Juggling the different hats

If she is one with a supervising job at home along with a full time job outside, she will be an even better person to ask.
There was a time when time never seemed of any importance. The days came and went as I lived my life in carefree comfort doing my chores at my own pace.

For kids its all about fun

That was when we were kids and Ma was taking care of us. I never spared a thought at how much work we were to her. I just took it for granted, never lifting a finger, unless threatened.

Expense management

Then came a time when I started working and my sister started college and we both moved to a different city.  Ma got worried and sent someone to look after us. The carefree comfort continued for my sister. I got a little tied up with work responsibilities. I started understanding the meaning of a budget and expense management as I started paying for the rent and food and regular expenditure in the house. But even then time was endless for me!

My Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner on some days

When my sister moved to Pune with a new job, I rented a tiny little studio apartment to live on my own. That’s when I felt the first pangs of loneliness. I sat back and wondered how much work it would have been for Ma to cook for us and take care of the household. How much effort and time consuming it must be! But again, I didn’t pay much heed as I had a maid cleaning up for me and I ate most of my meals at the office cafeteria. I was a very small eater. When at home, I ate a bowl of porridge and milk or some fruit juice. It didn’t matter if it was breakfast or dinner.

I first started cooking after I got married. It took me an appalling whole day to prepare a regular 3 or 4 course Bengali meal. If it was lunch we would eat at 5 in the evening. Sometimes we ate dinner at 1:30 in the morning when the whole neighborhood was asleep. I just couldn’t manage to cook fast and pondered all day over how every household prepared 3-4 meals a day when one meal for me took most of my day.
That’s when I realized how every Mother must be a wizard at time management. They could probably give a lecture or two to the most prominent time management gurus! How do I know that?

Well I am a Mommy now. When I had my first son I was working round the clock cooking, cleaning, studying and taking care of my baby. By the end of the day I would be a wreck. I wailed and screamed for some help. My mother and mother-in-law understood my plight but they could do little from across the ocean. Luckily I wasn’t working then.

A tyical Bengali meal

Eventually I found some help and regained my sanity along with it. I started to manage the time for maximum utilization. I learned the art of fast cooking. I not just learned it but mastered it so that now I can cook even 5-6 varieties of food, sometimes a complete meal for 10 people in less than 3-4 hours. It takes very careful planning and a lot of pre-cooking arrangements.

When I started a full time job it was a new challenge for time management. The job was important and so was everything else, but nothing as important as my infant son. Along with that was the new hurdle of remote supervision of all household work.
I learned how to move around the pieces of the daily puzzle some more to utilize time better than I did before. Very soon everything was working like clockwork. Eventually my first son was joined by his brother and I also started work as a part time lecturer along with my full time job. The time crunch was worse than ever before.

We forgot all about socializing or entertainment. It took a lot of effort to fall into a pattern again. There were ups and downs, good days and bad. There were tantrums and mood-swings and giggles and pranks. Finally the clockwork was back. I managed to crack the age old secret code of Time Management. This was that same secret that my grandmother, mother and aunts used to make every day so effortlessly easy.

Management at its best

Time Management is more like a game that you keep playing with the best possible strategies. You keep at it till you know all the tricks so well that you know without having to guess what is around the corner. Sometimes if a secret jumps you even then you are ready with your contingency plan to carry one like nothing happened.

Is it fool proof?

Are you kidding?

For all I know just tomorrow I will be wailing again faced with the most difficult situation.

Till I bounce back with a solution again!

A new turn

In the past, I have fed stray dogs and sheltered them on my porch when I could. I have donated money for causes like Soi Cats and Dogs in Bangkok whenever I could spare a few dollars. I adopted an injured stray pup when I myself did not have a stable address and today he is an important family member.

Yet, whatever little I did never seemed enough. Every time I think of throwing lavish parties for the kids or going for a long holiday away from all the madness, I feel a little guilty. I wonder if I really need all that. I wonder if someone could have better use for that money instead of us throwing it away for an evening or a weekend.

I thought for a while about a party for my soon to turn 1 year old. Would he really enjoy it? I know he would love the cake and some yummy food and a couple of toys he can play with while we all lavish our attention on him. But would he enjoy all those people he doesn’t know? May be not. Would he like the noise? Would he like Mommy busy elsewhere because she has to attend to guests all evening? Absolutely not.  Would he even remember his party? Don’t think so.

