Anu Chenji

“Bye. Take care.”

“Be very careful who you talk to.”

“Remember I’ve packed all your snacks in this dabba and dinner in the big tiffin carrier. Share out the snacks fairly!”

“The money that’s in your little purse (spoken sotto voce) and stitched up securely on the inside of your salwar is ONLY for emergencies and not to be taken out!”

“DO NOT get off the train at any station except to fill water in the ‘canteen’!” 

These and many more exhortations are being repeated by my uncle and aunt as they send their two older kids and sundry assorted cousins off to Hyderabad to our grandfather’s house for the summer.

It’s time for the train to steam out of the station and they get up. The littlest two of the bunch, the two-year old twins, have also been brought along to say goodbye. But these two have a mind of their own – or rather two! They absolutely refuse to get down! They don’t whine, they don’t cry, they don’t throw a tantrum, they are perfectly amenable – to everything except unglueing themselves from their seats! They have made up their minds and their minds stay made up!  Why should only Akka and Anna (older sister and brother) and all the other cousins be the only ones to have all the fun? We want to have fun too!

Finally, the parents are left with no choice and jump off the train as it steams out of the station – leaving the twins in the care of the ten-year old oldest cousin there! Phew – imagine that happening today – most parents would have a stroke, at the very least! But this was 1976 and a more innocent world…

The eldest Sunita, is ‘in charge’ of the crew – some half a dozen of them altogether! Her first “executive” decision is to stow away the large tiffin carrier packed with dinner – out of sight and not to be seen again till it is unloaded the next morning – at the Hyderabad station! They’re fasting, you think, for the journey? Haha! The second decision is to quickly finish all the murukkus and yummy snacks! The third is to carefully remove the money – the emergency money, that is – from its secret hiding place stitched up in the pyjamas of Sunita and proceed to spend it with gay abandon – on every itinerant vendor who floats past – selling chips, samosas, curry puffs, vadas (after all, these are all kids with Nemali-vada genes!), fizzy drinks – the fizzier the better, of course! In fact, the only vendor who goes away disappointed from this bountiful bunch is the idli seller – who has nothing of interest to offer them – idlis???!! If the many tummies are not upset by the next morning, I assure you it was not for lack of trying!

And the next morning, at the station, we receive a bunch of kids (expected) – their numbers augmented by two little cherubic faces, looking none the worse for the wear and quite happy to be exclaimed over and made much of! We go home. Many baths are drawn. But… the twins have no luggage – not a stitch except what they are wearing!

My grandmother and I quickly run up two pavadais (the long skirts that Indian girls wear) as they are bathing and stitch stuff through the day – to last them for a couple of days till their stuff arrives with another friend who is traveling from Vizag!

The twins are thrilled – this is all high adventure – as they gleefully tell us how they decided on a plan of action before going to the station – that they would refuse to get off the train (munde anukunnaamu!)…

That summer… and that story – passes into family lore!

And from that part of Andhra (Vizag and Kakinada) also comes this yummy and unusual dish… recipe courtesy my friend Shreesha’s mother.

TELAGAPINDI KOORA

Telagapindi is the residue left over from sesame seeds after the oil has been extracted – highly nutritious and recommended for pregnant and lactating mothers or generally anyone who likes good food!

• Telagapindi – 3 tbsp
• Milk – 1 cup
• Water – 1 cup
• Onions – chopped – 1 large
• Garlic cloves – 5 minced
• Green chilies – 3 – 4 – slit
• Curry leaves- 2 sprigs
• Mustard seeds – 1/2 tsp
• Urad dal – 1/2 tsp
• Jeera/cumin seeds – 1/2 tsp
• Asafoetida – 1 pinch
• Peppercorns – crushed – 1/4 tsp
• 1 cup peeled, chunked gourd – bottle gourd/snake gourd/ashgourd or white pumpkin
• Methi leaves – 2-3 tbsp – optional
• Salt

Mix the telagapindi with water and milk and set aside.

Heat the oil and add mustard seeds. When they pop, add urad and jeera.

Add curry leaves and chilies. Saute for a few seconds and add onions, methi and garlic. When they turn translucent, add the gourd pieces and a tbsp of water. Cover and cook on a low flame along with salt and pepper till pieces are tender. Cool a bit.

Add the telagapindi mixture and cook on very low heat till it thickens.

Switch off and serve with rice or rotis.

You won’t want to spend all your emergency money on food, I promise!

“Nenappadinunchi pilusthunnaanu, neeku vinipinchaleda? (I’ve been calling you for ever so long, can’t you hear me or what?!!).” Arms akimbo and indignation writ large on her face, asks the lady… all of two years old – of her great uncle!

