Strewn Ashes

Lilly learnings लिलाताईंची शिकवण.

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sat, 30 Jun 2018 07:55:00 +0000

My friend Shubhangi Joshi of Pandharpur clearly has a green thumb , and a garden full of a huge variety of flowers, fruits and vegetables. She occasionally posts photographs of these. One such , was of the lilies, or Spider lilies as they are called by mean folks.

In today's world of heroes ad heroines, it is sometimes the underdog that one finds interesting.

The Lily. Or Lilatai, as I choose to call her. Was one such.

And a poem happened. First in Marathi and then in English. As below .

photo credit : Shubhangi Joshi

लीलाताई,
माहेरच्या हायमेनोकॅलीस स्पेकिओसा .
मूळचे लोक वेस्ट ईंडीझचे.
पण क्रिकेट च्या बरोबर भारतात प्रवेश.
विशेष म्हणजे आज काहींचे पंढरपुरात वास्तव्य.

आयुष्याचे अनुभव दांडगे .
जाई-जुई, मोगरा यांच्या सुवासिक जगात
निभाव लागणं तस कठीणच.
गुलछड्या तर त्यांच्या कडे अगदी बघतही नसत , आणि
गुलाबाचं तर विचारायलाही नको.

पण म्हणून लीलाताई नैराश्यात बुडाल्या नाहीत.
झेंडू-शेवंतीशी बर्यापैकी मैत्री ,
कधीतरी हारात दिसायच्या ,
आणि सजावटी करताना ,
कितीतरी लग्नाची व्यासपीठं लिलाताईंवरच
आवलंबून असायची.

इतकं सगळं भरगच्च आयुष्य ,
पण त्या साधं सुध
एखाद्या पावसाळी सकाळी
आपल्या लांब तलवारी सारख्या हिरव्या पानांशी
आपल्या तश्याच लांब शुभ्र पाकळ्यांना हाताशी घेऊन
छान इकडच्या तिकडचा गप्पा मारत.

लीलाताई हे सुंदर नाव असताना
काही अती पॉश लोक
त्यांना कोळ्याची लीला (स्पायडर लिली) म्हणत .
पण त्याचा यत्किंचितही परिणाम
त्यांच्यावर झाला नाही.

(नावं ठेवणं ही आम्हा मानवांची स्पेशालिटी ).

आणि त्या भरगच्चं प्रमाणात
अनेक सकाळी उमलून
कोणाच्या तरी आयुष्यात आनंद देत गेल्या.

आपला समाज बघा .
आमक्यासारखा मोबाईल घ्यायला नकार दिला
म्हणून आत्महत्या ,
कोणीतरी काळं म्हणालं म्हणून नैराश्य;
परीक्षेत अपयश म्हणून स्वतःचा जीव घेणे ,
एखाद्या मुलीने नाकारलं
म्हणून तिला ऍसिड फेकून आयुष्याची शिक्षा देणे .

आलेल्या परिस्थितीला सामोरं जाणं
हल्लीच्या पिढीला जमत नाही.
स्वतःवरचा विश्वास उडालाय .
आजूबाजूच्या जगा कडून काही शिकणं तर सोडाच .

मग अशा वेळी लीलाताई आठवतात .
आणि त्यांच्या अनेक क्षणभंगुर आयुष्यात
त्या किती परिस्थितींना छान सामोरं जाऊन
कश्या धडे शिकवून गेल्या ते आठवतं .

पण आपण हुशार मानव.
एका बिन वासाच्या , साध्या विचित्र आकाराच्या फुलाकडून शिकण्यात कमीपणा .
हीच आपली हुशारी.

Lilatai ,
born Hymenocalis Speciosa.
Originally from the West Indies,
but having hotfooted it
to India, with Cricket,
and now leading a quiet life
in Pandharpur.

Her amazing life experiences .
Completely lost
in the heady world of jasmines,
rubbished by tuberose types,
and the less said about roses, the better .

But Lilatai or Lily as she was then called,
never lost hope;
made friends with Marigolds and Chrysanthemums,
sometimes in garlands,
and almost always
in decorating the stage backgrounds during weddings...

She never lost touch with her origins,
and on a cool monsoon morning
could be seen
in avid fun conversations
with her spear like greens
and similar copycat petals.

Of course, there were some hi-fi folks
who called her the Spider Lily,
but it did not bother her.

Calling people names is a human speciality.

And so Lilatai would bloom profusely
and bring joy to many folks.

I mean, just look at our society.

Your parents refuse permission for a new fone,
kill yourself;
someone called you dark, go into a depression;
unsuccessful in exams, hang yourself;
some girl refused your advances,
throw acid on her face, maiming her for life.

The current generation
knows nothing about facing situations,
have lost confidence in themselves,
forget learning from others in life.

Remember Lilatai at such moments,
and how she faced various circumstances
in all too short a life,
time and again,
giving us lessons.

Yes.
But we are the "smart humans".
We feel insulted
learning from an ordinary weirdly shaped flower.
That's how smart we are ....

Kites

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Fri, 18 May 2018 12:15:00 +0000

My friend Arvind Khanna of New Delhi, recently posted this amazing capture of a Brahminy Kite in action. Perhaps this capture is from elsewhere in India, as he travels around. I hesitate to even say this name of the bird , wondering if there will be protests.

While I often see similarities in expressions between various birds and folks that wander with great political confidence in the capital, this particular capture of a bird-in-flight reminded me of an inanimate object; greatly theoretically reverred, but otherwise abused and challenged again and again, for personal and party gain.

(Photograph posted here with permission of Arvind Khanna)

It's grown old (since 1950)
with the usual greying;
with eyes to ensure
that we follow rules,
and a huge set of wings
to encompass the सवासो कोटी ,
and protect them.

But it keeps getting assaulted,
misinterpreted,
and questioned,
by some who abhor it.
And so, now,
its wings showing a shredding
with multiparty split-ends,
it prefers to keep at the high ground,
watchfully gliding
and ruing
what life has become.

The Constitution.

Requiem for a fish.....

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Mon, 02 Apr 2018 16:50:00 +0000

She has seen more of Mumbai on her bicycle trips in one year than I have seen in all my years in the city. It has also allowed her to pursue her love for photography to a large extent. This is all possible if you have a great group of people of various ages and professions who ride together with you .

This was from a recent cycling trip to Madh Island. And clicking that fish was important. Blessed by the rising sun. To remember , and give him a farewell , biped style. Someone else was clicking her while she clicked the fish. The photo credit for that goes to Vipin Arumugam, a member of her cycling group. Thank you.

I get to see such photos much, much later. And then a poem happens....

He has bravely fought
with the nets and the waves,
along with his compatriots
in the first Madh Island Fish War,
and lies fatigued
on the beach,
and close to the end
of a nautical life.

She abandons her bicycle
and rushes
to click a portrait.

And he is immortalized,
amidst a garland of
ocean mist.

RIP ....

as they say
in a biped world.

Politics and the Art of Making Ladoos

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Thu, 04 Jan 2018 04:21:00 +0000

Making Ladoos is all about willing ingredients and enveloping fingers and palms , that give the ingredients, reams of confidence in staying together.

Today, very clearly, the ingredients show no confidence, and tend to fall apart.

Just look at what happened in the New Year.

She used to make
great laadus.

A special ability to
choose individual ingredients
with an inclusive attitude in life;
Ingredients that understood a roasting,
and the subsequent benefits;
The amazing welcome,
at all times,
to slightly fancy types who were nuts,
but loved falling in;
the feeling of coming together
healing each others syrupy injuries
and hurts;
and sometimes ,
a finishing by a ghee
whose sole aim was to pack everyone together
so they would stay together.

Today,
ambition has destroyed some of the folks,
sometimes a natural growth,
sometimes nurtured by outside influences.
Roastings get them angry,
the Nuts are targeted for being hard to change,
and it gets harder and harder
to hold everyone together,
despite the sweet syrup,
whose intentions are always suspected.

