The lazy summer post

It’s a sticky stuffy evening, and I kind of wish I was done with my godforsaken project already, if only to enjoy the laziness this weather demands. The other night I woke up around three in the morning, and the first thing that registered in my sleep clouded mind was that my window was open (I generally keep it closed, thanks to some horror movie I had seen about a decade ago) and the next thing that I noticed was the warm summer-night smell wafting in through the window. Taking gulp after gulp of it, like I wanted to fill my soul with the smell, I went back to summers as a kid, when sleeping between my mother and my sister with windows wide open and the moonlight playing with the curtains was the only way to sleep I knew. Each night before sleeping, me and my sister would be well-powdered, with extensive emphasis given on the sanctified ceremony of rubbing talcum on each other’s back. Just like due importance was given to the compulsory pillow fight to decide who would sleep next to Mom. Sometimes at night, when I would wake up from some nightmare, mostly involving ghosts in the school toilets (please don’t ask me why), I would just have to stretch my hand to touch my Mom’s apple-skinned tummy (because it has tiny spots on it just like on the skin of an apple), look to my right to see my sister asleep, and then look outside the window to gape at the moon, and everything would be okay with the world again. And the summer night smell, I believe, had everything to do with it. Even now, summer reminds me of a whiff of roses and jasmines outside our bedroom window, crickets chorusing in sync, and the lavender talcum powder that Mom used to be partial to.

And now I wonder why these thoughts, why today. There are a million things I should be doing right now, and yet, I feel restless, and lazy at the same time. Like my mind is working in slow motion, taking a longer time to deal with stuff, with words coming to me slower than they normally do. And yet, some part of that same mind wishes it could work on complicated calculations and listen to new songs AND try work out that odd alien feeling of indifference and isolation that I am feeling right now. Like I am submerged. And I totally blame this sticky stuffy evening for making me feel like doing absolutely nothing at all.

While last week I was willing my mind to just shut up for a little while, today it seems almost kind of odd to go all la-la-la, like I have nothing in this world to worry about, except dream of summer smells and lazy evenings. But dang, those crickets outside my window are still at it, lulling me into false illusion. And it takes me just the blink of an eye to think of those doggone long power cuts, and how my mother would make the most of the fact that we didn’t own an inverter. I believe we have spent some of the best times as a family during those times, sitting outside with a bisoni (hand fan) in our hands, talking about nothing in particular and yet discussing the entire universe, starting from mythology to religion to politics and sciences, and how somehow it would always end with the singing.

And now my mind flits to the best times I have shared with my sister, when it would be us, her guitar and the rooftop. Under the proverbial great starlit sky. Even though I had hated the start-stop-start thing she’d have going while trying to find out the chords of a song I would be dying to belt out. Hence it wasn’t much of a surprise to me, when last summer, on meeting her for the first time in a long time, the first thing we did was bring out the guitar, and play songs into the dead of the night. Paramore’s “The Only Exception” became an enduring part of summer since then, hand upon my heart.

I have a lot of things I want to do with this summer. Like lovers about to be parted for a long long time, me and this summer have to make the most of what we have. And I can’t wrap my head around the fact that there are two whole weeks to go before I can officially declare my summer holiday on. Even though I also know that by the time I wrap my head around this it will be June already. And blessed June will bring with it many more such lazy fragrant evenings, and monsoon showers that bring out the mush queen in me, and short nights that bring in the morning with surprising haste.

I don’t know if this post even made some sense, but at least I have a sense of accomplishment now.

Write blog post : Done.

Meals for two and crazy mashed potatoes

Some of my best times I’ve spent with my Aita (my paternal grandmother) are when it’s just the two of us, seriously deliberating on everything under the sun, from family gossip to mythology. And it has always been this way right from the time when I was all of three and I would be left in Aita’s care while Mother went to school to teach. My Aita would play along with my over-active imagination, and willingly be my partner in all the role-playing games my three-year old mind could conjure up. So if someday she was the neighbor Mrs. Baruah (that would be me, wrapped up in one of Mother’s saris) was visiting, the next day she would be the student in a school Miss. Rita (again me, with slate and chalk in my hands this time) taught in. As I grew older, I found myself being able to confide to her stuff I wouldn’t dare talk about in front of my mother. Being best friends came with its own set of weaknesses though. Just like true friends we would have disagreements and fights, and we wouldn’t talk to each other for days on end. And someday, just like that, I would ask her to oil my hair (that was my olive branch) or maybe help her get dressed and fuss about her, if she had to visit some place nice with us (that was my way of making amends), and things would be alright again.