Arch, my older one, is not used to being ignored, as she thinks she is being – now! My uncle and aunt are visiting us. They are very good with little kids (and older kids too, for that matter!) and she approves of them thoroughly. They listen to her stories interestedly, do not insist on petting her or picking her up – she hates that!

She loves company – at a distance of at least six feet! Will sit and chat with visitors, tell them stories, make conversation… all provided no one attempts to pick her up and cuddle her! That privilege is reserved for parents and grandparents only!

On another occasion, a friend of mine accompanies me to school to pick her up and tries her best to wheedle a kiss out of Arch. Arch is having none of it! My friend, who’s very fond of babies, tries again – “Please, Archu, I’m your mother’s best friend.” “Then you go give her a kiss,” is the completely logical response!

Every time I read some “child expert” commenting on how children’s personalities are “yet to be formed”, “are semi-formed” and so on, I am amazed – I have yet to see a kid who does not have a very definite “personality”!

There are those kids who love cuddles – from anyone – and then there is my two-year old!

My younger one, K, was born with a personality – bigger than her nine-pound self!

The same uncle and aunt are staying with us some years later and my uncle, planning a trip soon, tells Kanch (about two at the time), “I’m going to take your mother with me to Bombay.” She eyes him suspiciously – is he capable of carrying out his threat? Naah, doesn’t look like it. But let’s make absolutely sure.

Takes her two fingers out of her mouth (where they have a permanent abode!), and tells him in no uncertain terms, “You take your Mummy!”

Most two-year olds I’ve met have a lot more personality than a lot of adults I know! Speaking of which, you might like to know that there is a whole science out there relating how our personalities shape how we eat – it’s called food-ology – I’m serious! Here’s the link.

Which food personality are you?

If you’re like me and like a hearty breakfast (and maybe a hearty lunch and a hearty dinner too!), here’s the perfect dish…

BROKEN WHEAT KHICHDI WITH SPROUTS

• Broken wheat – 1 cup
• Whole green gram soaked for two hours or moong sprouts- 1/2 cup
• Peanuts – 1/2 cup
• Chopped onions – 1/2 cup
• Chopped tomatoes – 1/2 cup
• Mixed vegetables – peas, chopped carrots, capsicum (bell peppers), beans – 1 cup
• Green chilies – sliced – 2 or 3
• Ginger – grated – 1″ piece
• Mustard seeds – 1/2 tsp
• Jeera/cumin seeds – 1/2 tsp
• Curry leaves – 1 sprig
• Asafoetida – 1 generous pinch
• Garam masala – 1/4 tsp (optional)
• Salt
• Juice of 1 lime
• Chopped mint and coriander to garnish – 2 tbsp
• Oil – 1 tbsp

Heat oil and roast peanuts in it till crisp. Add mustard seeds, jeera and asafoetida. When the seeds crackle, add the curry leaves and green chilies. Fry for a few seconds and add onions and ginger. Fry till golden.

Add tomatoes and saute.

Add the rest of the vegetables, green gram and whole wheat.

Add salt, garam masala, 3 cups water and pressure cook for two whistles. Reduce heat and cook for 5-6 minutes more.

Switch off, let the pressure reduce and open. Garnish with mint and coriander.

Squeeze over lime and serve immediately.

Full o’ personality!

“Amma, amma… ” says a two-year old tiny tot with a strangely deep, gruff voice.

“Amma, amma… ” echoes her twin in an equally deep voice.

The baby twins of our family – S & S are tiny, delicate creatures whose baritone voices never fail to astonish – they are so unsuited to their physiques! They also never fail to bring a smile to the visage of anyone who hears them!

“Cheppamma,” (tell me) says the harried mother of four children, whose patience never seems to desert her.

“Evaro ostunnaru.” (Someone is coming). The twins are hanging over the back of the sofa and watching the world go by, in a vantage position to watch people coming up the path to their home.

“Who is it?” asks the mom, not having time to look around.

The little ones stare at the middle aged man coming up the path. Realisation dawns. They’ve seen him before – a friendly uncle who never fails to bring them sweets. His name they don’t know but they know him – and, in the manner of twins the world over, have a description of him between themselves!

“Aa konchem juttunde bodigunduvaadu vastunnadu (that bald man with the little hair is headed this way)!!” they announce in unison.

Like I said, their voices are deep and… carrying… and carry all the way to the bald man with the little hair, who has carried himself to the doorstep by now!

Luckily the slightly bald man, or should I say the slightly be-haired man (happens to be my dad, by the way!) has a good sense of humour and is most amused by the twins’ description of himself and shares it with the extended family!

