The Japanese box

My father gave me this box. He purchased it from Tokyo airport on a stopover while on an official trip almost 30 years back.

The Japanese box was a delightful gift for a school girl. I spent a lot of time with it. Opening and shutting it, putting things in it and taking them out. 

Then it became guardian to some things from my childhood. Tucked in it, away from adult eyes, were a toy teacup, rubber stamps from Canada with a plastic container of glitter, the woggle from my Girl Guide scarf, and for some strange reason, a plastic camera roll container. For years, I also kept a letter from my father in it.

My father had accompanied former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi, as part of the press on a Tokyo-Vancouver-Boston-New York-Washington tour. The letter dated October 12, 1987, was written on board the Prime Minister’s special flight. Nana (my father) describes how luxurious the air plane was and the royal treatment they received on board the Maharaja. How they were frequently served salted almonds and cashews, how journalists were being spoilt with Black Label whisky and 555 cigarette packets. He wrote that he felt as if they were disconnected from our country, then poor, and caught up in a severe drought.

Seeing the box and its contents once again reminded me of the day Nana returned from the trip. When he gave me the box, it contained the cat and tortoise stamps and glitter. For a long time my penfriends received letters with the stamped images. 

Nana narrated anecdotes from the trip for hours. He had even brought newspapers from the US to show us. The big story then was the rescue of a girl called Jessica, who had fallen into a well. This was long before Prince’s similar story in India. Recently I read about Jessica McClure online. She is married and has kids of her own. She may never even imagine how someone in India was once taken up with her rescue and had read about it then.

In incidents like these is my interest in journalism and writing rooted. Seeing the box brought this and much more to mind

‘To be Londinium and not to be London’

Dear Mr Rajan,

I read about your decision to address my city with its colonial name in your newspaper, though our government reverted back to its earlier one some years back. As a Mumbaikar, I thought I could express my view, which you, an Indian-born British person, at least owe me, to read.

So firstly, the name of Bombay was changed back to Mumbai, not because of any Hindu nationalism, though the political party which did it is mostly known for this. It was done because Bombay was a colonial name. As is Calcutta, as is Madras and Trivandrum. All these names as you know, were changed back to Indian ones. I didn’t listen to the BBC interview, only read about your views in agency reports, which don’t mention your ‘cosmopolitan’ views about these other cities. If you want to side with ‘the tradition of India that’s been open to the world…’ are these cities an exception to that tradition? Or is it that only Mumbai bothers you?

Also, if the name ‘Bombay’ so epitomises this tradition or the ‘open, secular, pluralist and tolerant’ tradition, let me just reiterate the fact that it comes from the anglicised version of the Portuguese name Bom Bahia. Why not go for that? Why not go to an even older name? Heptanesia? Why insist on a name given by the British? Doesn’t this reek of a colonial attitude? Of the closed mind of someone who could be termed Macaulay’s child?

Obviously, Bombay bothered many of us, and so the name was changed, as were the names of the other cities mentioned. But why are you bothered about the name of a city that many of us, Marathi and others, agree with? After all, it’s only the city you land in a few times, probably when you arrive to meet your cousins from this developing country. Too bad Pune escaped an anglicised name. Oh! May be you could revert to its British spelling: Poona.  

Better, why don’t you refer to London as Londinium? Apparently it was also a major commercial centre then. It must also have been cosmopolitan then. Isn’t your mind open enough to accept Roman names? But that’s a colonial name for your city. Think about it. 

These are my personal views, not of the newspaper that I work for.

Fifty years on, Sahitya Sahawas pens its first book

She first came to India to discover the land of her parents, who had moved to Sweden, where she was born and brought up. The heat and dust fascinated her too, and she stayed on. She moved to Mumbai and became a choreographer. In course of time, she met a guy, fell in love, and got married. They then moved into a special housing society, and this is where Shazia’s life took another interesting turn.

Having always been fond of reading, and having read literature in Swedish, English and French, she found herself staying in this housing society, which was meant for authors. Shazia Qureshi’s husband, noted photographer Avinash Gowariker, one of my neighbours, had grown up here, in Sahitya Sahawas.

Shazia Gowariker. Picture by Avinash Gowariker

Sahitya Sahawas was established after an idea put forth by well known Marathi authors, Acharya P K Atre and Anant Kanekar. They felt it was possible to have a housing society just for authors. It was registered in 1966 and many well known Marathi and few Hindi authors began to stay here. These include Dnyanpeeth award winner Vinda Karandikar, Anant Kanekar, Gangadhar Gadgil, Ra Bhi Joshi, M V Dhond, Ashok Ranade, Dharmaveer Bharati, Ramesh Tendulkar, Y D Phadke, K J Purohit, Vijaya Rajadhyaksha, MV Rajadhyaksha, Narayan Athawalay, M Kalelkar, Shanta Shelke, Deepa Gowariker, K J Purohit, Keshav Meshram and Arvind Gokhale.

