The Bread Of Life

 
  And the Lord said, ‘I am the bread of life’. He could have said – ‘I am the rice of life’ or ‘I am the pasta of life’ but he chose the humble bread. But I think the modest bread also has a mysterious side to it because I have heard people say, “I made biryani today” or “I made payasam at home” or even made a Pizza, but I have never heard anybody say “I made bread today”. On the contrary there wouldn’t be anybody who has never tasted bread in his or her life. So how is that bread is something that everybody has eaten but have never made it at home. Even at my home, we have not made bread, though we have made a lot of things with bread.  But that is going to change in our household pretty soon.

 

  My encounters with bread go a long back in time. This was before the age of cycles and motorcycles and as a kid I used to walk more than a kilometer to reach the grocery store. During that time there were only two other things that made me do a long haul on the road - to buy milk or to buy Don’s cigarettes. Sometimes I used to get lucky when all these three things were to be fetched at the same time. At the grocery store, breads would have their own space, on a small table, just at the entrance of the shop, with one stack on top of the other like a pyramid. The local name for them was – ‘Double-Roti’. The name was a misnomer as the bread was not round in shape, as a Roti nor was it just double the size.  There never used to be more than two brands, three flavours and three sizes. I still remember the red and blue checkered wrapper of Modern breads. The three flavours used to be plain, sweet and tutti-frutti. And as far as size goes there was a small, the normal and a big long packet. I have not seen the big long packet from a long time now. Maybe it lost ground when the joint families started disintegrating into single units. At home, mom would usually make french toast, a no fuss and easy breakfast for a working mom. But I disliked the sweet and soggy taste of what the bread was turned into.

 Outside the house, the encounter with bread was with omelet and Aji. We both would go to Basanth Bhai's omelete shop, adjucent to the Habibganj Railway crossing. It would usually be a crowded place in the evenings but on days with less footfalls Basanth Bhai would conjure up a delight for us. He would first do a side of the big omelet, then place in four bread pieces flat and turn it around for another two minutes and then fold it all up on a plate. It was bliss to have it with the green chutney, on a winter evening, with life passing by. We would discuss the ways of the world and the happenings of the unworldy, with Basanth Bhai kept busy in the background, such that in those days we would usually wound up sans dinner.   

In Kerala, where we used to go during our summer vacation, the bread was called ‘Paccha-Roti’. Again an improbable name in terms of not being ‘uncooked’, as ‘Paccha’ meant it to be. Unlike its cousins in the north, the Kerala bread was a single undivided unit of bread and not sliced into pieces. We were very fascinated with this difference in appearance, same as a person looking at a complete fish, who would have had only seen fishes in cut pieces till now. Also unlike Bhopal, where I used to usually bring home the bread, in Kerala it used to mysteriously appear in the pathayam (a box in which rice harvest is kept). We would never know about it until there was an offer from the higher powers to have bread. We would be very happy to step into the pathayapura, which was dark and cluttered place where the pathayam was kept. Inside the pathayam the bread would be kept wrapped in a newspaper, along with bananas kept for ripening. I think the most exciting part of this bread was that it could be sliced and torn into any shape we wanted. We often used to sneak into the pathayapura to try our luck, to see if there was a ‘Paccha-Roti’ inside the pathayam.
       

  Another event that I remember clearly was during the curfew that was imposed as an aftermath of the riots of 1992 in Bhopal. Because of the curfew all shops and establishments got closed and therefore we had to depend upon a guy to get us our groceries. This guy used to come on a Bajaj M80, with an iron box saddled on the back, instead of a pillion. Because it was curfew time and with all our outside activities stalled, this was the only guy who used to break the monotony of the day. So the moment the guy used to honk at the gate everyone would jump to get outside. You would then see the whole neighbourhood crowding around him. People would claw inside his box and claim whatever they could get. Inside his iron box there used to be variety of breads, more than those at the grocery store. It was in his box that I first saw a bun. Mom was not too happy as it was a small thing, which would not satiate the whole family and then we would have to buy a lot many of them. Because of all the riot issues around we used to stock up things from him, because we never knew when he would next show up. I am not sure what we did with the bun but was definitely happy when I held it for the first time. But once the curfew was lifted and life came back to normal, my routine went back to the grocery store, though I would often see the guy riding his bike with the iron box and remember the curfew days.