We might as well do things he will love. Get him a nice and yummy cake. Cook him some of his favorite food. Spend the day playing at the park along with lots of cuddles from Mommy and Daddy. And what do we do with the birthday fund? First we thought of saving it. Then we changed our mind.

Another chance and a second

We plan to buy some new toys, diapers and formula with that fund. Get together all the old baby blankets and baby clothes that don’t fit anymore. Wash and clean all the soft toys and chew toys that are not played with anymore. And take them all to Mercy Centre in Bangkok. It is an orphanage with 200 children. Some of the children are under 1 year but there are children up to 18 years of age. We hope to spend some time with all those children in need of everything, even hugs.

A call for help

I know this is just a drop in the ocean. At this time, with our own responsibilities and endless expenses, this is all we can afford to spare. May be once we start we can carry on in more ways than just this one. Even though it’s not a lot but I know the few smiles we manage to get with our little gesture will be huge motivation to do some more.

Aryan the day after

Is it an year already? Will my little baby really turn 1 so soon? Time has been in a hurry this past year. No wonder I have no clue where the past year vanished. In between cribbing about Mondays and rushing around on all weekdays, hopping between home and work, the weeks went by even before we realized it.

I had spent a lot of time with my first born Adi, since I was not working for almost 6 months after he was born. But that was not the case with Aryan. I remember answering work calls even a few hours after the delivery.  I worked till the week before my delivery and returned to work as soon as he turned 3 months as suddenly it seemed like my work couldn’t live without me anymore. Grannies and then Nannies have been doing mommies job for baby Aryan.

Mommy and Aryan

I missed his first baby words. I missed all those feeds. I missed cuddling him through the day and teaching him to say Mamma and Baba. I missed kissing his pudgy little fists while singing him to sleep.  I was at work when he started calling his Mamma. I was again busy with some work when he picked up the phone and said ‘Heoooo’.

Stealing cream from Aadi's B'day cake

Aryan adores his big brother. He wants to do everything that Adi does. He wants to jump when Adi is jumping, he eats what Adi is eating, he climbs all over Adi and pulls at his hair and clothes. Adi is not very patient with all this. Well it’s too much to ask of a 3 yr old. Most of the time its like watching cartoon network as one tries to tackle the other.

Yet, when baby crawls away from his designated play area its Adi who runs to catch baby. He tried picking up Aryan a couple of times but failed so instead he himself gets down on all fours in the crawling position, and keeps pushing baby back with his head. Reminds me of the two billy goats fighting on a hilltop!

Both want to sit on the same chair!

Again another time when both had a severe cold Adi decided to clean up baby bro. Aryan was crawling around the house and went behind the couch where his big brother caught up with him. Armed with a tissue, he pinned Aryan to his lap and started cleaning his nose. We were unaware of what was happening till we heard Aryan screaming. Not because he was hurt but because he hates anyone trying to clean his nose. It was hilarious!

Sleeping away peacefully in the middle of a mall

Sometimes Adi picks up his own food and feeds it to Aryan saying ‘eat up, eat up’ all the time, the same way I tell him. The other day I asked Adi to give Aryan a hug. Instead Adi patted Aryan on the head, gave him an approving smile and said ‘baby monkey’. I was shocked for a second but then burst out laughing. Where did that come from? Oh, it’s because I call them both my two little monkeys and Adi seems to have noticed.

Most other times Aryan tries to take away Adi’s toys and food and Adi screams bloody murder. Or Adi yanks the toy Aryan was playing with and he howls inconsolably for the next 5 minutes. The shouting irritates Goofy who pitches in with some synchronized barking to match the pandemonium. This goes on till everything is utter chaos and everyone has to be physically separated and made to quieten down.

Home Alone

My little boy has started to stand up on his own. Both boys realize they have a playmate right at home. Both have started demanding tasty decent meals instead of the mashed up grub they started off with. Tiny eats every time anyone is eating and Aadi takes advantage of that to clean up his plate. When Aryan is refused any more food he turns to Goofy’s plate for a bite. In the meantime Aadi decides thats what Dinosaurs really ate was dogfood and starts feeding them from Goofy’s plate and all three boys end up vying for the same food. Chaos again! Earlier I complained when work got busy but now finally I realize what having my hands full means.