Shazia, who is a lawyer, says, “I have stayed abroad and have never seen anything anywhere like this colony. There is nothing like this even in Sweden or in London.”

The atmosphere in our colony is such that most people are often reading, or writing something, or discussing words, books, authors or something related to writing. Having come from a family where reading was always encouraged, Shazia had married into another with a similar atmosphere, and gained a mother-in-law, Deepa Gowariker, who is an author. She also found herself surrounded by literature through her neighbours. Slowly an idea took shape in her mind and her husband and mother-in-law encouraged and supported her when they heard of it.

“Sometimes, it takes an outsider’s perspective to put things into focus,” she says of the idea. Every evening she says, Aai (her mother-in-law) and her friends meet in the colony and are engrossed in long chats. “I was curious as to what they might be discussing. I thought it would probably be daughters-in-law and TV serials. But I was impressed when she told me the subjects ranged from books to current affairs,” she says. “I wondered, why not have a book compiling articles by these women on such subjects?” she adds. 

Shazia and Avinash put forth this idea to the group of women who meet every day, and a few others who stay in the colony, and the book was born. This is the first time that authors staying in Sahitya Sahawas will be featured in one book.  Titled ‘Kattyavarchya Gappa,’ it is a compilation of articles in Marathi by 13 women authors who stay here. Some of them are already well known authors and translators.

Says Shazia, “I just felt as most of the group were authors, it would be silly not have a book where all of them could feature together.”

This Republic Day, which is also the annual Colony Day for Sahitya Sahawas, the book will be released by veteran theatre personality Vijaya Mehta. Well known classical singer Ashwini Bhide-Deshpande, who is the chief guest for the Colony Day, will also grace the occasion. Interestingly, it is 50 years since the registration of the society and it will be celebrated in a grand manner.

People have been making comments about Sahitya Sahawas, saying there are few authors here now and there is no sahitya coming from here. This book compiled by Shazia is proof that they are wrong. There are also many authors in the generations that followed the original residents.

Shazia proudly says, “I come from a country which gives the Nobel Prize for Literature.” Unfortunately, India has only won it in 1913 through Rabindranath Tagore. Let us hope this changes soon.

Kattyawarchya Gappa, the book, whose cover has been done by Raj Thackeray

An emoticon is not enough

The terrorist attack on Pathankot is on. The social media is abuzz with emoticons in tribute to our soldiers and defence personnel who made the ultimate sacrifice while defending the base. For many of us our role ends with a ‘like’ or emoticon on social media when we read about them. But does our responsibility end with that? Having decided mine does not, I make the journey to the Sainik Welfare office once a year and make a donation. It’s not much, but it’s something.

The Sainik Welfare office – there are many in the country – collects money for the benefit of injured soldiers and the families of those who made the ultimate sacrifice.  

Showing solidarity with an emoticon is good. But I feel doing something is much better. Knowing a couple of soldiers personally has also opened my eyes wider to their lives and work. I know I don’t do much with a small monetary donation. But at least it’ll do much more for them than a periodic emoticon.

For this Republic Day, I suggest you also move beyond the emoticon. Do something for the Indian defence forces. One small way is by making a donation.

The cheques can be addressed to the:

Collector and President Zilla Sainik Welfare Officer Mumbai Upnagar

Send them to:

Zilla Sainik Welfare Officer,
Mumbai Suburban District,
New Administrative Building, 9^th floor,
Government Colony,
Bandra East,
Mumbai 400 051

I am proud of being an Indian – Maulana Azad

So India finds herself in the midst of another ‘Khantroversy’. This time it’s Aamir Khan.

The first time I found what had happened from the media, I couldn’t help but think about Maulana Abul Kalam Azad. The same learned scholar and freedom fighter, whom Aamir Khan proudly talks about being related to. So proud that Khan claims he named his son after him.

Maulana Azad was a journalist, poet and politician. He joined the Indian freedom struggle and was against the idea of the Partition of India. But it did happen. And with it came terrible loss and hurt. After Partition Azad worked for the safety of Muslims in India. He toured affected areas in Bengal, Bihar, Assam and the Punjab, guided the organisation of refugee camps, supplies and security. He gave speeches encouraging peace, and encouraging Muslims across the country to remain in India and not fear for their safety and security. He firmly believed in Hindu-Muslim unity.