 Now in Bangalore, a place which I would say has the largest number of mallu bakeries, maybe second only to the homeland, but definitely more than the average number of pan shops in the north. Mallus have kind of monopolized the bakery business, if not at owning a corner bakery shop. It’s in a bakery like this, the one on the starting of 5th Cross, the road opposite to Canara Bank, at 100 feet road Koramangala, to be precise, that I saw the divide of the south and the north collapse, the day when I first saw the - the bread slicer. It was a metallic contraption, which was at almost waist to chest height and looked more like a part of the printing press. The guy would put a ‘Paccha-Roti’ at one end and it would come out as a ‘Double-Roti’. I stood there for a whole half hour, eating three to four egg puffs and having as many teas, just to see how the whole process worked. And in the end I bought  a ‘Paccha-Roti’, for old times’ sake.  Unfortunately I have not seen this device after that day,  though I frequent many bakeries even today, eating egg-puffs.

  Quiet recently, I moved from being a bread eater to a bread creator. The opportunity came via Bhujji, who forwarded a mail regarding a bread course offered at Lavonne Academy, Indiranagar. (www.lavonne.in). The course was on a weekend, from 10am to 4pm, costing Rs. 1700. I think the course is a little costly but Bhujji says because they are letting you make your own dough, bake it and eat it too, it’s reasonable. We were taught by Chef Vinesh, a jovial and pleasant guy and surprise surprise, is also a mallu. We were taught to make four kinds of breads - Soft Rolls, Grissini, Foccacia and 7 grain bread. We were five people who attended the course that day, and surprise again, four of them were mallus.

   We were each given our own working tables and ingredients for each kind of bread. Under the watchful eyes of Chef Vinesh, we mixed, we rolled, we kneaded, we rolled a little more and we kneaded further more. In the first half we got our hands dirty and by the second half we were on a roll.

We waited patiently for the doughs to rise and then impatiently to get them baked. Chef Vinesh would often give tips and tricks in between and we tried to remember most and others we noted in between the kneadings. The first to come out of the oven was the Soft Rolls and they were a delight to watch. I am sure the pics would not hold me as a liar.

  We ate our own Soft Rolls as antipasta with garlic butter and it was awesome.

   In the end it was a bread-filled day as we had SUBWAY for lunch and then packed the Soft Rolls, Foccacia, 7 grain Bread and a whole lot of Grissini as we said our good-byes. On a whole it was a nice experience to learn how to bake bread and add it to my bread stories. Hopefully I would be able to add a few things I learned here too as a blog post. Next time when we plan to go to Lavonne Academy, it’s going to be the Mr. and Mrs. together.                    

  And I also hope that the Lord would agree that those who bake bread together should be happier than those who just break bread together. So for happier days ahead, bread be with us. Amen!

A trip to Pichavaram

If you heading south of Chennai, on East Coast Road, and if you are not stopping at Mahaballipuram, then you are definitely bound for the land of ‘Brew’ and ‘Bread’ – Pondicherry or Puducherry, as its now called. A third reason could be the ‘Beach’ but I did not find it to be that alluring because it was more rock than sand. I am sure that there are hidden beaches in and around Pondicherry, which are pristine and un-crowded. But other than the three ‘B’s, what really caught our attention was the presence of a mangrove forest nearby and the second largest mangrove forest in the world at that. The place is called Pichavaram and is situated 60 km south of Pondicherry on the Bay of Bengal coast. For the uninitiated, a mangrove is a swamp like formation on the coastline consisting of plants and vegetations which are tolerant to saline water conditions. Mangroves shelter fish, birds, crustaceans and other marine life. Mangroves are also important because they form a buffer that defends coastlines from flooding, erosions and tsunamis. India has both the largest – Sundarbans and the second largest (Pichavaram) Mangrove forests in the world.

