The Work-In-Progress Idli Recipe

When I was a little girl, an idli vendor used to come by every morning with a huge aluminium bucket full of steaming hot idlis and chilled coconut chutney. Each idli cost a rupee and it was served on a small banana leaf along with a generous portion of the chutney (on Sundays he would also bring masala dosa and vada, along with sambar). This was my favourite breakfast - and on countless days I would take this in my tiffin to school. On some days the kind vendor at school would pour some steaming hot sambar onto the idlis that I took from home - that was bliss! 

Over the years, I've been pretty vocal about my idli-love. Idlis are my go-to comfort food, irrespective of the time of the day and I don't think I can ever have enough of these. One time I had idlis for four consecutive meals! There's something so magical about steaming hot idlis served with sambhar and chutney - but I can have these plain too. 

However, I had never tried making these at home. This was primarily for two reasons - one, I always felt it was too much work to make the batter from scratch, especially for one person. Not that I had the right equipment needed to carry out the project either. The fact that idli needs a lot of skill didn't help either. Plus there were always enough delivery services in the neighborhood. My mom never made rice idlis at home. She makes amazing rava idlis, so I recently tried to give it a shot in my make-shift idli steamer (a covered pan with a small steel ring placed at the base and a bowl half full of batter placed on top of it). That turned out to be quite alright. I guess that's how I gained enough confidence to try and make rice idlis from scratch. The fact that I haven't found a good idli place in the neighborhood yet may have been an important consideration in this decision. 

I turned to Adith for help. Adith is my friend from Chennai who is aware of my love for idlis. Adith's mom gave him broad directions for the recipe, which he sent to me. The thing is, Adith doesn't cook either, so it was only after a couple of back and forths that I was able to get enough information to get started. I ordered parboiled rice on Amazon (none of the local stores here stock it) and waited for about 2 weeks for it to arrive. I also ordered a mixer grinder since I didn't own any. Yes, all this to be able to make idlis at home.   

I used the recipe to make the first batch of batter, which I steamed to make idlis. The result was hard idlis, which also seemed like they were undercooked. I was heartbroken! How could have I expected to make perfectly fluffy idlis at the first attempt? Adith didn't know the solution to this, but he consoled me by saying that it is common for people to not get it right even if they've been making it for ages. So if I got hard idlis in the first attempt, that was actually good progress! I didn't have the heart to steam any more idlis with the batter, so I tried making dosas out of it. However, the texture of the dosa was way too grainy - that's how I realized that the batter was way too coarse. I mentioned this randomly to a wise, elderly gentleman (I didn't know he had any knowledge about cooking), and he said that the reason that the idlis were hard could be because the batter hadn't fermented enough. He said his wife usually adds a little Eno before steaming idlis. 

So once I had recovered from my heartbreak, I made a new batch of batter. This time I ground the rice a little more before adding it to the dal paste. And I left it overnight in the container to ferment. Before steaming I added a little Eno and also about half a teaspoon of ghee (a tip I got from Upasana, another friend who is heavily invested in my idli-making endeavors). I steamed the first portion for about ten minutes, which resulted in undercooked idlis (the top was fine, but the bottom was definitely undercooked). But hey, at least it wasn't hard! After a bunch of trial and errors, I discovered that fifteen mins is what it takes, after which you need to leave it in the pan for another 5 minutes and then take it out and let it sit for another 5 minutes. I swear it takes all the restraint in my body to not take it out of the steamer and eat it immediately (obviously resulting in undercooked idlis)!    

I still haven't received perfection though. I think I need a shallower bowl/ plate which I can use in the pan (the current utensil that I use is a little deep). I also need to figure out how to ferment the batter more - I used the last bit of the batter this morning (I made it four days ago) and it seemed like the fermentation had finally happened properly. But I do know that the batter recipe that Adith's mom shared is pretty much spot on. So if you're curious, here it is:     

Take 3 cups of rice (Adith recommends parboiled rice for this) and add 1/4 methi (fenugreek seeds) to it. Soak this in a vessel overnight. Also soak 1/2 cup urad dal overnight, in a separate vessel (minimum 3 hours). I found out that if you wash both these things before soaking, that works out to be better.