It is one thing to have one kid and spend all your free moments trying to document his every move. And its a totally new ball game when you are trying to survive the onslaught of two kids and a dog. Its tedious! But thank you dear God I did not miss out on this fun. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Us

End of the day when my 2 babies sleep peacefully, I look at them and wonder why everything seems so difficult at times. We decided to have them together so that they would be friends like this. It can’t all be nice and sugary.Even though I have missed so much of my two babies lives, when I get home from work every evening I am swamped right at the living room with the 3 of them (not to miss out Goofs my naughty dog here)jumping all over me. It takes me all of 15 minutes sometimes more to extract myself from the huddle to go change.

That’s when I know even though it’s not all hunky dory but it’s absolutely worth it!

It began with the riots in Egypt, Libya, Syria, Yemen and all those places around there. It was closely followed by the earthquake and tsunami in Japan. If the killer earthquake and tsunami wasn’t enough, next followed the nuclear meltdown. We were still on the same news be it on CNN or Twitter when the Burma-Thailand Earthquake happened. It was followed by the freak climate change in Thailand and now there are floods and mudslides all over the Southern zone. The floods are serious enough to bring the tourism to a halt.

Waking up every morning to follow up on how many babies are without their mommies, how many fathers are still looking for their daughters in the rubble, how many homes have vanished, how many people have lost their livelihood, how many humans and animals are suffering because of all that is happening. It  has been pretty taxing, truthfully. I wish to god it will all stop and say a quick prayer. Only to see it start up in another country. It’s the same suffering and pain just different languages, religions and faces.

Does it change anything? Do we learn anything from all this? Do people really care when they look at the screen and say ‘Oh my God’? Or do they just pick up their phones the next moment to make plans for the Saturday night?

I was pretty appalled that certain people I know are making huge plans for the oncoming Thai festival. I tried telling them how inappropriate it is in such a situation. How many of their own are still suffering! Some are dead; some are lost in the floods. Celebration is not what is needed now. The reply I got pretty much meant ‘we are sad for them, really, poor souls! But we still want to go on with our plans. We don’t really care that much since it is not happening in Bangkok.’

The conversation made me very angry for a while. Eventually when I cooled off I realized I myself was really not so different either. No one really is very different when it comes to tragedy which doesn’t affect them directly. Life just goes on for all of us. I have been watching the Cricket World Cup 2011 screaming myself hoarse till midnight. I am happy my country has been winning. I forget about all those tears when I am happy myself. It is unfair but I am sure that’s how it works for everyone.

Tragedy is real to only those who are facing it firsthand. All others are just sympathizers who most often feel really sad and then they forget when caught up in the daily rigmarole of life. I wish things were different. I wish we were not so passive to other people’s pain. But that’s just how it is.

It’s nothing personal!

Ya Devi Sarvabhuteshu

Every year during this time, there is a strange craving to return home. There is a need to be in that heat, dust, madness, frenzy, love and familiar faces. A voice in my heart urges me to leave everything as it is and take off for that familiar place called home. The traffic, pollution, crowd, rudeness, non-stop honking of the car horns… nothing seems to dampen this enthusiasm.

Lighting at College Square

Calcutta must be looking beautiful now. Just a few more days to go for Durga Puja, all those creative pandals (temporary religious structures), beautiful idols, the brilliant evening lights, the golden sunlight, light showers, excitement on the little faces, last minute ‘pujo – bajaar’ (Shopping for the festival), fighting the crowds to get the best deals for the in-fashion sandals, arranging the clothes and accessories in order of days and nights, promises to meet up, adda’s (chat sessions) planned and the work getting shelved for the next few days. The whole city comes to a standstill and moves in a completely new direction. Tradition says, that all daughters should return home for these few days. The corporate world dictates a different story.

The day to offer and get blessed

Today is Mahalaya. It is the beginning of journey back to earth for Bengal’s beloved daughter Ma Durga and her children.  Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s “Mahisasura Mardini” must have heralded the beginning of the grand festival at 4 in the morning, waking little sleepy-heads eager to start the celebrations.