This post is not to deny the killings of Narendra Dabholkar, MM Kalburgi or the Dadri lynching or the aftermath of it all. These incidents are painful reminders that we as citizens, and our politicians have done something terribly wrong somewhere. And there should be protests against these incidents. This post is for a filmstar who says he is proud to be related to a real leader like Maulana Azad, and then talks about ‘intolerance’ and a suggestion of leaving India. Unlike Khan, his hero Maulana Azad, never thought of leaving India. Even when Partition, something he was opposed to happened, he chose to convince Muslims to stay in India and help them.

“I am proud of being an Indian. I am part of the indivisible unity that is Indian nationality. I am indispensable to this noble edifice and without me this splendid structure is incomplete. I am an essential element, which has gone to build India. I can never surrender this claim,” Maulana Azad had said at a Congress session in 1940.

It is difficult to go beyond criticism and try to change someone or something. It is easier to abandon someone for one’s own safety. But would you abandon a family member if he or she did something very wrong? India is like a family where some members are taking the wrong decisions. If other members feel something is wrong, they should help make a positive change.

ow

Khan, who made the serial Satyamev Jayate, has the freedom to make his opinion. But he should not talk about being a proud relative of Maulana Azad and the ‘suggestion of escaping to safety’.

Maulana Azad did not desert his country.

Jewel in the thali

This is pithla. Or as non-Maharashtrians call it, peetla. Also known as zunka.
The gastronomic jewel that wars have been fought over, in many peace-loving Maharashtrian households. The prize that has turned many a sibling into a foe.

All Maharashtrian children unknowingly learnt to make this dish first, when they stepped into the kitchen as the making of pithla was announced, and left only when the vessel carrying it was taken to the dining table. So ask any Maharashtrian – even someone who claims he can’t cook – what the ingredients and method to prepare pithla are, and he or she will narrate it step by step, from chopping onions to the garnishing of coriander on top of the dish. It is one dish that has had scores of children running into the kitchen to ‘help’.     

While the savoury dish is delicious, licking the pot after it’s nearly over, is what siblings and cousins have battled for. In many of these battles, it is learnt with much pride, that it is often the younger sibling who has emerged triumphant. The battle having ended, with the elder sibling, minus few strands of hair and a sore face and bruised hands, glaring across the room at the younger sibling, also minus equal strands of hair, and a black eye and bruised face and hands to match, but with the coveted vessel in hand, and a big smile on the aching face.

Of course, there have not always been battles over pithla. It has also brought together siblings and cousins with love. On occasion, a visiting cousin has even magnanimously allowed his younger cousin to enjoy licking the vessel clean. A privilege he usually enjoyed under the glaring stare of his older brother at their home. Sigh! The duties one has on being older - never mind if his cousin didn’t hear his heart break when he heard her slurping it. 

There’s always the ladle to lick the remaining pithla stuck to the vessel. But long practicals, and deep study over years have led to the finding, that it tastes better when one uses one’s hands to lick it.

Pithla tastes better with bhakri, but it can also be accompanied by chappatis or rice. But the dollop of ghee on it is mandatory.

The deep study has also led to another finding, that though pithla is served hot,  it is equally delicious when cold.

Many people have tried to makeover this dish, for instance by adding fenugreek leaves to it, but the classic taste prevails. This is one dish that tastes best unfusionised and unmodernised. It remains a tasty dish made with simple ingredients. It is a tradition any Maharashtrian worth his pithla will want unchanged. Fast food, slow food, healthy food, the fads may come and go. But the pithla has retained its place in Maharashtrian houses. It is truly a jewel in our gastronomic treasury.

- alshi maushi

My foodie dad

I inherited my parents’ love for writing and reading early, but my father’s love for food is just dawning on me.
I am told by Aai that Nana (my father) learnt to cook, because he was in the Bhoodaan movement and travelled for it. It wasn’t that Nana was just a good cook. He would also enthusiastically go shopping for the ingredients. He also read about food and we would often go to restaurants or a shop he had read about. If he liked a dish at a hotel he would try to recreate it at home. Once Aai, Nana and I went to Bhendi Bazaar to a shop that’s open only for a fortnight in a year to sell baklava, after he read about it. I remember in Goa, in the early years, he would hire a cycle, I would accompany him and we would ride to the Panjim market. The Editor in Chief of the Daily Gomantak and his daughter, going to the market on a cycle.

After they got married, my father stayed with my mother’s family for a few months at Girgaum until they got a place of their own. He was a pure vegetarian Koknastha Brahmin in a non-vegetarian Pathare Prabhu house. But that didn’t deter him. He began to get seafood for his new family from Sassoon Docks. He also learnt Pathare Prabhu dishes like bhujane and khadkhadle. Infact, his skills in cooking shamed my uncle who couldn’t even boil water, into learning to make tea! Mama decided he would at least make tea for everyone from then on. And while he didn’t learn anything else, he did make the first daily cup of tea for his family for years later.