The grinding process will depend on how quickly you want to use the batter. If you want to use the batter immeditely, drain the water, add a glass of buttermilk and salt and grind everything together. However, if you're not in a rush, you can follow the longer method (this is what I've been working with): 

Grind rice (leave the methi in) with a little water into a coarse batter ( it should have a slightly grainy texture). While you grind the rice, leave the dal in the fridge to chill. Once the rice is ground, keep it aside. 

Grind the dal separately - this needs to be a fine, fluffy batter.  Once this is done, mix the rice and dal together and add salt (the salt and methi will help with fermentation). Leave it overnight in a closed container for fermentation (keep it outside, not in the refrigerator). This batter can be stored in the refrigerator for 3-4 days.

I haven't had enough time to work out the sambar recipe yet, so that'd have to be shared in a separate post. I've mostly been devouring the idlis that I've made this week with some hummus (!), which has become a staple now. I do temper it with mustard seeds and curry leaves so that it feels adequately chutney-like! I'm not particularly proud, but in case you're wondering what my work-in-progress idli looks like, here's the picture:

The No-Fail Pav Bhaji Recipe

This post is dedicated to Alka Grover, who shared this brilliant recipe. I love you! <3

Pav bhaji is my second-most preferred comfort food (after idlis). Growing up in one of the busiest localities in Kolkata, yummy pav bhaji was easily available. When I moved out of the city, finding good pav-bhaji was a pain. Most places make pav bhaji in mixed-vegetable style, with too much masala thrown in. I crave to have home-made pav bhaji that brings together sweet, sour, spicy, and tangy together beautifully in a buttery concoction. And then one day, I had the pav bhaji that Alka auntie makes and I became an instant fan! Now that I barely get to see her, she shared her recipe with me. This recipe gets recreated in my kitchen at least once a week. It takes me up to an hour to do everything and there's enough bhaji for 2-3 people. 

Here you go!   

INGREDIENTS:

Vegetables:

• 4 medium-sized potatoes, boiled 
• Cauliflower, peas, beans, lauki - about the same quantity as the potatoes; steamed (pro-tip: do not use carrots as it changes the taste considerably. I personally do not like the texture of laukis so I avoid that too. Also the only veggie that you absolutely must have is cauliflower)
• 4 tomatoes, chopped (the redder the tomatoes, the lovelier would be the color of the bhaji!)
• 1 medium-sized onion, chopped 
• 4 cloves of garlic - peeled and finely chopped/ grated
• 1/2 inch piece of ginger, grated
• 1 lemon
• Some green coriander for garnishing

Masala: 

• 1 tsp salt (adjust as per taste)
• 1/2 tsp ground zeera
• 1/2 tsp ground dhania
• 2 tsp pao bhaji masala (I only use half the quantity so that it's less spicy)
• 1/2 tsp ground fennel seeds (optional)

Others: 

• Oil for cooking onions
• Butter
• Pao!

COOKING INSTRUCTIONS:

• Heat a little oil in a pan and add chopped onion. Fry until the onions are brown. I used to earlier use a non-stick pan but switching to a thick bottomed stainless steel pan makes the bhaji much smoother.
• Add ginger and garlic and stir for a minute
• Add the tomatoes and cook on medium heat for a couple of minutes. Add 1/2 tsp salt and cover with a lid so that tomatoes become a little tender.
• Meanwhile, peel and mash potatoes and the steamed veggies. I generally grate them!
• When tomatoes start leaving oil, add the dry masala, stir and add the veg and potatoes. Cook on slow fire. Once nicely mixed add half a cup of water (more/ less depending on the texture that you want).
• Add 2 tsp of butter. I usually add half the quantity though! 
• Taste and adjust as per taste. Turn off the gas and add lemon juice if you want it to be tangier. On most days I find it to be fine without the lemon juice.
• Garnish with chopped onion, tomatoes and coriander leaves.
• Eat with buttered toast or pao.