Mahalaya used to be our day off from school to finish all shopping. We would wake up early in the morning all set to go out for the whole day. It was the same routine for a long time till we were too grown up and too bored to do it anymore.

dhaki

Mum would first buy the sarees for Ma Durga. That would be followed by clothes for the household help. The next stop would be clothes for cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents. We would tag along from shop to shop with disinterest, all the while waiting for our turn. Kathi-Kabab Rolls gulped down with Thums-up would be the most awaited lunch for the day followed by Phuchka and Ice-creams in the evening. Then began our wait for the school holidays.

The beloved daughter arrives

Sasthi, the first day of the Durga Puja also the first day of the school holidays would begin by waking up early in the morning with the sound of the ‘Dhakis’ (Drummers of Bengal). Even today the rhythmic beats of the ‘dhak’ (Drum like musical instruments) gives me goose bumps and a longing to be in a different world so far away.

Usually on the sasthi evening the idol of Devi Durga arrived at the pandal. She would be the much awaited chief guest. For a long time, when friends and adda did not have much meaning, I waited for this evening the most. Eventually the excitement of a night out or an adda took its place, but now when I think back…nothing ever came close to that excitement.

All geared up for the Asthami anjali

Sasthi is followed by Saptami when the pandal hopping began. Asthami is the bhog and anjali day in traditional gear followed by sandhi puja to welcome Nabami, the last day of fun and frolic. We used to have a life time of fun in those five short days.

The ever enchanting Dhunuchi naach to the beats of Dhak

Mornings began by picking flowers for the puja and helping in stringing little garlands. Sometimes we helped decorate the flowers or Alpona (designs with rice powders on the floors).  We served the fruits Prasad (offerings) after the puja. Every evening for a long time we used to be busy taking part in ‘Dhunuchi Naach’, dances and dramas and other events. Over the years though, adda, loitering and Maddox square became more interesting compared to helping at the pandal. The excitement remained as addictive as ever.

The decoration in red

Dashami was the day of farewells among much tears. Ma Durga would leave for her heavenly abode and that meant end of all fun for us and back to studies. Mum and aunts said their goodbyes by decorating the idol with vermillion powder which they eventually smeared on each other too and the kids. We would end up covered in the red powder and stay that we till someone scrubbed it off us. In the farewell frenzy a lot of people stuffed sweets into the mouths of Ma Durga’s brave lion, Kartik’s peacock and Saraswati’s swan. Even the fearsome Mahishasur had a scared, docile look from all the sweets fed to him.

The idols depart from their home on earth on trucks amid a lot of dancing to the beat of the ‘dhak’. Immersion takes place in the ghats. With a heavy heart everyone praises the Gods and Goddesses and invites them back for the next year with a ‘Ashche bochor abar hobe’.

Abar esho

Every year I cried a lot when they finally immersed the idol and she floated away. I always thought it was because I would have to get back to the monotonous life of studies. Today when I cry in immersions I wonder if it was ever the books or something much deeper than I ever understood.

Bijoya Dashami was all about saying goodbye to Ma Durga, to my beloved cousins and to all the festivities. The numerous sweets and visitors meant nothing to the little me. I would pine for a long time before getting back to the mundane regular life.

Amar Sundar Sonar Bangla

Today, miles away from home and family, my heart still lies in a city coming alive with hope and joy. I keep a countdown to Durga Puja and wonder what’s happening back home. I wonder if my sons will ever know this emotion or feel so immensely sad while asking Ma Durga to come back again next year. Will they ever have Calcutta in their heart? Will little things like picking flowers early in the morning ever be the most important job for them?

The sensible little voice in my head reminds me that 1:13 in the afternoon at work, is hardly the time or place to reminisce and be emotional. But this year for me it will be puja on internet once again or one lone visit to the community puja.

Hope and Joy - Past, Present and Future

Yet, so far away, in a land that doesn’t even know Ma Durga, the sky sports small tufts of cloud, there are light showers followed by a light golden sunshine. There is a spirit of festivity and the hope and joy. We continue to celebrate life!

The Peter Cat

At that time someone forbade me my regular crumbs and introduced me to the wonders of The Peter Cat. I didn’t think much of either the sizzling ‘house special’ or the ‘Chelo kabab’. But over the years I acquired a taste for it.