The twins, being the youngest in a large family of many cousins, continue to provide much amusement till they grow up!

On another occasion, I take the two of them to watch Jungle Book in a theatre which is putting on a special screening for children. The theatre is packed with kids, parents and grandparents. Some of the jokes go quite above the heads of our two. Some they get immediately and their amusement is a joy to behold!

But the best are the jokes (like the vultures’ song, which goes, “What are we gonna gonna do? So what are we gonna do?”) which they get five minutes after the theatre has erupted in laughter! Light dawns and they start off with a slow, deep chuckle which turns into a veritable steamroller of deep laughter and continues for several minutes as they get really into the  joke! By now, the rest of the audience has turned around to look at us and is laughing uproariously – all in all, just what a children’s film ought to be!

They also always, but always look out for each other. If one is offered a sweet, she will hold out the other hand promptly, asking, “Paapaki?” (one for the other baby?)

Which is what I want to do every time I’m offered one of these – the melt-in-the-mouth Andhra sweets unromantically called boorelu, except I don’t have a twin, so I have to ask for myself!

 BOORELU

For the dipping batter

• Black gram dal/Urad dal – 50 gms (about 1/4 cup)
• Raw rice – 2 tbsp

For the filling (poornam)

• Bengal gram/Chana dal – 1 cup
• Grated Jaggery – 1 cup
• Grated coconut (fresh) – 1/4 cup (optional) I prefer mine without.
• Cardamom powder – 3/4 tsp
• Salt to taste

OTHER

• Oil for deep frying

Soak the urad dal and rice separately for about 4 hours.

Grind the rice to a fine paste, 1/4 tsp of salt and the dal. Grind together to a fine paste adding about 3-4 tsp of water. The batter is thick, coating batter – like idli batter.

Soak the chana dal for an hour in about 2 cups water. Pressure cook for three whistles till soft. Drain and cool.

Mix 1/4 cup water to the jaggery and cook to a single string syrup.

Grind the cooked, drained chana dal and coconut along with the cardamom and 1 pinch of salt.

Gently mix in the jaggery to bring it to a not too soft dough. If it is too watery, cook it for a few minutes on a gentle flame, stirring constantly. The water evaporates, leaving a pliable dough.

Cool this jaggery mixture and form into small balls – about the size of a small lime.

Heat the oil till below smoking point.

Dip the jaggery balls into the batter till it is coated thickly and evenly and fry till golden brown.

Drain and serve. These are traditionally served at the begiining of an Andhra meal along with gaarelu  as vadas are called in Telugu.

Want another one for paapaki?

“Doctor, my child won’t eat anything. He’s losing weight and I’m worried.”

Hands up all those with children who have asked this question at least once in your life. All the other liars, please prepare to meet your Maker!

Almost all kids, even the most unfussy ones, seem to make that effort to fit in with the herd by throwing the occasional food tantrum!

Anyway, the story goes that the doctor in question took the kid (not to mention the mother!) seriously and decided to use some psychology on him (must have read the same Melanie Klein series on psychology that Bertie Pollock’s mom subscribed to in Alexander McCall Smith’s Scotland Street series!) and plays along.

“Well, young man, what do you have to say?”

“I don’t want to eat” – baldly and without any embroidery as only a child can.

Some coaxing and cajoling happens – to no avail.

The doctor finally asks, “If you could eat anything in the world, what would you like to eat?”

Seriously?? Forget psychology – common sense would dictate that is a very loaded question!

The kid eyes the doctor sidelong – this is a gift he’s not bargained for!

“A worm,” he says – trust a seven-year old to judge adults to a nicety in terms of how far they can be pushed!

The doctor blanches but continues down his suicidal Melanie Klein path… (I have no sympathy – he deserves what he gets!)

“Wait here,” he tells the patient and goes out to the garden and digs around after elusive worms, finally managing to run one hapless specimen down… and bears it triumphantly into the clinic.

The kid has had plenty of time to marshall his wits.

“Cut it in half,” says he.

Taking a clean scalpel (for a worm that eats mud??!), the doc proceeds to obey orders.

The kid, let’s call him Dennis, sizes up the situation.

“You eat one half,” he tells the doc, waiting to scoot if there is any sign of the doctor breaking and resultant retribution…

The doc, whose knowledge of kids seems to stem primarily from the textbooks of that awful woman Melanie Klein again, blanches but is determined to call the kid’s bluff. He picks it up, opens his mouth wide (they practise saying “aaah” on themselves before they enter practice!), pops it in and manages to swallow it!

“Waaanh!! WAAANHH! WAAAANNNNHHH!” wails the kid, throwing himself back on the examination table in a classic tantrum, “He ate MY half!”