Diary of an (almost) Mountain Girl

This post has been overdue for a few weeks now. In these weeks, several thoughts about what would comprise the content of this post have churned in my head endlessly. So much so that I don't know where to start anymore. Perhaps I should start by saying that I feel at home. 

The COVID situation aside, the other huge change that has happened in my life over the last few months is that I've gone to being a mountain girl from being a city girl. I haven't considered myself to be particularly lucky, but the fact that I moved to the mountains just a couple of weeks before the lockdown is a rather compelling argument against it. After spending a miserable couple of lockdown months of being at barely operational hotels, I finally managed to find a cozy rented place. A couple of social media posts about this achievement have led to endless queries from friends and family (and ex-colleagues, and just about anyone who has seen posts). Even though I suffer from the grandma syndrome (repeating the same story over and over again with the same amount of enthusiasm), it was getting a little bit out of hand. Hence the need for this grand post. A long stairway of forty-something steps leads to the house. Although a little tiring, it's a beautiful stretch with foliage on both sides. It looks rather dreamy on a rainy day and on the sunnier days it is absolutely stunning!

During my first visit to this place, I was charmed and breathless in equal measure. So much so that it completely slipped my mind that these beautiful concrete steps would gather moss during the rainy season. This particular slip-up caused close encounters with several situations where I escaped slipping on these stairs by a whisker. On one particular instance, I decided to wear my trekking shoes (pro-tip: trekking shoes and moss aren't really on friendly terms). About halfway I froze in terror. I knew that if I took one more step I would slip and break a bone or two. After having stood there for a full five minutes (and perspiring profusely), I decided to take the plunge ahead. I didn't take a fall that day but no points for guessing that my trekking shoes have been eating dirt ever since.

Once you brave the trek up, you reach the entrance to my house. It is a part of a bigger structure which houses the landlord and his family. The roof of my house serves as terrace for the landlord’s family. The entrance to my place sometimes reminds me on hobbit houses because it is noticeably smaller than the ordinary entrances. The ceiling is also quite low, so much so that when I extend my arm I can easily touch the ceiling. I’m 5’2”, so you do the math. 

In keeping with the general feel of this hobbit house that I inhabit, almost everything in the house is small too. This is especially true of the kitchen, which has a shared wall with the entrance to the house. It’s one of the tiniest kitchens that I’ve seen so accordingly all the utensils and storage containers are also super tiny. So are the cups in which I lovingly serve instant tea to guests who come over. The rather polite people who tend to be my guests are always visible surprises at the size of the cups that I serve tea in, even though they never voice their surprise. On the days that I’m feeling fancy I take out the fancy carafe that’s just about enough to brew two cups of fancy marigold-lemongrass green tea that has become a staple in my household. The water for either kind of tea is heated in my miniature of a kettle that sits comfortably over the deep red refrigerator. This fridge has been one of my more extravagant purchases here (other than the mattress, that is, but we will come to that in a bit). 

The kitchen space is a semi-enclosed space and the same area also houses a wooden table with four chairs. In my zeal to maintain the feel of the hobbit house I nearly discarded it to bring in a table about half the size of this one, but better (financial) sense prevailed. Now this area doubles up as my workspace; the table big enough to accommodate the all-in-one printer/copier/ scanner that I can’t operate without. Serendipitously, this is also the spot in the house that has the best network. 

The best part? When I sit at the table, the glass windows open up a beautiful view of the mountains. If you stand by it, you can see the flight of stairs leading up to the house and the main road where it connects. And the Shiva temple that has recently been renovated. On particularly cloudy days, the clouds simply barge in through the windows, intruding upon my privacy in the process. Bright sunny days are a very good reminder of the privilege that I have right now. To be honest, it’s a little surreal to be living in a place as charming as this. There are days when I find myself in a moment of disbelief. It is in these moments that I take a pause, soak in all the beauty and thank my lucky stars!