Then it was time to venture into a new life in a different city and then a different country. Chelo Kababs lay forgotten over the struggle to digest the new cuisines that were offered to me. Busy with work and life nothing seemed that important anymore.

Just a couple of weeks back I woke up thinking of that fragrant rice sizzling with a blob of butter, an egg poach on top and a choice of succulent kababs. It was such a strong craving that I refused all other food. We checked lots of  restaurants in Bangkok and came up with a bevy of very tasty kababs, but nothing was good enough for me.

Having tried my luck and having irritated a lot of people who couldn’t really understand my sudden fixation towards that particular meal, I decided to try my culinary skills.

After a little bit of research and a bit more of marination and grilling, by lunch I had a similar looking plate of goodies ready. I admit my rice was not Basmati but Jasmine, and my poach decided to land upside down on the rice, and neither did I have a choice of kababs. But I did have chicken kababs, tomatoes, onions and capsicums on stick to go with the rice butter and poach. And guess what? It tasted familiar enough not to miss the mellow lighting and chattering waiters of Peter Cat or that noisy beloved city for once.

The same age

I remember her like that little doll the first day when she came home and wouldn’t stop crying.
I held her hand on the first day at school and told someone to take care of her.
She was my first playmate, my first best friend.
I have used her as guinea pig in carrying a pillion on a bicycle for the first time and for many other experiments… Someone to be used as a messenger to mom during times of our cold war…

Who poured water on the neighbors head? Who burned up all the paper just for fun? Who did all the crazy things quietly like an angel at work? ME!!! Who got the blame? My baby sis. That’s what sisters are for.

She stole my favorite tops; she wore my new shoes behind my back. She ran away with my new pen and ate up all my chocolates. She gets away with things no friend or family would ever dare to do…just cause she is my sister.

But still she turned to me when she needed someone to defend her or when she needed answers for most of her problems.

We are each others biggest critics. She tells me that I am putting on weight’ and I tell her that her choice of clothes is atrocious. We tease each other about everything we do. So when she does tell me that something is ‘alright’ I know that she is paying me the ultimate compliment.

Two people I love the most

With her I can be a famous actress in a Hollywood movie, a rock star and tour the world or be an eminent scientist and save the world. All before breakfast on Sunday Morning!

People listening to us talk feel like absolute outsiders cause they don’t understand a word . We don’t need careful explanations to understand each other. We don’t even need full sentences…

Friendship is a splendid thing. But it involves people who do not know the family jokes, disasters, habits and ridiculous adventures. Not from the inside. But you my oldest friend, enemy, rival, companion and collaborator – u do.

Friends came and went. And Boyfriends. Jobs. Adventures. Beliefs. But there has been a constancy. Our bonding with each other.
Sometimes I dread waking up to a huge crisis – then I cheer up because little sister will be there to give me excellent advice and put the smile back on my face.

We shared parents, home, pets, celebrations, catastrophes, secrets. And the threads of our experience became so interwoven that we are linked. I can never be utterly alone knowing that you share the planet.

She persuades me with her talks and behaviors that she has grown up and learned a lot from life, is wiser now. But then she suddenly does something and I smile and nod cause I see her again: Aged six in disguise.

Now she is all grown up and living her own life… but still I’ll always be around, just in case. ‘Coz she will always be my baby sister even the day she turns 40. Love you sweetheart.

So similar... almost the same

Granny

The person I relate to the most in my family is my grandmother – my father’s mother. I have known her as the strong, fearsome (to the rest of the world) person, who held the whole family together. I look nothing like her but what I am today is mostly of her. Sometimes, I look at my own reflection on the glass pane and suddenly see her, the same hands, the same gait, the same attitude towards life. I run my household according to what she used to say so many years ago.

I was never her favourite and I didn’t mind. Truthfully, at that time I was too busy living my life to care about being anyone’s favourite in that huge family.  She adored our eldest cousin and my little sister who was then the youngest in the family. With me, it was always a conflict of interest.

Thaku-ma as we called her was also known as Renuka. By the time we were born that name almost didn’t exist except in official papers. Her marriage to my grandfather was an arranged marriage, pretty much without their consent. It so happened that her elder sister, who was a great beauty in those days, was married to my grandfather’s handsome elder  brother. It was decided that the two sisters should marry into the same family.

