Anu Chenji

Imagine this… three pairs of feet running as fast as we can, clutching a “chembu” ( a water container – rather like a large bulb at the bottom with a narrower top) full of water, trying not to spill the water… we’re in a lemon and spoon race?

Naah, nothing so easy… we’re in a race to reach the… no, wait, I’m running ahead of myself!

This was the early ’70s and we’ve been carted along by the parents to the wedding of somebody – third cousin’s fourth grandson or something like that – like most kids those days, we not only didn’t have much of a choice, the possibility of a choice would probably have stumped us completely!

So there we were – in this little village somewhere in Cuddapah, at the wedding of someone we’d never see before (come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen them since!)But never mind, they are family!

The wedding is in a truly beautiful old temple (sub-ten year old philistines that we were, the grey stone carvings still made an impression on my mind) and we are staying in a sort of choultry attached to it. Speaking of choultries, there is an actual place in Tamilnadu called McDonalds Choultry (no kidding, check it out in Salem district, which over the years has become Magadanchavadi – I love these name evolutions. Think of a Hamilton Bridge in Chennai becoming corrupted (or evolving, as I prefer to call it!) to Ambattan Bridge ( the word “ambattan” in Tamil means “barber”!)

Ok, diversion over, we are back to our choultry at the wedding. All is fine, except that the village of P has not yet evolved to the stage of having indoor toilets… or, as we discover to our horror, no toilets at all! I don’t eat for a couple of days – basing my actions on the simple logic of input-output. I manage – till hunger almost kills me on the third day! Plus it’s wedding food after all. Give in to temptation on the third day and eat everything – including ladoos and whatnot – with inevitable consequences!

Three pairs of feet, three chembus clutched in hands and the lemon and spoon race has nothing on our anxiety to get to the great outdoors pit which serves as the toilet!

The older ladies are in a quandary. Till we find out that in one house in the village, one soul – who happens to be the junior engineer in the electricity board, has built a toilet in his house! He is suddenly very pleased to be entertaining twenty five members of his boss’s (my dad’s) family. Except that of the twenty five, there are only twenty four present in his drawing room at any one point, with the twenty fifth disappearing quietly amidst sotto voce hisses of “Don’t take too long” and “My turn next”!

All that deep Andhra/Rayalaseema stuff reminds me of this curry my ammamma (grandmother) used to make –

(ok, that sounds like quite a mouthful but it’s basically a spiced gourd stewed in milk)

• Chowchow/Chayote peeled and cut into 1 cm cubes. Remove the inner white seed. – 3  OR
• Snake gourd (potlakaya) OR
• Bottle gourd (sorrakaaya/aanapakaaya)
• Turmeric 1/4 tsp
• Milk 1/2 cup
• Salt
• Sugar – a generous pinch

MASALA POWDER (the pindi miriyam – literally pepper powder!)

• Urad dal 2 tbsp
• Peppercorns 7-8
• Raw rice 2 tsp
• Coconut grated (fresh) 3 tbsp – (optional but yum!)
• Red chillies 2 or 3

• Any vegetable oil 2 tsp
• Mustard seeds 1 tsp
• Jeera/cumin seeds 1/2 tsp,
• Red chillies 1-2
• Curry leaves – 2 sprigs

Microwave the vegetable on high for 4 minutes.

Meanwhile dry roast and grind the ingredients for the pindi miriyam, adding a little water if necessary.

Heat the oil in a saucepan. Add mustard, jeera and red chillies in that order. When they splutter, add curry leaves.

Add the boiled vegetable and sprinkle the turmeric. Mix well and add the ground masala, salt and sugar.

Let the mixture cook for a couple of minutes and add milk to adjust the consistency.

Bring to a boil and simmer for 3 minutes.

Serve with rice and a plain pappu (dal)

“Doctor, my wife is not eating anything.”

“Doctor, she’s not keeping down anything she’s eating.”

“Doctor, she throws up even water.” (Ultimate irresponsibility!)

Doc’s turn now: “What’s that little book you keep reading out of?”

“Oh, doc, I made a note of all the questions I needed to ask you.”

“Give it to me. Let me have a look,” and he has no choice but to hand it over.

The guy with all the questions is my husband, soon to be a father for the first time. Being one of those hardcore engineering types, he’s made a note of all the things his wife is recalcitrant about – like not eating and drinking and throwing up everything she eats or drinks!

The doc is also my aunt and a seasoned gynaecologist with decades of experience in dealing with anxious fathers-to-be. But even she hasn’t met a more antsy yet-to-be-dad! She takes the little book he hands over as though he’s signing off his inheritance and promptly tears it into little pieces and throws it into the dustbin.

My spirits, which have been rather low so far (throwing up your innards every half hour or so is not conducive to happiness, compounded by a hoveringly anxious husband!) begin to look up!

She then lectures him on being overly anxious and so on forth! He is unusually silent as we leave the clinic – it lasts for all of an hour! But now, I’ve learnt the dialogues and can parrot the doc’s words without a pause!