And you thought you could get the better of a seven-year old using a textbook on psychology??!

Thankfully, my kids were never fussy – at least they weren’t allowed to be! I used a very simple technique – everyone in the family got to choose the menu on one day – provided they ate whatever the others chose on the other days! Kids were easy to train but husbands are a different matter!

Even the fussiest eater though, won’t cavil at these specialties of my aunt Malathi Mohan – the…

DOUGHNUT

• Maida/plain flour – 250 gm
• Butter – 55 gms
• Eggs – 2
• Sugar (powdered) – 85 gms
• Salt – 1/4 tsp
• Vanilla essence – 1 tsp
• Baking powder – 1.5 tsp
• Oil for deep frying – 300 ml

Sift the flour with the baking powder and salt.

Cream the butter and add the sugar. Add beaten eggs along with a tbsp of flour so it doesn’t curdle.

Add vanilla essence, the rest of the flour and mix with a very light hand to a soft dough.

Roll out on a floured surface to 1/2 cm thickness. Cut out rings with a lid with a handle. In the centre of the circle, cut out small rings with a smaller lid (say the essence bottle) – see pics.

Roll out all the doughnuts and start frying the doughnut holes on a very low heat till golden brown. Drain.

Fry the doughnuts, 3 or 4 at a time – ditto.

Box when completely cool, if there’s any left!

If you like them sweeter, roll in powdered sugar. Or dip one side in chocolate sauce.

Get ready to face your seven-year old!

“Naans, naans, can I also tell you a story?” asks my two-year old nephew Parashu excitedly, jumping up and down!

‘Naans’, his short form for ‘naannamma’ (paternal grandmom), has been telling them stories the whole evening and the little lad is simply bursting with excitement and all the tales from the Panchatantra he’s been listening to, his head buzzing with talking animals, heroes, magical plants and suchlike.

“Do tell,” encourages his Naans…

Parshu takes a deep breath in preparation for this very important adult task… and starts off…

“Once there was a tiger… (deep breath again as suspense builds up!) The tiger came to one village… and, and… and (phew, we’re falling off our seats, nails are being chewed to the quick!)…

“And what, Parshu?” asks Naans.

“And the tiger went away!”

“And then?

“Anthey! The story is over!”

“Aiyo, thums!” protests his four-year old brother – in disgust! (‘thums’ is short for ‘thammudu’ – younger brother in Telugu)

 “Ok, I’ll tell another story?” asks  cherubic two-year old, wanting to please and not in the least discouraged by this response!

“Noooo,” protests the elder sibling, in the manner of all elder siblings, having no faith in the young ‘uns of the family! And who can blame them? They’ve seen the little ones when they are born and about as capable as wingless fledglings, or for this vegetarian blog, as a custard pudding!

Naans overrules. “Of course,” she encourages the budding Aesop.

Parshu’s brow furrows – in deep thought… this is hard…

“One man comes… ” …more furrowing of aforementioned chubby brow, more deep thinking…

“He plants some seeds… ” the effort is now palpably strained!

The older brother is already making snorts of derision!

“And… and… he GOES!” That last produced with all the energy befitting such an exciting denouement!

There is one thing to be said in favour of our Shakespeare though – he doesn’t tell tall tales!

And to celebrate my nephew the storyteller (aka Mr ABO – Always Batting Only – he refuses to walk when out at cricket citing the most inventive of excuses – you see his story telling skills did improve! – the christening being done by Ramana Murthy Nemali), here’s a very special and unusual cake… from Bombay…

MAWA CAKE

• Plain flour – 160 gm
• Baking pwd – 3/4 tsp
• Finely powdered cardamoms – 3 (powder with 1/2 tsp of sugar to get  areally fine pwd)
• Table butter – 100 gms
• Mawa (dried whole milk or milk thickened to an almost crumbly consistency by heating in an open pan) – 100 gm 
• Sugar – 170 gm
• Eggs – 2
• Whole milk – 90 ml
• Cashewnuts for topping

Grease a round, deep cake mould – this is one of those fat cakes!

Mix together, the flour, baking powder and cardamom pwd.

In a separate bowl, beat together the butter with sugar and mawa.

Add eggs, one at a time, whipping well.

Fold in the flour mixture and pour into the cake mould. You could also use muffin tins but then you don’t get thos really satisfactory fat slices!

Top with cashewnuts and bake at 180 C for 25-30 minutes till golden brown on top.

This cake is the best tea-time cake ever! What sets it apart from the run of the mill, everyday plain cakes is the sheer butteriness of it on your palate – as it slips down… and settles on your hips!

(Pic courtesy internet)