More often than not,
they frequently fall apart,
get hurt,
and once again,
she endeavours to put them back together;
a militant lot,
that is now in a different Kadhai of Life.

She used to make
great laadus.

Not any more.

It gets more and more difficult.

The sad part is,
she ends up believing
that that is the new normal,
and carries on....
in her old age.

एका ग्रॅनीची नवी गोष्ट .....

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sun, 31 Dec 2017 06:32:00 +0000

लहानपणापासून सफरचंद खात आले. चवी माहित असायच्या , नावे नाही . मग मोठं झाल्यावर , अनेक देश पहिले, विवध प्रकारची सफरचंदे बाजारात दिसू लागली, जाहिराती दिसू लागल्या , आणि ज्यांना आम्ही हिरवी सफरचंद म्हणायचो त्यांना ग्रॅनी स्मिथ सफरचंद म्हणतात हे समजलं .

मी ज्या फेसबुक वरील "अंगत पंगत" ग्रुप ची सभासद आहे, तिथे अनेकांनी आजपर्यंत ह्या सफरचंदाच्या चटण्या, व लोणची प्रसिद्ध केली आणि फोटो टाकले . इडली डोसाबरोबर दिले आणि कोणालाही कळले नाही .

अजून मी बनवली नाही. कारण फळ खायचीच खूप हौस आहे . पण ग्रॅनी स्मिथ बद्दल खूप आदर व कौतुक वाटलं .

आणि वर्षाच्या शेवटच्या दिवशी एका ग्रॅनी वर कविता झाली .

ग्रॅनी म्हणायचे सर्व तिला ,
पण लक्षात राहायची तिची
आयुष्यातील आंबट गोड अनुभवातून
निरंतर कौतुकपात्र हिरवी तरुणाई .

काही रवाळ , लालबुंद ,
विविध आकाराचे नातेवाईक ,
आपापसात घोळक्यात कुजबुजत ;
मोठ्यामोठ्या देशांची नावे लावत
घरोघरी करंड्यात ;
काहींना आतून कोरून, लोणी साखर घालून
ओव्हन मध्ये राहून आलेले तेज ,
काहींना चक्क चुरा करून साखरेत पेरलेले ,
आणि अश्रू पात झाला कि सॉसा सॉसाने बाटलीत ;
काही पिळून , त्यांचा रस काढून ,
त्यांच्या सालांपासून दूर ...

पण ग्रॅनी आपल्या वया प्रमाणे वागते.

लहानपणी कोणाकोणाच्या ब्राऊन पेपर पिशवीतून
शाळा कॉलेजात ;
शेजारी एखादे भारदस्त सँडविच .
कधी टी. व्ही . बघता बघता आपणहून,
तुकडे न होता हातात आत्मसमर्पण ;
कधी तरी शूर वीरासारखे , हॉस्पिटलमध्ये,
एखाद्या प्लेटमधून तिच्या फोडिंनी
डॉक्टरकडे टाकलेला विजयी कटाक्ष ...

पण शेवटी ,
जगावे परी लोणचे रुपी उरावे
हे लक्षात घेऊन
आपले असंख्य तुकडे करून,
लोणचे मसाल्यात , लिंबू रसात , तेलात ,
ठरवून घालवलेला वानप्रस्थाश्रम,
आणि पोळ्या, भाकर्या ब्रेड लोकांचे
मिळालेले आशीर्वाद .

आपल्याकडे सद्ध्या "ग्रीन " च खूप कौतुक करतात ,
नियम करतात , लेक्चर देतात.

पण ग्रॅनी जन्मतःच सर्व शिकून आली ,
आणि तिला कोणी कुठेही बोलवत नाही ...

ती करून दाखवते. बोलत नाही .

Saving us ?

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sat, 30 Dec 2017 10:04:00 +0000

We are a population that swings between two extremes. In size, in availability of stuff, and what money can buy. On one side there is the mobile cycle idliwala, wadapaowallas, and homebased poha-sabudana khichadi morning vendors who sell outside railway platforms.

On the otherside there are those who flaunt and disobey every rule in every book, to reap maximum profits from selling food to those who shell out an equivalent of your months rent, for a ordinary dish presented under false pretences and a fancy name. This is done under a facade of modernity, flouting every law and rule . Most of the time when someone in power benevolently looks the other way .

The middle class types, gingerly holding on to their non nonsense thinking , mind their salaries, their childrens' futures, read about all this, wonder whats going on, and what direction it is going in.

Sometimes they agonize over their child perhaps being attracted by it all.

The aimless wandering tiger
reached a peak
and then,
with minimum thought
and maximum excitement
like they show in cartoons,
jumped across a deep valley,
to a peak of another mountain.

He learned
behaviours at the peak,
how to look down,
and got acclimatized to places
unsuitable for tigers,
what with the missing streams,
no dense bushes camouflaging his desires,
and changing mores at the top.

Yes.
Instead of crossing over in the valley,
observing darting deer,
occasionally chasing one,
checking on elephants on the other riverbank
celebrating baths
as he took careful sips on his side.
Then a learning curve
as he trudged up the mountain,
stopping, imbibing, making mistakes,
correcting them,
respecting his environment,
sometimes being the animal he was,
judging other animals
including even bipeds, sometimes.

Today, we are the jumpers,
confused in values and abilities,
and only dedicated to being at the top
in language, abuse, money and quicktime,
with completely lost values.
Some of us are on the incline,
in the woods,
not yet out of them,
but getting there
with RFID's of slog
and qualifications of learnings
around our necks.

It isnt us,
but those who jumped,
that need to be "saved";
remember ?

A generation, that went too fast.

श्रीखंडाचे मानसशास्त्र ...

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sat, 02 Dec 2017 05:13:00 +0000

पुरीचा अथवा पोळीचा तुकडा श्रीखंडात बुडवून खाणे या सारखे दुसरे सुख नसावे .

पण ....

श्रीखंड बनवण्यासाठी काय काय करावं लागतं , ह्या मागे काहीतरी मानसशास्त्र आहे . तुम्ही दही असलात तर तुम्हाला ते कळेल . त्यात आपल्यालाही काहीतरी शिकण्यासारखं आहे .

तुम्ही म्हणाल श्रीखंडा सारखा सुन्दर पदार्थाचा आस्वाद घेताना हे मानस शास्त्र कुठून आलं ? काही लोकांना काही कारणास्तव मनोसक्त श्रीखंड खाण वर्ज्य असतं.

त्यांच्या ह्या कविता लिहिण्यामागे सुद्धा एक मानसशास्त्र असतं :-)

एका कोमट दुधात
हळूच केलेला चमचा-दोन चमचा शिरकाव ,
पटकन एकजिव होऊन झाकणाखाली लपणे ,
आणि रात्रभर आपले उपदव्याप करून
सकाळी
"मी काहीच केले नाही , मला का विचारता ?"
म्हणत घट्ट दह्याखाली मजेत बसणे .

पण नियती लक्षात ठेवते .

कधीतरी ह्या दह्याला ,
कोशिंबिरी, वडे , इत्यादींमध्ये न घालता
एका पंचात , नाहीतर उशीच्या अभ्र्यात गच्चं बांधून
चक्क टांगलं जातं ,
आणि रात्रभर , आपल्या पूर्व कर्माची फळं भोगत
दह्यातलं सर्व पाणी रागवून निघून जातं ;
कधी कधी एखादा पाटा पण ह्या बांधलेला दह्यावर ठेवला जातो,
जेणेकरून दह्याच्या अश्रूंचा लवलेशही नाहीसा व्हावा .
आणि ह्याला चक्क चक्का म्हणतात ...

प्रत्येकाचे कधीतरी चांगले दिवस येतात ,
त्या प्रमाणे चक्क्यात केशर, इलायची , साखर, पिस्ते
घालून पदार्थ बनतो
आणि खूप कौतुकाचा होतो.