Somewhere over the years the carer became the one who needed looking after, and the child who needed attention grew up to become the one who had to take care of her. Which entailed taking her to the doctor on the scooty I rode, and keep her entertained while she waited in the long queue of patients; accompanying her on her first ever flight to visit her elder grand-daughter, and holding her hand while she actually shivered in fear before stepping on the escalator in the airport; and my favorite part, cooking for her on days my parents would have to go on day-long trips, leaving me in charge of the kitchen. There isn’t a better sport than my Aita when it comes to food, I tell you. From idlis to momos, there’s nothing my Aita has not tried and relished happily. And my good luck it is, for she happens to love everything I cook for her, not once complaining about too much salt or too much sugar.

Which brings me to yesterday. Which is what this post is all about actually, but once I get started about my Aita, I can’t really stop at a few words. So. It was just the two of us again, yesterday, and although Mother’s instructions were to go get chicken and cook it for lunch, Aita and I decided we were better off having a simpler meal. On the menu: dal, fish fry Aita style, and mashed potatoes Sam style. And as I cooked my potatoes with The Who’s “My Generation” blaring from my iPad, all I could think of was, “This is so going in my blog!”.

On second thought though, I must have been quite the epitome of conflicting contrasts in the boyfriend T-shirt and denim cut offs, smelling of Estee Lauder laced with traces of onion and garlic, dancing a jig in the kitchen while brandishing my spatula, and cooking the quintessential homely mashed potatoes. Hmmmm.

Coming to the recipe itself, you know I don’t share stuff unless it is totally easy-peasy and I feel it would be a crime to keep it to myself. I read this long time back, “While baking, go by instructions. When cooking, go by your heart”. And my cooking is just like my heart; crazy unpredictable, and filled with love. While simple aloo pitika is a favorite in every Assamese household, I always seemed to prefer a jazzier version of it. And no two versions have ever been the same. Not when I’m cooking, no.

So. All you need to do is boil some potatoes, with or without peel. You can always peel them after they have been boiled. Mash them with a fork, but make sure it is not a totally smooth paste. In case you like your potatoes all gooey like I do sometimes though, mash away all you want till it resembles kneaded dough. Chop an onion (I’m assuming you are preparing it for two like I did!) and just one sprig of spring onion. I don’t like the overpowering flavor so I didn’t use it entirely. Mince the smallest bit of ginger you find lying around, and one big clove of garlic (just one). You want the garlic and ginger to be very subtle. Heat a non-stick pan (or an ordinary pan if you like those crispy brown crusts along with your mashed potatoes for a totally different flavor) and put in butter. I crossed my fingers and hoped the belly dancing does its job as I put in a generous helping into the pan. Watching butter melt into golden liquid happiness is a pleasure in itself, no? Once the butter is melted, put in the onion. As it turns slowly pink, tip in the spring onion and ginger and garlic. Add salt, and go ahead, take a whiff of that olfactory feast. When completely done (the trick is to saute it in slow fire for a long time so there’s no rawness) add in the potatoes. Sometime in between a mixture of cheese and mayonnaise might have made its way into the mashed potatoes just before I added them into the pan, I think. Don’t blame me though. The creamy melt-in-the-mouth end product is something worth giving your diet a toss. And if being arrogant and uppity about butter and cheese and mayonnaise is more your style, well, suit yourself. Whatever be it, serve hot, and make sure the Aita has no idea what went into making the potatoes. Oh hang on, but that’s what I did, and as usual, my darling loved it.

Another easy way of having mashed potatoes is with fresh green peas. Now this is more Indian, and hence appealing to a wider range of taste buds. Boil and mash potatoes just like above, and also chop an onion just like above. If you want you can add salt to the potato mash before you add it to the pan. In a pan heat oil, and when hot, put in a bay leaf, tearing it in half to release the flavor. Add chopped onions and green chillies if you like it hot, simultaneously add in a handful of fresh green peas. Once almost cooked, add salt and turmeric powder to taste, and a pinch of cumin powder, and tip in the mashed potatoes. Let it fry for a while, and sprinkle (I say sprinkle because the amount barely covered the tip of my spoon) some ghee on it just before removing from fire. This happens to be my Aita’s favorite. So much that she didn’t even touch the scrambled eggs I had cooked for the meal.

My mother makes a mean south-Indian mashed potato, somewhat like the stuffing they use in dosas. She adds in curry leaves and fried peanuts, along with chopped onions in the oil, and then puts in the mashed potatoes. I insist on her making it whenever we have lusis.