An integrated arts approach

So I've decided to get back to blogging after ages. Obviously, the restart had to happen with a very special entry. 

I’m both nervous and excited about this journal entry. Nervous because there’s so much to write about, that I’m not sure if I’ve even articulated it all in my head or not. Excited because oh god, why didn’t I do it already!

I’m sipping some green tea as I write this in the yellow light of the camphor diffuser in my room. It is only befitting that I play one of the thumris that have been repeatedly transporting me to another space and time. So I play Shubha Mudgal’s Balam Tere Jhagde Mein. The central idea of this thumri is nothing new. In fact, the idea has been used and re-used many, many times over. But to me, somehow this seems to be true. It manages to stir something inside of me in a way that no other expression of the same sentiment ever has. I can almost visualize myself as the nayika going through several intricate, interconnected emotions as she sings this thumri sitting under the dark night sky punctuated with stars.

There was a time when I used to relate to the kind of music that resonated with my current mood. Now the connection happens because the song evokes a particular emotion, which is free of the mood that I'm going through at that moment, or any particular memory or person. So even though I can visualize myself as the nayika, there is no nayak. Irrespective, the moment seems to be complete in itself.

The realization - that I feel differently as compared to most other people – is something that occurred to me much later in life. That the smallest things make me really happy. Or that I get hurt more deeply than others. That even my everyday emotions are more intense than what most other people feel at the most emotional moments. In college, I used to write poetry in Hindi. I’ve been trying to disown it for over a decade now (it exists in the digital world in the form of a blog), only to go back to it occasionally. I think this need to disown is rooted in two reasons – one, most of the ideas and expressions are quite clichéd and I’m truly embarrassed about those. But also because I don’t know of many people who would understand the truth of the emotion behind those. I don’t mean this as a comparison, but how many people connect with the gazillion emotions that the nayika goes through as she sings Balam Tere Jhagde Mein Rain Gayi?

I now hear the soulful voice of Prabha Atre, wondering Kaun Gali Gayo Shyam. A couple of months ago, when I still in Gurgaon, I was learning a thumri composition in my Kathak classes, in which Radha pleads to Krishna. I would always imagine myself as a rather irritated Radha. But as we started unraveling the layers of the composition, came the realization that how it is not a singular emotion but rather a cluster of ‘micro-emotions’. Radha is (mildly) irritated for sure, but there’s so much more than that. There’s love, lajja, pleading, helplessness, and so on. This is new because earlier I didn’t spend as much time with a composition to be able to ponder over all the different possibilities. So now when I hear Prabha Atre’s voice, it is not just a singular emotion that I sense. It’s a series of transitioning emotions culminating into a sort of euphoria that is created when you’re one with the art that you’re experiencing.

There’s more to this. In the last few months (during the lockdown), I was able to get myself a pair of ghunghroos and a space for riyaaz.  I’ve been devoting time to my daily riyaaz. I’ve realised for the first time that drut lay or tatkaar solah gun isn’t something to be afraid of or be intimidated by, but if befriended it can infuse you with energy. It feels as though some things have started coming together inside of me in ways I haven’t experienced before. For instance, Kaun Gali Gayo Shyam helped me in identifying and articulating certain bhaav that existed inside of me, but the dance vocabulary that I have built also helped me in expressing it through my body. Not just in terms of mudras and body movements, but also in terms of my facial expressions, body language, and so on. And it is probably the effect of my yoga sessions that as I wonder Kaun Gali Gayo Shyam that I pause to notice the deep exhale that corresponds with my sigh of having no knowledge where Krishna is. Sometimes I feel like this is one of the storytelling sessions that I do with kids. I pick up stories that resonate with me, because then when I’m reading those out to children, I’m not faking anything. I’m simply sharing with them how I truly feel about the story. This is important because I feel like children are very good at spotting the fake.