एव्हडं मात्र खरं .
आपण दुसर्यावर केलेले वार, पुढे आयुष्यात आपल्यावर होतात
हे दही समजून चुकतं .

आणि तरीही हे प्रकार अखंड अविरत चालू असतात .
आपल्या आणि दह्याच्या आयुष्यात .....

"Survival " of whom ?

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Tue, 28 Nov 2017 04:40:00 +0000

Just came across some information on how caviar is made.

As a pucca vegetarian , I had been aware of stuff like caviar being treated as some ultimate thing, but was disgusted to find out how it is made.

Caviar is nothing but the eggs of the Roe fish. It is not as if the Roe lays its eggs somewhere and someone goes for a search and harvests them. They actually catch these fish, stun them, anesthesize them, do sonographies, and then make incisions in their bodies to extract the eggs.

These are then processed with the addition of salt et al, and packaged to folks who think nothing of paying through their nose to eat them.

This is Darwin's theory of survival of the fittest , in its worst manifestation. On the other hand, as humans we are not otherwise blameless. We perform the same on other female humans .

Shame.

Darwinian excesses.

Kidnapping the Roe.

Stunning it , doing sonographies,
making incisions,
and removing the ovaries,
to process them with salt et al,
so carnivores may flaunt their
exclusive food habits.

Why blame humans.

They not only do this,
making incisions, songraphies,
but kill fertilised eggs
when they are declared female.

Again and again.

That is not Darwinian ,
but grossly patriarchal.

Somewhere , sometimes,
the feeling remains,
that
survival of the fittest
will not hold true for the future.

आंतरराष्ट्रीय पोळपाट लाटणे ("the best PolpaT-LaatNe in the universe "-D.J Trump)

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sun, 26 Nov 2017 17:03:00 +0000

माझी फेसबुक वरील , मला कधी न भेटलेली मैत्रीण , विशाखा पर्वते . अमेरिकेत राहते . आम्ही दोघी अंगत पंगत ह्या फेसबुक वरील ग्रुप च्या सभासद आहोत .

विशाखाने नुकतेच एका पोळपाट लाटण्याचा फोटो पोस्ट केला . तुम्ही म्हणाल, "त्यात काय मोठं ?" मोठं हे, की कॅलिफोर्नियातील रेडवूड लाकडापासून हे पोळपाट , अमेरिकन , IT मध्ये काम करणाऱ्या त्यांच्या मित्राने स्वतःच्या हाताने बनवले, आणि त्यांना भेट दिले.

तुम्ही म्हणाल , लाटण्याचे काय ? तर लाटणे , हे तर विशाखाच्या कोकणातल्या पणजोबानी फणसाच्या लाकडापासून आपल्या सौभाग्यवतींसाठी बनवले. पिढीजात लाटणे.

असे हे पोळपाट-लाटणे वापरून पोळ्या /फुलके इत्यादी करणे म्हणजे आंतरराष्ट्रीय सहकाराचे चालते -बोलते-लाटते उदाहरण . शतकापूर्वीच्या लाकडाचे पोळपाट , आणि शतकापूर्वीचे लाटणे .

मी फेसबुकवर आल्यापासून माझे DP , म्हणजे "उडणारी लाटणेवाली बाई" कधीही बदलले नाही. आता मी ह्यावर कविता नाही करायची तर कोणी ?

फोटो सौजन्य : विशाखा पर्वते

उत्तुंग रेडवूडचे रान,
अनेक शतके वसुंधरेने सांभाळलेले वृक्ष,
आणि वय झाल्यामुळे कधीतरी
एखाद्या वृक्षाची मालवलेली प्राणज्योत.

वसुंधरेंच्याच कुशीवरचे ते अचेतन लाकूड ,
कुणा एका आयटीवाल्याने
आपल्या कुशलतेने
मशीनवर ,रांधून, घासून, टोके मारून ,
गोल कापून , आणि कडा
गुळगुळीत करून
बनवलेला पोळपाट,
आपल्या न दिसणार्या जखमा सहन करत
स्वयंपाकघरात ओट्यावर विचाराधीन आणि काळजीत .

ओट्याच्या खाली कप्य्यात अचानक ऐकू आलेली खडखड ,
विशाखाताईंनी कप्पा उघडून शोधलेले
गडबडीने कारण ,
आणि
एका अदृश्य प्रेरणेने बाहेर आलेले
एक लाटणं .

शतक लोटले ,
तरी एक लाकूडच दुसर्या लाकडाचे मन
समजू शकतं .
कोकणातली वाडी ,
तिथल्या आमराई , सुपारी आणि फणसाच्या बागा
आणि खूप पूर्वी अश्याच एका फणसाने
स्वतःची रजोनिवृत्ती समजताच
कामासाठी दिलेलं आपलं लाकूड .
कुणा एका हौशी पणजोबांनी
कौतुकाने पणजीबाईंसाठी बनवलेले
सुंदर लाटणे.

पोळपाट आणि लाटणे भेटणे ,
लाटण्यानें हळुवार पोळपाटावर फिरणे ,
जणू काही अदृश्य जखमांवर
सहानुभूतीचे मलम लावणे.

पोळपाट नव्या उमेदीने तयार ,
आणि एक दिवशी
फुलका लाटता लाटता
कुठंतरी विशाखाला कोणीतरी
पाठीवर कौतुकाची थाप मारल्याचा भास होणे.

फुलका लाटला ,
तव्यावर पडला , आत्मविश्वासाने फुलला .

दूर कुठेतरी एक कोकणातले पणजोबा ,
रेडवूड रानातील एका रेडवूडजोबांच्या
खांद्यावर अदृश्य हात ठेऊन म्हणाले ,
"Wonderful, isn't it !"
आणि रेडवूड आणखीनच ताठ मानेने उभा राहिला,
आणि म्हणाला ,
"आपल्यासारखं , न भांडता , एकत्र काम करायला
सर्व शिकले ,तर हे जग किती सुंदर होईल , ना ?".....

The Final Cry ....

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sun, 26 Nov 2017 12:26:00 +0000

My cousin Dr Madhuri Gore recently posted this photograph of what she called the "ultimate remains of a tree" spotted by her on the Elephant Beach, Havelock Island, The Andamans.

So many of the islands that make up the Andaman Islands, are full of old ruins of the various activities, punitive and otherwise , carried out by the British, against Indians fighting for Independence; like an island (Neil?), where so called "enemies of state were hung" , and the famous Cellular Jail in Port Blair , where one may still see the torture methods used on prisoners.

It must have been interesting being a tree on one of these islands. A life longevity akin to those who have lived a simple, disciplined life in consonance with Nature, and then a message to those of us left behind.

What a life.

Witness to war,
Swarming British, perhaps a few
Japanese across the islands,
punishing Indians
fighting for Independence,
then seeing jails built.

What a life.

The presence since then
of the Indian Navy
and tons of mainland folks
crowding to enjoy the beaches
and history.

And again,
what a Life
and
what a Death.

Like the Jarawas*
decimated in their own land,
now only 423,
she lies on the beach,
one more tree ,
greenless, motionless,
shaken to her roots
by not just the earthquake
and tsunamis,
holding out her hands to the Sky,
asking
"what have we become? ,
a insensitive, violent, thoughtless people?"
before destructing to pieces
and flowing into the Deep...

What a Death.

*Jarawas : Native adivasis / indegenous people from the Andamans, who have inhabited these islands before anyone from the modern colonising world landed up there. Excessive thoughtless interference and interaction by the outside world threatens the health of these tribes.

Mackerel Moksh!