But this is not just about the mashed potatoes, you see. Somewhere between cooking for my Aita and sharing the recipe with you, we did actually sit down for a meal together. And we talked about everything we could think of, as usual… about politics and the upcoming elections and how she finds it hilarious more than anything else, about the awful weather these days, about our latest harvest of potatoes which barely covered the bottom of the basket my mother had optimistically taken along with her, about finally having found a part-time maid who won her heart… And all I could think of was, hell yes, these days how many people actually sit with their grandmothers and have cozy chats brimming with laughter and warmth and oh-so-much love? I’m lucky to say I do. Million times so.

On food and family :)

What follows is a recipe for a perfect “Uruka” (with emphasis on the “perfect”), and for all the people who raise their eyebrows on the mention of the word perfect, well, I refute the fact that perfection does not exist. For me, perfection is a state of mind (more on that on later posts). And well, although I’ll try to keep it as generic as possible, this might have a tendency towards being overtly “Oxomiya-Oxomiya” (it being Uruka and all), and so anybody wanting to get into the specifics should get in touch with me. Well, here goes….

Preparation time: Could take years (check the list of ingredients and method of preparation to understand full meaning).

Cooking time: One whole evening and part of the night.

Ingredients: One family (whole, warm and close-knit), one family from the next door (the older the neighbor-ship, the better), loads of food (details mentioned again in the method of preparation), a fireside and most importantly, laughter (to taste, though I suggest loads of it).

Serves: Everybody.

Method of preparation:

• Take a “pretending-to-be-disgruntled-but-not-actually-disgruntled” Controller of Examinations of a Central University back from office tired with parts of his mind still working on the thoughts of the upcoming Convocation looming on his head, take one daughter back from an eight hour long journey at the end of her wits, take one mother who’s the ever beaming beacon of happiness and loud laughter whenever need be, and one grandmother who’s cool enough to go watch the cricket match between India and Sri Lanka after her job of making the makeshift “chulha” in the verandah is done. Keep the fire burning, and make sure the firewood is in one place. Put the father in the cook’s place in front of the “chulha”, and the initially grumbling daughter as the aide. Let the mother happily bubble in the kitchen with other things to do.
• While the CoE (the father, henceforth to be mentioned as the Cook of Event) fries the fish, let the daughter prepare everything else that the CoE needs to cook (this is to ensure that the place does not look like an aftermath of a battle once the cooking is done) and the mother run between the verandah and the kitchen providing stuff to both father and daughter.
• Add in now the constant babbling of the daughter (by this time she’s back to her form, and should be capable of not keeping her mouth shut a single minute), and slowly pour in the songs. Start with the latest hits from the daughter with the CoE going “daridadda” along with her (these fit in to any tune that’s sung afterall), and then pour in old favorites that invariably end up as family chorus.
• Now for the food (mind you this involves the actual chicken recipe typical to the CoE, so the ones not interested in the food bit may skip this step). Make the CoE heat oil in a frying pan balanced precariously over a tripod which in turn is balanced over the fire, and put in curry leaves, tender lemon leaves, chopped onions and green chilies. Then make him take chicken which is marinated in mustard oil, salt, turmeric powder, onion, garlic, ginger and a little cumin powder sprinkled in, and pour into hot oil. Let him keep frying it till completely dry (don’t forget that the faster the songs the faster the ladle moves). Once completely dry, make him pour hot water to let the chicken cook and simmer in it until desired consistency and taste is achieved. Finishing touch is a pinch of freshly ground pepper and garam masala. In the meantime, let the mother prepare typical Assamese fish “tenga” with tomato and freshly chopped coriander in the kitchen on the gas and yet another fish dish baked with grated coconut and mustard paste in the microwave (let the contrast be duly noted). And while the CoE keeps blowing at his increasingly burning hands, let the daughter coolly peel oranges for the salad.
• To complete the picture, let the only member of the family not physically present there (owing to her being married AND getting a new job in faraway Bangalore, keeping her away from her husband in Kolkata…tsk tsk tsk!) give a phone call at that very moment, and talk to the whole family. This is to ensure that nothing is left to be desired in the “perfect” Uruka. Let the cheery chat ensuing the phone call float in the air for some time.
• Add in a colorful salad (not at all relevant but I had to add it in, considering the effort I put into it) with everything grated, mixed with orange pulp and dressed with more chopped coriander, decorated in a glass bowl lined with cabbage leaves, to bring color to the by now loaded dining table, and now bring in the next door family.
• Arrange “murha”s around the fireside and toss in all the ingredients together (the food, the families, and the laughter). Perfect Uruka is ready. Serve with generous helpings of smiles, and humor on the side.