In an interesting turn of affairs, I’ve started relooking at all my Hindi poetry from over a decade ago. And I’ve started recording it in my voice. And in a moment of feeling/ emotion/ inspiration, I composed a new one just a few days ago. This came as a half-surprise. I mean come on, it's been there all along; I’ve tried to brush it under the carpet all this while. The part that did come as a surprise was that this is something that I can still do. I always thought that writing Hindi poetry was something that I did when I was younger and that all the ‘creative juices’ had dried up, but clearly not!

Growing up I mostly listened to Bollywood music, which included the likes of Kishore Kumar and Jagjit Singh. I attended weekend Kathak classes when I was in primary and middle school, but most memories of the classes included dancing to the beats of the tabla. There was some exposure to folk music through wedding songs and so on. There were also occasional community meets where performing artists were invited to present plays on themes like Meera or perform a Rajasthani dance sequence.

I think my first close exposure to Hindustani Classical Music was through what I am going to call commercial classical music. I think some credit to Bollywood is due here. I can actually think of two specific movies – the first one is Devdas. God knows how many times over I listened to the entire album! At this point, I’m struggling to remember an earlier or more powerful memory of music having an indescribable effect on me. Listening to certain tracks would lead my mood to spiral downhill, into a state of sadness that would last a while (I want to use the word mood vacuum here, but I don’t know if that makes any sense!). To this date, I’m wary of listening to more than a couple of tracks from this movie at one go. The other movie is Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, primarily for its composition Albela Sajan. I really liked the ‘mood’ of the song, only to realize very recently that the ‘mood’ of the songs is evoked by the raga of a composition. So I now know that I enjoy certain ragas quite a bit. I’m also beginning to understand my preference for certain types of compositions. For example, when I first listened to a thumri, I didn’t realize that my liking wasn’t simply for that particular composition but that it extended to the entire genre of thumris. And now I know I like Shringar Ras compositions.

I don’t think I can bring this entry to a close without a mention of Pt. Kumar Gandharv. About 3 years ago,  Hindustani Classical Music was completely foreign territory. I first heard a Meera bhajan that his grandson, Bhuvanesh Komkali, was teaching to some school kids. I still don’t know what was so special about it all – was it because I was with all those school kids in the room flooded with sunlight? Was the magic of Kumar Ji’s music and the fact that his grandson told me that his grandfather used to sing this to him when he was very young? Or was I simply carried away with the bhaav of the nayika captured in the lyrics? But it did leave a deep impression on my mind and my heart. I was so overwhelmed that I remember having to fight back my tears. I didn’t quite manage to find a recording of the bhajan, but I heard it at a couple of concerts after that – one at an auditorium and another one online, and I choked up on both these occasions.

About six months ago, a friend shared some gems from his music collection. These included some thumris – I listened to a few of those and I just couldn’t shake off the feeling of intoxication! He also shared a collection of Kumar Ji’s Nirgun Bhajans and I felt that there was a certain sense of simplicity and truthfulness about them, which made me feel at home. These didn’t intimidate me the way most other classical music does and  I wondered why that was the case.

Then almost as though by design, during the lockdown period, I chanced upon a fantastic collection of essays written about Kumar Ji's music. A couple of things stayed with me – that how he was a child prodigy, but also a huge question mark on the tradition of Hindustani Classical Music. That his music was that of struggle. That the ‘truth’ in his compositions was by design. That he wasn’t just a singer, but a poet, a painter but many other things rolled into one. A lot of things suddenly started making sense after reading just a couple of chapters. There was a distinct realization that what really is the aim of an integrated approach in the arts and how does it bring together the various parts of an individual together as a ‘whole’ in terms of mind and soul. This also means that music isn’t just another thing that I’m setting out to do, but it’s an integral part of the journey that I’ve already embarked upon! 