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Tue, 07 Nov 2017 13:02:00 +0000

My young friend Swapneel Prabhu, belongs to a community which excels in cooking seafood in many traditional ways. He recently experimented with smoked mackerel , using some traditionl utensils actually meant for other stuff, and described the meal ; in his words ,

"Smoked Mackerel (Bangda), Pomelo (Papanas), Boiled Red Rice (Ukda Tandul), Ambehalad - Tirphal/Teppal Vinaigrette and Sugarcane-Kand Crisps. I flaked the smoked mackerel and mixed in the fish petals with shredded Pomelo segments. The bright, fruity acidity of the Pomelo helped counter and balance the intense, smoky mackerel.
Toasting the plump boiled red rice with a little coconut oil accentuated the nuttiness.
The light Ambehalad (MangoTurmeric) Vinaigrette tied the dish together. The Tirphal/Teppal mellows down the deep earthy flavour of the dark meat in oily fish like Mackerel which can sometimes be bitter and dominating. Kand and Sugarcane Juice crisps completed the plate with their texture and sweetness."

I am a vegetarian, and have tried and rejected fish in my younger days, because I thought it was grosse to cut up something lying there with eyes open. However, I can appreciate someone's creative seafood meal efforts.

Swapneel's photo of the smoked Mackerel actually looked like a wry smile, and the imagination went into overdrive. The title has been copied from Swapneel's comment on the poem.

They say a Mackerelian soul
hovers around
for a while,
convincing itself.

An early world departure
through a fishing net.
A hot smoking with
other dear departeds
in a copper smoker
aided by the tirphalian assists.

Then a final giving of oneself,
through a scrape,
to an asking pomelo
and a beautiful mix,
admired by a plump red rice
enjoying a coconut oil stir.
A mango ginger celebration
to wish the soul
on its onward journey.

A giving of itself
selflessly,
even after being no more.
The satiated human
playing around with sugarcane chips.

The Mackerelian Soul
smiles.

Peace.

It leaves to become one
with the Big Sea.

Life and Times : Khichadi

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sat, 04 Nov 2017 13:10:00 +0000

Never thought that the humble delicious Khichdi would have its day in the sun. Around 800 kilos of it is being cooked in Delhi today, by India's celebrity chefs and 500 kilos more in Nagpur by some other celebrity chefs. The humble household khichadi , with its unique quality of empathy for those eating it (and making it) has something to say about politics, awards , and herself.

आपल्या नेहमीच्या साध्या सुध्या खिचडीला अचानक प्रसिद्धीच्या झोतात पाहून थक्क व्हायला होतं . युगे युगे बनवली गेलेली खिचडी , दिल्लीच्या दृष्टीक्षेपात आली , तरी तिच्यावर फारसा परिणाम होणार नाही . दिल्लीत ८०० किलो आणि नागपूर मद्ये ५०० किलो खिचडी बनवली जात्ये आज . पण राजकारण हा खिचडीचा नावडता विषय . साधी , गरम, चविष्ट खिचडी , तिच्यात चवी पलीकडेही काहीतरी असतं . घरातल्या लोकांसाठी , मोठा आधार . तिला राजकारणाबद्दल काय वाटतं , ते वाचा ..

(The original happened in Marathi. The English version happened to commemorate the fact that the British stole our khichadee, and now call it something else. ....)

Graphic Courtesy CNN-News18

भाताचं आणि डाळीचं एक समीकरण असतं .
शक्यतो भातानी कुठेही एकटं नाही जायचं .
कधी एखादी श्रीमंत लोण्यात गुंग अशी डाळ,
कधी मेथी, पालक लोकांशी
विचारपूर्वक युती केलेली डाळ ;
कधी कधी तर भांडून भांडून
दोन डाळी एकत्र येऊन
अद्रक लसूण टोमॅटोमध्ये रमलेली डाळ;
आणि कधी कधी सात्त्विकतेचा परमोच्च अविष्कार
असलेले साधं वरण .

त्यामुळे जेव्हा काही बाळबोध डाळी ,
शिजतानाच भातात पडू लागल्या ,
आणि बरोबर फोडण्या, कढीपत्ते , जिरेपूड
घेऊन मिसळू लागल्या ,
तेव्हा भात अगदी हुरळून गेला .
अति मसालेदार खाणे,
दमून भागून कुठून तरी येणे ,
पटकन काहीतरी बनवणे भाग पडणे
इत्यादी कारणाने
ह्या "खिचडी " चे उद्घाटन झाले ,
आणि आज तागायत विवध वेळी,
विविध प्रकारात ती देशभर उजळून निघाली .

आपल्याकडे जरा कुठे प्रसिद्धी मिळाली ,
कि राजकारणी लोक कान टवकारतात,
त्यात आपला स्वतःचा फायदा काय होत आहे ते बघतात
आणि आपल्यात त्याला सामील करून घेतात.

तशी खिचडी हुशार . नव्हे, शहाणीच.

तिला भारतीय खास पदार्थ म्हणून संबोधलं जाणार
हे कळताच ,
तिने पापड, कढी , चटणी, लोणचं ,
बटाट्याच्या काचर्या , वगैरे मंडळींना बरोबर घेतले,
आणि सरकारला सुनावले.
"मी एकटीच खास नाही.
माझ्या बरोबरची मंडळी माझे कार्य
अधिकच सुंदर करतात,
आणि मला एकटीला भारताचा खास पदार्थ संबोधून,
कितीतरी रोटी, नान ,पराठा, परोटा , फुलका, इडली , डोसा,
उथप्पा , कोरी रोटी, मंडळींवर अन्याय होईल .
कितीतरी दुग्धजन्य , व इतर गोड पदार्थ डावलले जातील,
आणि भारताच्या खाद्य संस्कृतीत
विभाजकता माजेल.

देशातील राजकारण्यांची हि प्रथा असेल,
माझी नाही .

एखाद्या लहान मुलाने, कामावरून दमून आलेल्या गृहिणीने
अथवा फार भूक नसलेल्या आजी-आजोबांने
मला पुरस्कार दिला,
तर मी तो खाद्यसंस्कृतीचा खरा सन्मान समजीन.
आणि आयुष्यभर आनंदानं जपीन ..

आपल्या देशात , राजकीय पुरस्कार
आज काल जरा काही मनाविरुद्ध झालं
कि परत करतात .
मी त्यातली नाही . मला अवॉर्डवापसी जमत नाही .

प्लीज. मला माझ्या सहकाऱयांबरोबर एकट सोडा .
मी आयुष्यभर करत आले, ते करू दे.
साध्या माणसांना तृप्त करणे, आणि त्यांचे पोटभरणे .
जेणे करून त्यांना विश्रांतीत एक सुंदर
डुलकी लागेल ,
आणि सुखाची स्वप्न दिसतील.

तुम्हा राजकीय लोकांना हे आजपर्यंत जमलं का ?

Dal and Rice have an Relationship.
Facebook would say , "It's complicated".

The Rice
is not expected to wander around
unaccompanied and unattended.
Sometimes by a Dal,infatuated by butter;
Sometimes , an intelligent coalition
with feungreek and spinach types;
Sometimes, a fighting union
with another dal,
coming to terms in ginger,garlic,
and tomato types;
and most of all,
in a display of Satwikness
of a high order,
A "Sadha Varan" preening in simplicity.

What really had the rice excited
was when the dals
started diving in as it was cooking,
accompanied
by similar actions by kadhipattas, cumin,
turmeric , agitated in ghee.

An overeaten spicy meal,
returning hungry andd tired from someplace,
and even suddenly having to make
a quick meal,
and Khichadi came into its own
Acche Din
across the country.

However, she suddenly got co-opted
as a country brand food
by the politicians,
who had their ears glued
to the potholed ground.

But Khichadi was smart.

She gathered together her team
of Papads, Kadhi, Chatni, Pickle,
GHee, and Batatyaachyaa Kachrya,
and actually told the government
what she thought.