It is only in recent years that the idea of spouses helping each other when it comes to running a house, or even cooking a meal, is being talked about. But years ago, Nana never forced Aai to cook a meal as soon as she arrived from work, or barred her from going for talks she hosted as chief of the Maharashtra Parichay Kendra in Goa. There were many times for instance, when she would return late at night because she had to be at a talk she had organised in a village two hours from Panjim where we stayed. He would quietly cook the whole meal and ensure that me and my sister had eaten on time. Even during my sister’s final days, Aai and Nana would tirelessly prepare different foods that she would be able to or had to eat.

My sister and I would often debate as to who made the best andyache bhujane. Was it Aai or Nana? But then Nana really was a good cook. Once he made some really yummy white chicken. Bharli wangi was another dish that he loved to make and eat. Ghada bhaaji, a dish similar to the undiyu, made with many vegetables, was another of his favourites. Speaking of undiyu, he loved it so much, that once a year, when it was the season for it, he would buy it from a particular shop in Santacruz. Another bhaaji he loved was ambadi. As his mother was from Andhra, he would make ambadichi bhaaji as it is made there. Pithla was another of his specialities. He also prepared chutneys and koshimbirs expertly. When she worked in Mumbai, Aai says her colleagues could immediately tell if Nana had made her daba. He even ate non-vegetarian food for some time, but later preferred vegetarian.

Once our cousins had come over. After a great time chatting and laughing, we realised it was very late. My parents insisted they all have dinner. Nana rustled up a delicious egg curry. The cousins loved it. Another guest who loved a bhaaji Nana and Aai made, was the noted singer-composer Yashwant Dev. He raved about the cauliflower bhaaji with ginger, and insisted it should be made the next time he was to visit.

Like all foodies, Nana had his favourite food haunts. In Goa it was Goenchin (we all loved this one), in Mumbai, Great Punjab and of course, when in Pune, he made it a point to have misal and Pushkarni bhel. Whenever he went to a new place, he would ask where the best misal was made and go there to taste it. The owners of Goenchin, the Lees, became our friends. Mr Lee’s (he was Chinese) father had been the owner of Nanking in Pune. His wife was Goan, she was called Mrs T, short for Theresa. The two of them made the whole visit to the restaurant special. They would talk to customers as if they were guests at their house, not restaurant, and while leaving, each female guest got a rose. By the end of the meal, my parents would have learnt a Chinese recipe and Mrs T would have learnt a new Marathi word. She would always credit my parents with having taught her to speak Marathi. 

For me, a meal to Goenchin was often a reward for being good. But it wasn’t just for family and friends that Nana thought of food. Once as editor, he received a threat. I don’t remember who it was, but they threatened to blow up Gomantak Bhavan sky high if Nana didn’t stop writing about them. The night they were scheduled to do so, all employees refused to leave. So Nana said everyone would have dinner at our house (on the fourth storey of the same building). Everyone, the assistant editors, the peons, personal assistants, cleaning staff, had dinner together. Needless to say, the night went by peacefully. On another occasion, the police were stationed outside the building. In the evening, Nana told a subordinate to organise pav bhaaji for them.

For a funfair in the colony, Nana once sold prawn bhaji (fritters). He put up a board – Koknastha Brahmnachi shuddha tupatli kolambichi bhaji (Prawn fritters made in pure ghee by a Koknastha Brahmin). He was soon sold out!

Even for our pet parakeet, Nana would go to Crawford market when he was in Mumbai, buy kardai and haul it to Goa. Raja, our tomcat, always had a supply of fish. When they moved from Goregaon, Aai tells me, Nana gave all the stray dogs there a meal of chapattis lathered in pure ghee.

In his 50s Nana was diagnosed with diabetes. There were many foods he wasn’t supposed to eat. For many years he abided by this. But there were days when he would tire of this and have them. One food that he would insist on having sometimes was eggs. He would make an omelette for breakfast and despite Aai’s disapproval he would also add cheese to it.
As a kid I did not like many foods. Infact, now people who know me must find it amusing to see me read or write about food. Can’t blame them. When one has been ‘Bridget Bones’ for a long time, it’s difficult for people to believe. But for years I have loved eggs. I too would often make eggs for breakfast. I think Nana liked this. I once heard him tell someone, “She makes eggs with such love. A breakfast with eggs is the one thing she loses herself into making, every morning.”

As I said, it is only recently that I have been interested in food. It’s an amazing world. I’ve also tried to write about it. However, I have a long way to go. And even then I will not quite be Nana’s true foodie inheritor. That will be my nephew, his grandson, who’s studying to be a chef. Of all of us, Nana must be the proudest of him.