day, and the corn in our mali bari suffered its effects.

 The corn wasn't flourishing anyway, not with all the birds pecking away at it happily.

Just last week, we put in some scarecrows.
These men of straw were laid low by the rain and wind, and they looked quite wretched in the morning. I kept thinking of Ruth amid the alien corn. Some had lost their shirts as well - no doubt they took them off, as Nirmal the bearer said, because yesterday was so hot!!




                    Dignity restored!!

Saturday, April 29, 2017

The Good Old Days Weren't Always Good


This story is short - and sweet (you'll see why).

After griping about how it was impossible to get good 'gur'/jaggery/'vellam' in my last blog post, I decided to take my chances and shop online. Life can be full of sweet surprises. My favourite golden sugar was available at Amazon!
At Rs.69/- only for 500 grams, a packet of organic gur seemed like a steal.

I placed my order and got a message telling me it would be delivered by the first week of May, but the goodies came in today with the newspapers: a whole week early!

The packing was great, and the gur, chunky cubes of it, as golden and sweet as the cold weather sunshine!

We still have a 'dakwallah' in tea gardens - but now he brings in my online shopping as well!
Cheers to progress!



Saturday, April 22, 2017

Monday, March 27, 2017

Tuesday, January 03, 2017

Sweet Golden Memories




(published in the Hindu, 3/01/2017)
Karthigai has always been one of my favourite festival days. It is celebrated on a full moon night, and this year it was on Tuesday, 13th December. Sisters light lamps and candles and pray for their brothers, who express their love and thanks with gifts.  When my daughters were little, they too lit lamps and candles with me in our tea garden home in North Bengal just as I'd done with my mother and sisters when I was growing up in Delhi.
Most of the goodies offered up with prayers on Karthigai are made with jaggery, which is called Vellam (VELL-um) in Tamil and ‘gur’ (rhymes with ‘good’) in a number of other Indian languages. On Karthigai my mother would make Vella Dosai, Appam (little deep fried dumplings) and pori undai (puffed rice laddoos in golden vellam syrup) in large numbers.
I remember that Vellam was always sold in rounds about ten inches in diameter with slightly raised centres – around three inches high. Vellam has a grainy texture, and it is firm, but soft enough to break into chunks. We ate small chunks of it with dosai and adai at home, at 'tiffin time', that traditional South Indian meal eaten somewhere between three and five in the evening. Most children who grew up at the same time as I did thought tiffin was the best meal of the day. You got traditional fast food    (though we didn't have that phrase those days) like dosai and adai, uppuma, pakoras (called Bajji) poori-masala and idli (not a favourite with most children). These were actually good for you, in addition to being delicious. There are brown and white versions of many traditional Indian eats and the brown ones are all made with Vellam. There’s white Pongal which is a savoury and Sakkara Pongal, its sweetened brown version. Vellam gives us health benefits in the hot season as well.  I remember my mother preparing  glasses of icy ‘paanaham’ – a  gur sharbat flavoured with dried ginger and cardamom- which kept us cool during the days when Delhi’s ‘loo’ wind was at its height. The taste beat Roohafza or Nimbu pani or any other pani.
Vellam is probably the purest form of cane sugar. It is unrefined and rich in moisture, iron, minerals and 'heat'. It is high in calories, but these are ‘good calories’ unlike the ones in refined white sugar. Shakkar is another form of golden unrefined sugar, a little lighter in colour and powdery in texture. Fresh stocks of Gur and Shakkar arrive at grocery shops at the beginning of the cold weather. I found both in Delhi on my visit there last month.  Both were excellent. Only small quantities of Gur and Shakkar make their way into the rural areas of Eastern India. 
 
  A couple of months back, I bought some Gur here which was awful. It was adulterated with caramelised white sugar. Hard to believe it, but the cost of Gur has been higher than that of white sugar for some years now. It used to be cheap and available everywhere: the poor man’s sweetener and a traditional rustic dessert. In the nineties, my husband and I would take the train to Madras, and when we passed through the poorer parts of rural Orissa vendors would sell us tea sweetened with Gur.
I remember days of sugar shortage and rationing. That was also the age when readymade garments were costly and you got your clothes made by the tailor, when all our vegetables and fruits were not evenly sized and brightly coloured hybrids, but actually tasted of the earth from which they came.

The Bengali month of Poush began a few days ago, and with it, the open season for bingeing on sweets, particularly those made with Khejur Gur.
Khejur Gur is Gur made from date palm sap. The sap is sweet and ready for collection at the beginning of the cold weather, and it gets sweeter as the weather gets colder. I saw and tasted my first Khejur Gur sweets when I got married and moved to the Dooars, North Bengal.  They weren’t all that well known outside Bengal in those days. Once I tasted them, I was hooked for life. Bengali Khejur Gur sweets are golden and boozy in flavour, with a mellow richness that can’t be matched. We used to travel the length of Dooars at least once a week, and my husband managed to hunt out the best eateries and sweetshops in all the little towns. Pretty soon, we zeroed in on Nagrakata, Mal Bazar and Bagdogra (in that order) as the places which stocked the best ‘Khejur Gur er Mishti’.Around five years ago, there was a sudden drop in the quality of these sweets. The sweetshops stocked them in large numbers, but alas, they no longer tasted the same. It didn’t take long to discover the truth. There was no Khejur Gur to be had anywhere, and the sweetshops had switched to caramel.  This happened because there were no Khejur (date) palm trees growing anywhere any more.

                                    Khejur Gur and Sandesh from the 'Gur Old Days' !

Some photographs from The Telegraph, taken in Nadia district, show how date palm sap is collected and how the 'gur' is made and sold at the market.