"I am not special by myself.
All these folks here,
make my life beautiful,
and by branding me,
you are being unjust to my colleagues
Roti, Naan, Paratha, Parota , Fulkas,
Idlis, Dosas, Uthappas, Koro Roti,
and several dairy based special foods.
This will cause grevious division
in the Federation of Indian Foods.

This may be acceptable in politics,
but not by me.

IF I am honored with a prize
by a small child,
or a woman,
tired and back from work,
or grandparents ,
just wanting a one pot simple meal
I will be honored
and will guard the honor
all my life.

In this country,
if something does not agree
with someone,
they return the award.

That is not me.
I do not do award wapasi.

Just leave me alone
with my associates,
to do what I have always done.
To make ordinary folks happy
and satisfied with a meal;
perhaps satiated enough
to take a small nap
and see dreams of a happy future.

Have you politicians even managed
to succeed at that ?

पदर पदर परि शेवटी ......

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Tue, 24 Oct 2017 05:42:00 +0000

फेसबुक वरील महाराष्ट्रीय खाद्य संस्कृतीशी निगडीत , "अंगत पंगत " असा ग्रुप आहे . दिवाळी निमित्त अनेकांनी फराळाशी संबंधित पोस्ट्स लिहिल्या आणि फोटो टाकले .

उमा कुलकर्णी नाईक यांनी विवध पदर वाल्या कारंज्यांचा एक सुंदर फोटो टाकला , आणि शिवाय , खुसखुशीत आणि चविष्ट करंज्यांबद्दल, आजींच्या कडून ऊसफूर्त शाबासकी मिळवली.

उमाताईंचे खूप अभिनंदन .

असे पदर बघितले कि मग कविता सुचतात . अशीच एक ....

दीपावलीच्या सागरातले
असंख्य पदरवाले शिंपले जणू
पदर पदर घट्ट धरून
आतल्या बच्चा मोत्याला सांभाळत.

हे ऑईस्टर शिंपले

नवीन मोत्यासारख्या तेजपुंज जीवाला
जगातील
भांडणं , दुःख , हेवेदावे , खुन्नस ,
आणि एकटेपणाच्या त्रासापासून
दूर ठेवणारे पदर;
जागतिक तापमानवाढ,
आणि त्याच्या वाढीला उत्तेजन देणार्या
ट्रंम्पासुरा पासून दूर ठेवणारे पदर;
स्वार्थी , नद्यानचे गटार करणाऱ्या मानवापासून
दूर ठेणारे पदर ,
आणि
जनावरांना छळणाऱ्या मानवापासून दूर ठेवणारे पदर .

आणि मग ह्या दिवाळीत ,
नाजूकपणे पदरामागून डोकावणारे
सारण बाळ ,
सर्वांना शुभेच्छा देऊन आनंदित करणारे
सारणबाळ ,
आणि एका आईने कौतुकमिश्रित प्रेमाने
एक तुकडा मोडून आपल्या मुलीला देणे ,
आपण स्वतः घेणे ,
आणि सुंदर खुसखुशीत आस्वाद घेणे .

इतक्या सर्व पदरातून बाहेर पडणं सोपं नसतं .
आणि सारणबाळाला समजतं , की
आपल्यासाठी श्रम घेणारे खूप आहेत .
त्यांच्या चिरोटे मंडळींचे विशेष कौतुक.
दोन्ही चिवड्यांवर विशेष जबाबदारी.
ज्येष्ठतेमुळे लाडूंवर उत्तरदायित्व,
आणि मग सर्व फराळ मंडळी
खास दिवाळी निमित्त प्लेटींमध्ये विराजमान होतात.

खास मोत्यासारख्या बाळाचे
सोनेरी दिवस ,
आणि दिवाळीनिमित्त एका वेगळ्या जगाची ओळख .

On being an icecream in Budapest.....

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Tue, 26 Sep 2017 08:54:00 +0000

My friend Vidya Vartak Joshi recently posted fotos of icecreams she enjoyed in Budapest, Hungary.

What was special about these icecreams was that , unlike cones which are generally burdened under several random scoops of icecream, these were sculpted like roses. These edible works of art clearly needed to be highlighted. Beautiful, delicious, in several colors and in various shades of the same primary color.

What had not changed, was the fact that they , like all ice creams around the world, melted.

Never mind. They deserved, what else, a poem !

Born of a great churning,
sometimes in a pot,
and sometimes,
internally in a
refrigerated mind,
she abhored it,
when she was presented to
greedy folks
in scoops ,
loaded on top of each other,
and she pined and hungered
for a Beautiful Life.

It is in the fitness of
fragrant things
that she should be
presented
at the Ice-Cream Debutante Ball
in a flared rose tinted outfit,
with ice cold whorls
emanating from a
very ordinary cone.

She understands
that though
this is the Beautiful Life,
it is more important
to have a Beautiful Mind,
that learns to rationalise
how momentary life is,
and that it is OK
to melt and cry.

Yum and Powerful

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sat, 23 Sep 2017 12:35:00 +0000

My friend Deepak Amembal, always enjoys his food. More so if it is a dessert designed to make his sugar and calorie-counting friends drool.

He recently visited a place called Millenium Harbour in London, (It says it is a Gym), and posted this decadent picture of blackberries and blueberries , under a canopy of custard, with a brownie kind of victoriously perched on top.

Those who are permitted by fate to eat this, do. Others, make poems.

It's the victory of white sugar
and cocoa
over natural fructose
of the black and blue berries.

Some say its the ability
of the berries to stand up to
slathers of custard
victorious in repose.

Scholars of current history,
Presidents, and utterances,
might mention
the rise of the brown
over the black and creamy white.

History and interpretations be damned.
The only winner are the taste buds.
Dig in .

And the Lord watches ....

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sat, 26 Aug 2017 04:55:00 +0000

My friend Deepak Amembal posts interesting pictures from around the city, and this one was posted during the ongoing Ganesh festival.

A contrast on the streets of Mumbai.

Hordes of youth, in some kind of representative tshirts, jeans and shoes , who sit idly on walls, having spent an entire morning dancing wildly , with contortions to some disgusting filmy electronic loud music which has nothing to do with the Lord; the group sponsored by some big political person.

And a lady worker, busy lugging her voluminous load around, carrying all of societies dirt and left overs to some dump, so that the Lord may be welcomed somewhere in a cleaner environment. Beast of burden, she recycles the plastic and paper waste from trash, by lugging it someplace to sell it. Her work is her worship of the Lord. And she does her work impervious to the crass celebrations around her.

Both get paid. That is the strangest thing.

Some,
think they serve the Lord,
in Tshirts bearing HIS name ,
jeans and shoes,
whiling away time on walls
when they are
not twisting their bodies
in tune
to some disgusting song;
perhaps they get paid.

And some,
regardless of the Day,
always serve the Lord,
by being dedicated to
their daily work,
transporting the trash
of society to dumps.
The Lord must be made welcome
in a clean place.
And perhaps, she gets paid too.

It is clear who the Lord prefers.

The Bhakri Star

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sun, 20 Aug 2017 17:27:00 +0000

If there was a field called Food Art (and if there is one, I am not aware ), my friend Swapneel Prabhu from the "Angat Pangat : Rediscovering Traditional Maharashtrian Cuisine" Group on Facebook , would probably be on the teaching faculty.

After a successful effort at making Bhakri under his Mom's guidance, it translated into him designing what he calls a Tapas platter comprising of, in his words, Jwarichi/Jondhlyachi (Sorghum) Bhakri.
Bajrichi (Pearl Millet) Bhakri, Nachnichi (Finger Millet) Bhakri, Shepu Thecha (A hand pounded pesto-like mix of lightly charred green chillies ,garlic and some dill for a fragrant burst and finished with a generous squeeze of lime). This turned out to be the pièce de résistance of the meal.
Then a Metkut Gojju (is there a Marathi name for this Metkut and curd preparation?), Limbaacha Loncha (sweet-sour-spicy lime pickle), Loni (White Butter) and Gul (Jaggery).