Book Review - Dream Writer (Tulika Books)

Book: Dream Writer
Publisher: Tulika Books
Author: Sandhya Rao
Illustrator: Tanvi Bhat

The story of Dream Writer revolves around the protagonist Shobha, who sees varied, colorful dreams with unusual characters – a boy who talks to fishes, furry cats and the sound of clacking needles. However, she is always woken up before she can see the end. She’s eager to know how all of her dreams end. A conversation with her English teacher helps her in navigating through her complex flights of fantasy. 

But this girl with adventurous night-time dreams is physically disabled. The interesting bit – there is no explicit mention of this anywhere in the text (the closest word to describing this is ‘wheeling’, but since there is hardly any other context provided, it is easy to miss this). The focus is always on Shobha and the discovery and expression of her dream world. That she is disabled is sort of a ‘hidden’ element of the story, and the text relies on the illustrations quite heavily to convey this. If ones read the text without the illustrations, it could be the story of any child.

The first prominent visual of the wheelchair features when the story is already halfway through, lending it some shock value. When I read the book, I was distinctly surprised to see the wheelchair – so much so that I flipped through the previous pages to see if I had missed any clues and indeed I had. The wheelchair was there in the previous pages too – the handles of the wheelchair appear in the background when Shobha is introduced for the first time. It appears again on the page where she is looking out of the window. I was really intrigued by this – was it by intention that the wheelchair did not feature prominently up to a certain point? So I decided to conduct a little experiment. I read out the story to a friend (a theatre artist). He too noticed the wheelchair only when Shobha is actually shown sitting in it.

The other interesting thing was that I felt a change in my reaction once I realised that Shobha was a disabled child. Neither the cover nor the book description had prepared me for this. Suddenly the story became more than just the story of a young girl with unusual dreams. It felt as though there was a distinct need to take notice because there is a certain way that you’re supposed to feel about a text like this. After some reflection, I felt good that there had been an attempt to portray Shobha as a child first and then a person with disability. Her days are relatively normal – her sister ‘kicks’ her out of bed, her father chides her about dreaming distractedly as he shaves in the morning, her cousins falling over each other and so on. A review by Prabha Ram captures this beautifully: “The slightly poignant touch added to the pictures reveals a parallel thread that the reader sees unfolding – a hidden story element that does not needlessly parade pity, but one that speaks the state as is and deserves five stars for the not-at-all-heavy handling of it.”

My response to this book has evolved through multiple readings. There are other elements which I’ve started taking notice of. In her dreams (which are often a reflection of the subconscious), Shobha is always portrayed as a person without physical disabilities. In a book which relies so heavily on illustration to bring out the theme without stating it explicitly, this makes it feel like there is something that doesn’t add up. While on one hand dreams are supposed to be ‘dreamy’ places which don’t always reflect reality, on the other hand this portrayal runs the risk of suggesting that the ideal or aspirational state for a physically disabled person is to be ‘normal’ (as is reflected through her dreams). 

The text also made me partially re-live the feeling of bafflement that unusual dreams leave behind, just like the illustration in which all of Shobha’s dreams come together – beautiful, but somewhat messy. Not everything made sense at one go and I had to go back several times to be able to connect all the different threads. Just like dreams. 

I would use this book with the age group 8-10 years for a read-aloud activity and open it for discussion afterwards. I think the book provides the opportunity to talk to children about two things in particular – to talk and think about their own dreams and explore their feelings about those. Second and more importantly, it can help open up a discussion around disability. Some of the prompts to help open up the discussion could be:

On Dreams:

• Why do we dream? What do dreams mean? 
• Do you the dreams that you have seen?
• Why did Shobha dreamt about the things that she dreamt about?
• Did you connect with any of her dreams?
• Did any dream illustration stand out to you?

On Disability:

• Would the story be any different if Shobha wasn’t disabled?
• When was the first time in the story that you realised that Shobha is physically disabled? Did you feel any differently when they found this out?
• Have you noticed a difference in people’s attitudes towards differently abled people? How would you feel if you had a friend like Shobha?

This article was first published on Parag's blog (https://www.paragreads.in/dream-writer/ on 12 June 2020)