I never found out who made the match, but I guess it was her sister. She was worried her tall and dark little sister would never land a groom. The opinion of the bride and the groom was never asked and nor did they see each other before the wedding. My grandfather on the other hand didn’t mind much thinking his bride too would look like her fair, petite and pretty sister. In those days people didn’t think much of the supermodel good-looks, hence my granddad was sorely disappointed. He even made it a point to let his 13 year old bride know about it.

The marriage started with discontent and disapproval. There was never much love or harmony between them. They were like two strangers living under the same roof. One was the breadwinner and the other the homemaker. They went on to have seven kids. They stayed married all their life and brought up the children together. But all that was possible because she was the woman she was.

On the other side of the family was my grandmother – my mother’s mother. I don’t remember her much. I was very young when she passed away. She is someone I know from the stories I have heard about her. I do not emulate her in anyway though I have her passion for books, music, cooking and fine living. The little of her in me is what was in my genes.

Didi as we called her was known as Binapani. She and my grandfather had a love marriage at a time, when love before marriage was unheard of. Didi was the daughter of a widow, who had taken it upon herself to be educated so that she could earn for the family. Education for women was still at the grass root level then and a working woman was unheard of. Didi was the first woman staff for the state government. She had her office at the famous Writer’s building. She met my grandfather during her work life and accepted his proposal for marriage.

Didi always dressed in white. She had a wardrobe full of crisp white cotton sarees that she wore the modern way. She always wore sandals with 3 inch heels and used expensive soaps and perfumes. She earned more than her husband did and supported 2 families. She was an officer before her husband got to that designation. She was never a looker. She was frail, thin and short with beautiful knee length hair, and

a personality that could throw off any man. She was a rebel among women of her time.

Didi not only loved her husband who could sometimesbe a tyrant, but also taught the whole household to love and respect him at all times. She stood by her ideals against all odds and did what she thought was right. She was a woman who knew her mind and however frail she might have been she ruled with an iron hand.

Two very different women, both equally strong. They define me for who I am today.

Karaishutir Porota and Alur Dom

Today was a surprise day off, thanks to the ‘Red Shirt Rally’. Back home we have rallies every alternate day and we have learned to live with it. But, in faraway Thailand, its an event which gives us an extra day off and may cause a coup if not handled properly. A 50,000 strong armed security force has been deployed all around the city.

We woke up at 8:30 (which is a privilege cause my babies usually wake up with the sun). Late wake up was followed by a porridge and fruits breakfast for Little A and me and cold cuts sandwich for darling S, who screws up his nose at the mention of oats. We had already planned on going for a swim but I had also planned on doing away with my weekly cooking – fridge stocking routine by today. That’s the only way I can relax for the next couple of days.

Finally we settled on swimming first and cooking later, which I gave in to after a hurried arrangement for a simple lunch. Little A was ecstatic that he was going ‘supping’ (swimming) again. But, it turned out to be a flop show as the water was cold and he was out of the water in half an hour, shivering. He made quite an effort to stay put, but, finally gave in. We have decided to hit the water early tomorrow morning to catch the sun.

The hurried swim session got us all hungry and sleepy. Lunch was followed by a 3 hour long nap for both daddy and sonny. I was left to do my own thing.

I do love to cook and experiment while I am at it. The big packet of frozen peas sitting in the freezer looked very inviting. I thought of using it in the kheema or making a polau. Again those were old stuff. Suddenly I thought of the lovely ‘Karaishutir Kochuri’ they make back home. My MIL is specially gifted in this one. So I knew experimenting on those grounds would mean filling some really big pair of shoes. But its more fun when its a challenge.

By 5:30 in the evening I was done with the whole weeks cooking and the star dish of the week. I couldn’t stick to the recipe provided. As is my habit, I pick and choose from 10 different websites and call home in intervals to cook anything special. In the end, I had made karaishutir porota or green peas paratha (also called Indian bread stuffed with green peas filling).

The critic tried it the first thing after his refreshing nap. Frowned a little, chewed some more and finally declared ‘mmmm its good’. I am happy with the verdict and hence, refrained from prodding any further.