And finally some white onion.

Dont know about the Tapas, but this has to be the most studded bhakri star to have been sighted in recent times.

How come ? Read on . First in the language of the Bhakri, and then, in the language of the Queen !

आंबाविरहित आंब्याची डाळ , म्हणे हमस ,
आणि आमच्या सुशीलाची आठवण काढत
सूशी सुशी म्हणत
कशात कशात गुंडाळलेले भात प्रकार ...

आपल्याकडील समृद्ध खाद्यसंस्कृती
आणि हे काय "
असा कोणीतरी म्हटलं
आणि अचानक
भाजलेली भाकरी पापुद्र्याचा
आ वासून बघतच राहिली....

एक गडद निळ्या, नव्हे,
जवळ जवळ काळ्याच प्लेट वर
ज्वारी, बाजरी आणि नाचणी भाकरी
तुकड्यांनी धरलेला चांदण्यातला फेर ,
मध्यभागी दह्याच्या प्रेमात आकंठ बुडलेले मेतकूट ,
आणि बाजूनी चमकत चमकत
लसणा वर जळणाऱ्या मिरच्यांचा
थोड्या शेपूंना सहन करत ठेचा ,
आपले थंड व्यक्तिमत्व पाझळत भारदस्त लोणी ,
खाराच्या आहारी गेलेले लिंबू
आणि ठामपणे आपला कडकपणा दाखवत गूळ .

भाकर्याना काहीतरी राहून गेलाय असं वाटलं
आणि तेवढ्यात
युद्धावरून विजयी,
पण खर्या योध्याच्या खुणा दाखवत
हाताने फोडलेला सफेद कांदा ,
विश्रांतीला हजर .

'टपस ' वगैरे माहित नाही ,
पण तपास करून सुद्धा
इतके सुंदर चांदणी सापडायची नाही .

The age old Amba Dal
with sour overtures of kairi
now being bossed over by Hummus,
the beauteous Susheela,
being made fun of
by rice wraps masquerading as Sushi.

"What has our traditional food culture
been reduced to?"
a sudden overheard comment,
and a Bhakri, unbelieving,
sits gaping,
its layers wide open and steaming...

Then the appearance of a
dark black china plate ,
and strips of
jowar, bajra and ragi bhakris
in star formation,
twinkling
at the metkut in the centre
in raptures over a welcoming dahi;
a chilly burning in rage
at the garlics
paying attention to the dill;
an old style butter
playing "exclusive" in the midst
of the newbies;
a lemon, winking at being
amidst all the flowing spices,
and in direct challenge to the
tough acting butter,
a stodgy piece of jaggery,
old style sweetness.

The bhakri star,
searching for the X-factor,
and suddenly rejoicing
at the arrival
of a white onion,
nursing its wounds,
having been smashed by
a greedy human fist.

They all shine together
in tasty culinary support
of the bhakris.

You wouldn't find search a star
if you searched for it
anywhere in the world.....!

The best quilt in the Universe!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Thu, 17 Aug 2017 13:24:00 +0000

My friend Peggy Pearl Zambory from Minneapolis, is a prolific published blogger , and recently put up a post on FB , showing a lovely quilt her mother-in-law made and gifted her . (My mother-in-law had gifted us one too, like 42 years ago. ; i guess all nice folks get gifted quilts ! ....)

Somehow the pattern of the quilt, and the choice of color, , brought to my mind, some issues, that are actually burning issues of the day , in these troubled times.

It also told me how we should treasure the quilts we have !

The dark grey of winter,
the spring of red flowers,
amidst the green,
the peacocks and birds of summer,
all mixed up
supporting each other firmly,
connected so well by lines,
and forming a protective cover
for silk cotton newborn fibres
mixing with some fun foam.

The quilt is a need
for all seasons
and older Moms realize that;
at a time
when some "elders",
having never experienced
the beauty of unity,
try to cut up the squares
and divide the pieces
on the basis of color.

ग्वाकमोले बन गया पिठलं !

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Fri, 14 Jul 2017 06:03:00 +0000

फेसबुकवरील माझा मित्र अरित्र दास याने नुकतेच एक आवोकाडो विकत आणून , त्याचा ग्वाकमोले नावाचा पदार्थ बनवायचा यशस्वी प्रयत्न केला . आनंदाच्या भरात फोटो काढला आणि फेसबुकी टाकला . गोंधळ एव्हडाच की ह्या सर्व प्रयत्नात फोटोमध्ये हिरवा रंग पिवळा दिसू लागला .

चरित्र दास ने मग "ग्वाकमोले पिठलं" म्हणून ह्या पदार्थाचे नामकरण केले .

मला उगीचच ग्वाकामोले साठी वाईट वाटलं . प्रेसिडेंट म्हणावं आणि ओबामा च्या ऐवजी ट्रम्प ने समोर यावं असं थोडंसं झालं .

वाचा .....

अवोकाडो परिवारात
तसं सर्वांना खूप "कडक " शिस्तीत
वागावं लागे .
बाहेरच्या जगात पदार्पण कारण्यासाठीसुद्धा
अवोकाडोच्या देठाची परीक्षा;
मऊ किती, फळाच्या देठाशी रंग कसा ,
वगैरे तपासण्या .

असच एक फळ अचानक अरित्राच्या हाती लागले,
आणि अगदी प्रचलित पद्धतीप्रमाणे
एक मोठे बीज काढून
आतला गर हाती आला .

एखाद्या आळणी देशात स्वाभाविकपणे भेट द्यावी
असं ह्या घरात पडायला
तिखट मिरच्यांचे आणि मवाळ टोमॅटोचे आगमन ,
आणि मीठ , साखर, इत्यादींचा दुजोरा .
आपल्या मूळच्या देशातल्या
"ओले ओले !" च्या ऐवजी
"आले आले !" म्हणत ग्वाकमोले बाईंचे पदार्पण.

मग कोणीतरी येऊन फोटो काढणे
फेसबुकवर टाकणे
आणि त्यांना ग्वाकमोले पिठलं संबोधणे ...

"Mi nombre no es pithla"
Mi nombre es Senorita Guacamole! "
अरित्र, तुला मेतकूट म्हटलं तर चालेल का ?

ह्यावरअरित्र ने उत्तर दिलं , "चालेल!" !!!

पाषाण उवाच ....

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sun, 04 Jun 2017 04:21:00 +0000

आपल्याकडे जुन्या वस्तू टाकून, सोसासोसाने नवीन उपकरण घेण्याची पद्धत रूढ झाली आहे . ब्लेंडर, फूड प्रोसेसर वगैरे याचा खूपच वापर आपल्याकडे मोठ्या शहरातून होतो. जस, "मला पाट्यावर वाटता येत नाही ", तसच, "मला काठीने तारेवर कपडे वाळत टाकता येत नाहीत " असे पदोपदी ऐकण्यात येतं .

अश्या वेळी , मेलबोर्न मधली माझी मैत्रीण सौ. शुभदा गोखले , तिचे जितके कौतुक करावे तितके थोडेच ! एक मोठे जातं , एक छोटं , दोन खलबत्ते, एक पाटावरवंटा , ह्या गोष्टींचा नियमित वापर असतो. सोबत विजेची उपकरणे असतात , तरी पण पाट्यावर वाटलेली चटणी , डाळ , आणि रवीने घुसळलेलं ताक, वेगळंच !

माझ्या माहितीप्रमाणे इंग्लंड मधली माझी मैत्रीण , सौ प्रीती देव यांच्या कडे ही अशीच उपकरणे आहेत . (त्यांच्या कडे कोळश्याची जुन्या पद्धतीची शेगडी पण आहे )

एका मेलबोरनी सकाळी मागील दारी बसलेल्या ह्या मंडळींसाठी हि कविता ...

सगळे दगड दगड जमले
कि एखाद्या गावचे
सगळे लोक जमल्यासारखं वाटतं .