The phase passes, now I can’t get enough food, eating a huge meal every few hours and eating almost everything in sight! Baby is born and hubby’s latent anxiety resurfaces – with every sniffle she makes, if she doesn’t finish her second bottle of milk, if she so much as sleeps an extra half hour…

….now we’ve got a new doctor to hassle – the paediatrician! And she is an altogether gentler woman – till the sixth visit or so. Then it’s her turn to ask for the little book and… you know how it goes!

Over the decades, we have hidden and deliberately lost a few of those little books (I think engineers are born clutching on to these!) and managed to reduce their numbers but not eliminate them altogether from our lives! They keep resurfacing in mutant forms – talk about survival of the species – Darwin needn’t have travelled halfway around the world to stumble on Galapagos and its turtles. He could have taken a little detour to Madras!

The one thing I have managed to keep down consistently through pregnancies is roasted corn on the cob – Marina beach style – with just sea salt and red chili powder smeared on with a lemon half for garnish. And so every evening after work, the same anxious hubby has patiently taken me to the beach, eaten two of these to keep me company and gone home to a frugal meal of curd rice which he has to make himself as I can’t stand cooking smells!

Here’s a corn patty to celebrate…

•  3 cups frozen corn kernels – microwave on high for 4-5 minutes.
• 2 tbsp spring onion greens -chopped
• 1  medium onion, chopped
• Capsicum – 1/2 cup  – chopped
• 1 egg, lightly beaten – optional
• 1/3 cup maida – plain flour
• 1/2 cup milk
• Salt and pepper
• Green chili – minced – 2
• Mint – chopped – 2 tbsp
• Chaat masala or Himalayan salt – 1/2 tsp – optional

Mix the maida, milk, salt and a little pepper together. Whisk and set aside.

In 2 tsp oil, saute the green chilies, onion and capsicum till wilted. Cool.

Mix in everything else and the egg if using.

If you are NOT using an egg, grind about half a cup of the corn and mix back into the mixture to bind.

Drop 2-3 tbsp of the mixture on a heated griddle and pour a few drops of oil around. Turn over and fry till crisp on both sides.

Serve with ketchup or a Thai style sauce.

And a craving for corn does not mean you are pregnant – I know lots of men who have these cravings!

So… I’m in the hospital with my mom who’s being discharged after a bout of pneumonia. Been on a diet of hospital food for three days so am quite fed up but looking forward to going home. All pepped up, I do my stretches in the hospital corridor, being stared at by every trolley pusher who passes by… but tra-la-laa, who cares??!!!

I eat my hospital regulation two idlis and bam… half an hour later… am groaning on a bed in the ER with a severe case of food poisoning! From idlis – I swear!

There’s no one else to help my mom, so in between bouts of running to the loo, I’m on the phone (for once, I bless the mobile phone’s inventor!) calling for reinforcements in the shape of family and friends to help – get my mom discharged, take her home, someone to stay with me in the ER, get me clothes and a million other instructions flying out of a hospital bed and the corridor leading to the loo! I’m hooked up to two drips – one on my wrist and the other on my ankle…

…and there we are, needing to “go” every few minutes and calling for the nurse to disconnect the drips this minute, clutching various pipe and tubes and running – like something out of Richard Gordon’s “Doctor” series.  A professional juggler would have had nothing on me that day, I swear!

Now, this ER loo also happens to be the one used by the staff – necessitating some seriously urgent banging on the door. Remember all those lectures in B-school on how to prioritise – the urgent, the important, the neither and so on – well, this was both very, very urgent and very, very important to me, at least!

In the middle of all this – the doc checking on me ( young, handsome chap btw), a fact which I note only incidentally, I promise 😉 – I am sure that it is the hospital food that has given me food poisoning since I’ve eaten nothing else! I threaten to sue them…

The dietician comes… then the catering head comes… then the general manager of the facilities makes a combative entrance, saying there’s nothing wrong with his hospital food. I am adamant. My aunt, herself a dietician and equally adamant, supports me, carrying on the fight every time I have to take a – ahem – needed break!

We are a formidable pair – they back off! Finally get discharged after they present me with a bill which is hurriedly withdrawn after some serious threats from my side!

And then I realize that this is exactly what the Mahabharata was all about – righteous indignation! Am feeling like all the Pandavas and Krishna rolled into one!

One word of caution though – you need some serious muscle building to fight a righteous war – here’s one for the building – the protein-rich…

• 1 cup toor dal +1 tbsp chana dal – soaked for an hour and drained
• 2 tbsp fried gram/putani/pottukadalai/putnala pappu (this makes the matodi light and fluffy)
• 2 green chilies
• 1 red chili
• Peppercorns – 5-6
• Jeera/cumin seeds – 1/4 tsp
• Asafoetida – 1/8 tsp
• Curry leaves – 3-4 sprigs
• Salt
• Grated coconut – 2 tbsp
• Methi seeds/fenugreek – 1/4 tsp – roasted

Grind the dals along with everything else to a very crumbly, grainy texture. Set aside

OTHER INGREDIENTS

• Beans or custer beans or methi (fenugreek) leaves or banana stem or banana flower – any of these – chopped very fine – 1/2 cup
• Oil – preferably sesame oil – 3 tbsp
• Mustard seeds – 1/2 tsp

Microwave the beans on high for 3 minutes and set aside.