Peas Paratha

Here’s my recipe for those of you who may be interested…

Ingredients for filling:

200 gms Green Peas

1 Green Chili

1 tsp Cumin Seed (Gota Jeera)

1-2 tsp Ginger paste (Aada Baata)

1/2 tsp Asafoetida powder (Hing)

1-2 tsp Red Chili powder (Shukno lonka guro)

2-3 tsp Sugar

Salt to taste

Ingredients for dough:

1 cup Wheat flour (Atta)

3/4 cup White flour (Maida)

1 tsp white oil for Moin

Salt to taste

Prepare the filling first and leave it aside for cooling. Preparation time 30 mins.

1. Make a puree of the peas by adding just enough water. Make sure the puree doesn’t become too watery. Add the chili while making the puree if you like your parathas hot.

2. Heat oil in a thick bottom pan.

3. Add the cumin seeds followed by ginger and fry for a minute.

4. Add Asafoetida powder.

5. Add the pureed peas as soon as you get the aroma of Asafoetida from the oil.

6. Mix in the chili powder.

7. Let it cook till there are no lumps in the puree. The peas will get separated. Add the sugar and salt at this time. It will give the mixture a dark green look.

8. The pur or filling is ready now. You can keep it aside for cooling while you prepare the dough.

To prepare the dough mix together the flours followed by the oil and salt. Add enough water to knead it into a soft dough. Be careful not to add a lot of water together. It can turn into a disaster. I keep adding a little water at one time and knead till the water vanishes.

Making the paratha:

1. Make small dough balls. Shape them like cups keeping the center thick and thinning the sides.

2. Put the filling inside these cups and seal them. Roll them back into balls taking care not to break the skin.

3. Roll out these balls into flat discs using the rolling pin. Be careful while you roll so that the filling may not break and spill out.

4. First dry fry the rolled out discs on a flat thick bottomed fry pan (Tawa). When both the sides look  slightly cooked add a little oil and fry both the sides again till they are done.

This paratha is best eaten with the Bengali Alur dum which S is cooking right now under my supervision. If you are too lazy to do that just whisk a little sour yogurt with chaat masala or just eat it with some pickle of your choice. Most people like this as kochuris where you make the discs smaller in size and deep fry them. But we tend to feel better with less oil. Thus my choice of paratha.

Hope you enjoy!

I am an avid reader and listener. I am curious by nature. Probing and knowing is second nature to me. I wouldn’t participate in maligning gossips but it will not surpass my ears if it is being discussed within earshot. All through my childhood I grew up listening to stories from people. Both my grandparents were excellent story tellers. I still know the Ramayana and Mahabharata better than many people, thanks to them. My dad and mum were no less. My dad concocted his own stories which I learned very well how to do ever since I was a kid. Mum was a terrible children’s’ story teller, she keeps going on for ever with one story alone. But she is great at family history from both sides.

So all in all, I had a very colorful childhood, visualizing and dreaming about all that I heard and savored. I didn’t know how precious these were to me till I could rattle off each one after 20-25 years precisely better than all the family members put together. Back at home, we would recall and discuss them as a family. Here, so far away from home, no one knows it to discuss it with me.

So I came up with an innovative way of reminiscing them all. I recite it to baby A while feeding him and putting him to sleep. He doesn’t understand much as he keeps poking his fingers inside my mouth as I talk or just smiles his disarming smile at me from time to time after tugging at a lock of my hair. During these sessions I would have Baby G gaze at me confused but reassured from his corner of the bedroom.

What I didn’t know was I had another ardent listener. One who sat at his beloved computer doing his own stuff, with half an ear towards me. One day I stopped mid story because baby A was snoring peacefully. I got up to arrange the bedclothes properly when I heard a floating inquiry from the next room “What happened after that?”

S asked me why I didn’t consider writing it all down on my blog. The simplest reason was ‘lack of free time’. But it’s true. Sometime in the future I may need to recall a story and have nowhere to turn. Or unlike my grandparents, I may have my grand kids half way around the world where I can’t reach them too often to run them by the same stories.

So here comes my thakurma-r jhuli (Granny’s sack) of stories, just for my satisfaction of having preserved them for the future.