मागील दारी कट्ट्यावरची फरशी ,
आपल्या सख्यासहेल्यांना घट्ट धरून,
पिढ्या पिढयांचे ओझं पेलवत ,
आणि तरीही काहीही कुरकुर ना करता गप्प ...

एखाद्या द्वाड मुलासारखे दोन्ही खलबत्ते ,
इतके सुदृढ
कि त्यांना बत्त्यांनी ठोकलं ,
तरी खाली पोतं ठेऊन ठोकावे लागतं ,
नाहीतर फारशी तुटते;
आयुष्यभर दणके खात ,
स्वतः मसाले, लसूण चटण्या , दाण्याच्या चटण्या
यांच्याशी चकाट्या पिटत वेळ घालवणे
हे परम ध्येय.

ह्या उलट पाटा .
सौंदर्य वैगैरे चेहर्यावर नसतं ,
आपल्या कर्मात असतं , अश्या ठाम मताचा.
चेहर्यावर जितके व्रण, तितकं काम उत्कृष्ट.
बरोबर वरवंटा.
एकीकडे बारश्यात सजून पाळण्याभोवती फिरणे,
तर इकडे रोज ,
पाट्यावर आरामात पहुडलेल्या
मिरच्या मीठ, कोथिंबीर, खोबरं प्रभूतींना
ओंजारून गोंजारून
निवडणुकीत हरवल्यासारखे चिरडणे.
कधीतरी डाळी आणि कैर्या लोकं
पण अनुभव घायला येतात.

दळून पूड कशी करावी ,
ह्याचा आदर्श म्हणजे जातं .
दोन गोलाकार दगडांमध्ये थोडे थोडे धान्य टाकून,
मैत्रिणीबरोबर दांडा धरून ,
फिरवलेला वरचा दगड ,
वेळीप्रसंगी दगडाच्या डोळ्यातही ऐकून पाणी येईल
आणि ते पुसायला फिरणे थांबेल,
अश्या गायलेल्या सुंदर ओव्या,
आणि ऐकत ऐकत एका मऊ जुन्या साडीवर
खाली कौतुकाने पडणारे पीठ .

एका सुंदर सकाळी ,
नरकचतुर्दशीच्या दिवशी लौकर अंघोळी करून
जणू सकाळ्ळच्या उन्हात जणू
बसलेली ही सर्व मंडळी.

उलट्या ऋतूंच्या देशात असली म्हणून काय झालं?
एकत्र जमली कि तोच दसरा आणि तीच दिवाळी ....

A Cabbage Life

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Sat, 03 Jun 2017 04:37:00 +0000

One of my friends on a certain Facebook Group dedicated to Traditional Maharashtrian Cuisine posted a query pertaining to various ways people cooked cabbage. There was a huge response.

It just occurred to me that if I was a cabbage, I would have been totally overcome.

It also occurred to me that as a cabbage , I would have something to say.

Like everyone else , on FB .

I first said it in Marathi, and then in English. Read.....

जन्मानी ब्रासिका ओलेराचिया,
पण लाडाने कोबी हे नाव ;
चार चौघान सारखे बालपण ,
आपले एक एक हिरवे कौशल्य उलगडत
मिरच्या कढीपत्ते आणि मोहरी मंडळींबरोबर
हसत खेळत , त्यांचे तडतडण ऐकत
घालवलेला वेळ.

आणि मग किशोर वयात
बदललेली दृष्टी ;
पाणी पियुन तर्रर्र झालेल्या डाळी ,
रंगेल टोमॅटो ,
दिसायला लहान पण तिखट वृत्तीचे आले ;
"फेर अँड लव्हली असोत आम्ही " असे म्हणत
जणू किसून धावत येऊन पडणारे खोबरं ,
"अहो थांबा की!" म्हणत धापा टाकत येणारी कोथिम्बीर ,
आणि कधी कधी तर
सर्वत्र आपला वावर कसा असतो हे दाखवत
ठामपणे आत पडणारे बेसन .

आज काळ परदेशी मेकअप आल्यापासून
कोबी स्वतःला पुनश्च ब्रासिका ओलेराचिया समजून
मॅगी मसाला ए मॅजिक लावायला शिकलीये .

पण खरं विचारलात तर
तिचा आवडता प्रकार म्हणजे
चिरून, मीठ साखर दाण्याचे कूट
कोथिंबीर मिरची घालून
लिंबू पिळून ,
वरून कढीपता हिंगाची फोडणी घालणे
आणि सटात आरामात चिंब भिजून राहणे .
आणि शंकर महादेवन सांग गुणगुणणे :
"या रिमझिम झिलमिल लिंबू धारा तनमन फुलवून
जाती
सहवास तुझा मधुमास हिंगाचा गंध सुखाचा हाती
हा धुंद फॅन चा वारा, हा कोवळा शहारा
उजळून रंग आले, स्वच्छंद प्रीतीचे
चिंब भिजलेले, रूप सजलेले
बरसुनी आले रंग प्रीतीचे... "

Born Brassica Oleracea,
but called Cabbage;
a childhood like all others
in India,
opening up each layer
of her being,
as she enjoyed fooling around with
chillies, kadhipatta
and angry mustard seeds.

And then a teenage
that changed everything;
Some dals ,
redolent and reeling with
the imbibed water,
casanova tomatoes,
spicy and crushing gingers,
and the Fair and Lovely grated coconut
rushing it,
followed by a
breathless set of coriander leaves.
And always,
some besan,
trying to add itself out of sheer habit .

These days, Brassica Oleracea,
has taken to adorning herself
with foreign makeup
like Maggi Masala-e-Magic.

But if you really want to know
what she loves,
it is to get together with
salt, sugar, chillies,
crushed roasted groundnuts,
coriander and lemon juice,
rejoicing under the onslaught
of a terrific hing kadhipatta tadka,
and enjoy the wet season
in a bowl,
humming Shankar Mahadevan's Song,
slightly modified :
"या रिमझिम झिलमिल लिंबू धारा तनमन फुलवून जाती
सहवास तुझा मधुमास हिंगाचा गंध सुखाचा हाती
हा धुंद फॅन चा वारा, हा कोवळा शहारा
उजळून रंग आले, स्वच्छंद प्रीतीचे
चिंब भिजलेले, रूप सजलेले
बरसुनी आले रंग प्रीतीचे... "

A Jilebi Philosophy

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Mon, 22 May 2017 03:17:00 +0000

My friend , Prachee Gokhale from New Zealand, recently decided to make Jilebis. This involves passing some fermented viscous dough through a small aperture (like that of a squeeze bottle) , and have it falling in artistic spirals , into hot oil; the fried designs are then immersed in sugar syrup and they emerge as jilebis, usually greatly loved by everyone.

Sometimes, the designs are different, not in perfect circle spirals, but in random shapes. There is no difference in taste. At all. But entire generations grow up, thinking that circular spirals is the only perfect way of making jilebis. And sometimes , this kind of thinking pervades life.

Think again. I did and came up with something these jilebis teach us. (A little bit of deeper thinking, had me recalling spiral structures and DNA. Never mind. I am sure Watson and Crick did not have jilebis in mind. )

Read on to understand why......

Thoughts fer̥menting
with a bit, nay, a lot of help
from those with a
sour mentality,
and a sudden outpouring
into hot oil
through a small aperture.

Sometimes
the design is mixed up,
unique, misshapen, broken
and sometimes ,
a thing of beauty,
all wrapped up in its own curves.

The sugar syrup, like life,
doesn't differentiate.

It makes them all equally sweet .

It clearly, knows,
something,
we humans do not.

Caramelized Lives....

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Wed, 26 Apr 2017 03:35:00 +0000

My friend Deepak Amembal has an amazing wanderlust, which he shares with his motorcycle and his car. Currently driving through Goa, he has been posting wonderful scenic photos, and recently posted one of a caramel custard, which he probably devoured minutes after clicking it.