Heat the oil in a large saucepan and add the mustard seeds. When they splutter, add the ground dal mixture.

Keep stirring for 3-4 minutes till it begins to dry up.

Add the beans and continue to stir till well mixed.

Cover and cook, stirring occasionally for a further 6-7 minutes.

Taste to see if the dal is cooked.

Serve with and majjigapulusu/mor kozhambu as a side along with rice and ghee.

Watch the Kauravas at the hospital shiver!

“Pssst… guss… guss… shhh… how can we ask… noo… yesss… ” in what they – they being three eight-year olds sitting in the back seat of a friend’s car being driven to school – think is sotto voce, whisper…

The driver in the front is the father of one of them, Uncle S. Knowing that one of the trio is bound to cave in sooner or later, he waits patiently, listening to a fourth kid in the front seat, my younger daughter, K, telling him about the dream she had last night. K’s dreams are usually measured in the number of kilometers it takes for her to tell us the tale – four kilometers or about fifteen minutes being about par for the course!! This dream is destined to be cut short though!

Soon, a squeaky voice from the back seat (one more of the squeaky brigade, Vinaya) pipes up. “Uncle S, what does this mean?” she asks. He glances in the rearview mirror and nearly ends up driving his car into the truck in front, swerving just in time. This, happens to be the very rude gesture known as “the finger”!

You have to hand it to him though – Uncle S keeps his aplomb! Explains that it is a rude gesture, not one to be emulated and asks innocently (seemingly!), “Where did you learn that?”

“Oh, Auntie Anu used it yesterday when a cyclist cut across the road in front of her,” explains the young ‘un.

“Ah, in that case, she probably doesn’t know it herself and we’ll have to explain it to her, won’t we?” he diverts their attention from the rudeness of the gesture, mentally resolving to strangle Auntie Anu’s neck!

I get a call later that evening. Thankfully, uncle S is a guy with a sense of humour and expresses undying gratitude to me for educating his daughter, not to mention my daughter and squeaky V in the ruder ways of the world! Thankfully, I say, because I know other parents who would have taken out a restraining order banning me from coming anywhere within two miles of their children!

My excuse is that I drive on Chennai roads and road rage is my birthright! He is not sold on the idea!

On another occasion, I have my one-year old strapped next to me as I drive and use a new Tamil curse word I’ve picked up from my brother-in-law while sitting pillion on his bike. He thinks I’m sleeping and I am, almost but the word has sunk into my unconsciousness and reassuringly pops up just when I need it most – as I curse the cyclist who cuts right across my nose – and I speed off!

He catches up with me at a red light, looks ready to get down and murder me, notices the baby and shakes his fist at me, telling me in graphic detail exactly how he’d have peeled my skin off if I didn’t have a baby next to me!

The signal turns green, I stick my tongue out at him (only mentally, I promise!) and drive off! Later that evening, at dinner, I ask my husband what the word means. He chokes on his keerai molagootal and asks me where I’ve picked it up. “Oh, from your brother,” I tell him blithely and ask again what it means. He refuses to enlighten me and I have to find out from another pal. There is a major “oops” moment as i realise just what I’ve called the cyclist! This is a family-type blog, so I can’t tell you either!

And in gratitude for Kanch saving my skin that day, we make today one of her favourites.

• Roasted semiya – 500 gms
• Cashew nuts – a handful – roast in 1 tsp ghee and set aside
• Onions – 2 – chopped
• Tomatoes – 2 large – chopped
• Green chilies – 3 – slit
• Ginger – 1″ piece – julienned
• Garlic – 2 flakes – optional
• Curry leaves – 2 tbsp
• Peas – 1 cup
• Carrots – 2 – chopped – optional
• Turmeric – 1/4 tsp
• Garam masala– 1/2 tsp
• Salt
• Sugar – 1/4 tsp
• Hot water – about 2.5 cups
• Chopped mint and coriander – 2 tbsp each.

TEMPERING

• Oil – 2 tbsp
• Ghee  – 1 tsp
• Mustard seeds – 1/2 tsp
• Chana dal – 1 tbsp
• Urad dal – 1 tbsp
• Asafoetida – 1/8 tsp

Heat the oil in a large pan – this thing tends to spill all over so use a large one. Add the tempering ingredients.

Add the curry leaves, ginger, garlic, green chilies and fry for a minute or two.

Add the onions and brown.

Add the turmeric, garam masala, carrots and tomatoes. Fry till tomatoes are softened.

Add the semiya and salt. Add the water a little at a time, stirring frequently.

After 4- 5 minutes, add the peas, cover and cook on a low flame for 4-5 minutes. Check to see done-ness. Add a little more water if needed. Sprinkle sugar over. Pour the ghee on top. Cover and cook for a couple of minutes more.

Switch off and add chopped mint and coriander. Sprinkle cashewnuts over top.