Carmelization of sugar has fascinated me. When many experiments in cooking have ended in an unavoidable caramelization of sugar where none was expected, it is nice to look at a dish where sugar was deliberately caramelized.

Naturally , I saw a political message in all this. There are no free desserts in life.....

There is egg white
and flour white
and sugar white.

But the attraction here
is the golden brown caramel,
a result of sugar
throwing caution
to the winds,
and burning up a brown storm,
before all the whites
pour in.

A piece, slightly shaky,
as if on tenterhooks
as someone spoons a piece.

Unlike in the biped world,
peace reigns in a multi color
caramel custard world,
where the custard simply accepts,
that she would be nowhere
without the caramel .

Something Trump needs to know
as he digs into
his own caramel custard
in Florida.

Mind Calls....

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Thu, 13 Apr 2017 12:02:00 +0000

When you live away from your folks in another country, and sometimes memories come flooding in, it is comforting to look at old photos which you took. My friend Preeti Deo who lives near London, recently posted this wonderful capture of doors and windows "that speak" , which she clicked at Jalna , her native place in India. For some reason, this photograph spoke volumes to me. Mostly about closed minds, slowly making and effort to open up, and how we must do our bit to help. A burning question today, where mental health issues are being addressed. A poem in Marathi was the immediate result. I did an English version later. (photo courtesy Preeti Deo)

मनाचे कप्पे .

काहींच्या मनाचे कप्पे
तुमच्यापासून
त्या निळ्या दरवाज्यासारखे बंद असतात;
आतल्या आत , कधीकधी
अनागोंदी , अव्यवस्था , आणि गोंधळ ,
आणि मग अचानक कधीतरी
मनातली एक अर्धवट खिडकी उघडू पहाते;
एक मूक निशब्द आर्त हाक असते,
आणि मदतीसाठी खिडकीतून बाहेर धरलेला
अदृश्य हात असतो .

आपण तो पकडायचा असतो,
आणि खिडकीच्या आतल्या मनाशी संवाद साधायचा असतो
जेणेकरून
आतला गोंधळ व अनागोंदी ,
आटोक्यात येईल .

यश येईल
जेव्हा खिडकी सोडून
मन आपले सर्वात मोठे मनोद्वार
उत्साहाने उघडून
आपल्याशी संवाद साधेल.
मग आपल्याला कितीही उंच चढावं लागलं
तरी चालेल .

मनातल्या मनात जगायचा नसतं;
पण जगाशी संवाद साधून श्रीमंत व्हायचं असतं .....

Some minds,
perhaps loaded to the brim
with brownian thought motion,
confusion and chaos,
keep themselves shut from you,
like the blue door;
suddenly , at some point,
a mind window opens,
like a silent scream ,
holding out an invisible hand
for help.

It is ours to hold it,
comfort it, and talk to it,
so as to reduce
the chaos and confusion inside.

Perhaps the mind will learn,
communicate, and perhaps,
open up the biggest door it has.
It is up to us ,
to rush in there to help.
It does not matter
how high one has to climb.

Looking inward is not living.
And holding a dialogue
with the world around you,
enriches you immeasurably.

On being an Appe Patra.... एका आप्पे पात्राची कहाणी

noreply@blogger.com (Ugich Konitari) — Fri, 03 Mar 2017 05:17:00 +0000

I came to Appe Patrams fairly late in life. And I thought they were such nifty stuff. Unlike idlies, the Appe excelled in a taste of their own, despite an inviting chutney lying alongside with come hither looks.

They offer themselves to a multitude of uses, such as making non-fried sabudana wadas, and udid wadas meant to function later as dahi wadas .

I thought it was time to celebrate them . The Appe Patra, that is....

The poem happened first in Marathi, thanks to my friend Vidya posting a query on FB. The English version was done later , for my non Marathi friends.

नाही तवा, नाही कढई ,
न्हवतो मी कधीच 'वोक' ;
कोणीतरी म्हणालं
"स्टोव्ह टॉप मफीन पॅन ",
किती मजेशीर असतात न लोकं .

जगात कितीतरी वस्तूंच्या सूक्ष्म प्रतिकृती दिसतात .
फोने टेबलावरून खिश्यात आले,
संभाषणे तोंडावरून संगणकावर आली ,
महत्वाचे चे कागद अल्मिर्यातून
खिशातल्या हार्ड डिस्कवर ;
वाक्यांशातून स्वर काढून सूक्ष्मीकरण केल्याने
आता तुम्ही पाच ते सहा अक्षरात
जमिनीवर गडाबडा लोळू शकता ,
नाहीतर ३ अक्षरात जोर जोरात हसू शकता .

आणि म्हणूनच इडलीचे प्रगत सुक्ष्मीकरण
करण्याचा प्रस्ताव आला ,
तेवहा मी हात वर केला !

मला नाही लागत वाफा , आणि वेगवेगळी भांडी .
इडलीच्या आंबलेल्या आयुष्यात ,
थोडा कांदा , मिरची, आले, कोथिंबीर , मीठ, मिरे
यांचे योगदान मोठे ;
एखादा लहान चमचा तेल तूप घालून,
चमचा चमचा बनवलेले खमंग मिश्रण घातले,
आणि वर घुमटाकृती झाकण ठेवले
कि केवळ माझ्या आत्मविश्वासाच्या बळावर
आप्प्याचं आयुष्य मार्गी लागतं .
एका बाजूच सोन झालं ,
कि पलटून दुसरी बाजू खाली,
आणि जगात पदार्पण करायच्या आधी,
थोडा आजूबाजूनी तेलतुपाचा मेकअप .

कसं असतं ,
एखादी गोष्ट छान दिसली की
सर्व लोक त्याचे अनुकरण करतात .

आजकाल साबुदाणा मंडळी
माझ्याकडे येऊन उपासाचे आप्पे करतात
आणि परवाच कोणीतरी उडदाचे ही वडे केले,
आणि दह्यात पडताच दही धन्य झालं ...

पण कुठल्याही यशस्वी माणसाच्या मागे जशी
एक खमकी हुशार बाई असते ,
तसं माझ्या दुसर्या बाजूस
थेट विस्तवाशी दोन हात करणारा
प्रसंगी डाग पडणारा
खालचा पृष्ठभाग आहे.

इतके सगळं ऐकून
तुम्हाला वाटेल
मी निवडणुकीला उभा आहे.

छे हो! मला तर सगळ्यांनी कायमचे निवडून दिले आहे !

Not a griddle, or a pan,
neither was ever a Wok;
And then
someone in fun,
called me
a Stove Top Muffin Pan.

Yikes.

So many things
have been miniaturized,
in our world.
Hefty phones, from tables into pockets,
Chats from mouths, to computers ;
Important papers from
filing cabinets
to harddisks in pockets;
In an acrimonized world,
you can roll in
uncontrolled mirth on the floor
in 5-6 letters,
and laugh out loud in 3 .

And so when Idliees were the
subject of miniaturizing,
I put my hand up!

Don't need steam,
or numerous utensils.
A fermented Idli Life,
enriched immeasurably
by the onions, mirchies,
ginger, salt and pepper....

A small half spoon of oil/ghee ,
and spoonfulls of mixture,
in the spaces so meant,
now covered with a lid.
Powered by my confidence,
a side cooked golden,
and now turned,
with a bit of ghee/oil,
sliding down the sides,
and the Appe's are set
to face what Life has in store.

Imitation is the best form
of flattery in the Appe world.
I've been doing sabudana appes,
and then someone made udid dal appes,
actively craved by a waiting dahi .

Yes.
Just like behind every man
is a successful firm woman,
I have behind me,
a surface,
that deals with fire and flames
on a daily baisis,
and comes out with flying dark colors.

You might think
I am campaigning for an election.

No. For the simple reason,
that everyone has already selected me
for Life!