According to us the best time to visit, any place in and around Chennai, is between November and February. All other months are really hot and humid. And though Pichavaram is a so called forest, it’s on a beach and without much shade or cover from an unforgiving sun. The ideal time in the day to visit Pichavaram would be 9 am, when the place opens for tourists, and wrap it up before 12 noon. Make sure you carry caps, shades and water bottles. We started from Pondy around 7:15 am and reached Pichavaram by 9 am. Ideally one should start a little earlier, say 6:30 am, and then one can do a few stops on route. The drive is scenic in patches and traffic less early in the morning.

 

 

 

The ECR is good to drive, other than the road within the Cuddalore town limits. It’s a horrible patch and if you are driving your own car you definitely need to give it a good pampering after the trip is over.

Food is a challenge as there are no good restaurants on the way. We packed our breakfast from Pondy and had it on-route and had planned to come back to Pondy for lunch. But if one is able to pack a light lunch as well then you could spend more time in Pichavaram. There is a restaurant of the tourism dept at Pichavaram but we did not visit it and hence cannot give a review per se.

 

The ticket booking office is a non-discreet building, with the ticket counter like any old single screen movie theatre. There is ample parking space if one is travelling by car or taxi. To venture into the sea one has two options – row boat or motor boat. The row boat is a better option as compared to the motor boat as a row boat can easily negotiate the insides of the mangrove forest and there is no danger of the blades getting tangled in the undergrowth. We were two people on a single row boat but our oarsman, Mr Sarvanan, told that the row boat can take up to 10 people and more the people it’s better for him to balance the boat and navigate. The row boats can be hired on an hourly basis with the minimum charge being approx Rs. 200 for two hours. Then there are four and six hourly charges.

Sarvanan, our oarsman, started rowing the boat and showed us the route we would be taking in the next two hours and it seemed like we were in for a boat ride in a lake. We didn’t drive this long, early in the morning, for just a boat ride. Bhujji started conversing with Sarvanan in his native tongue and told him that we wanted to go deep into the forest and see the place where a scene for the movie – Dasavatharam was shot. Sarvanan got all excited and started talking about places deep within the forest where there is very little sunlight, places where the branches tangle around you like snakes, place where there is a beach within all this and more. He said he could cover all this within the two hours that we had, at a price of Rs. 400 more. And this is what people usually do, buy a normal ticket and then negotiate with the oarsman for a better ride.

After the deal was set, Sarvanan changed course and started rowing with a purpose. Within no time we were in a new world, it was surreal and exciting at the same time. We had so far been to places where the plantations or woodlands were really tall, like trees, or were shrubs, like in gardens.  Or like a sugar cane plantation were the plants would be just a foot or two above you and have really dense growth on the ground level, where little light would penetrate. This was something like the later.

 

 

 

 

But what made it much more bizarre was that we were rowing through it and there was three to four feet of water beneath us. The water was murky and had no visibility. Had the water been clear it would have added to the surrealism. For now we just had to concentrate on the world above the waters. Bhujji was right in mentioning that it looked just out a scene from the movie - Anaconda.

 

Often at places we had to bend our heads, when we were passing through the undergrowth, to save ourselves from getting hit by a root, or was it a stem? We followed a small stream for some time, with vegetation all around and over us, and then it would open up into a small clearing of sorts, where the water was deeper, and the foliage was a little spread across.

 

 

 

Then Sarvanan would choose another maze and row us inside of it. Baffled we asked him if he knew the route and he told us that there are over hundreds of such labyrinths in the whole stretch of the mangrove and it took him more than two months to memorize all of them.

 

 

 

 

Often in between we saw other boats and fishermen going about their daily chores.

 

We were hoping to see a lot of birds, as it was early in the day and it was also the migratory season in south India, but got a little disappointed at that front. We only captured a lone Kingfisher.
 

 

 

 

Sarvanan mentioned that there are options to catch mud crabs and go fishing within the mangroves. I am sure there might be arrangements made, similar to the ones seen in National Geographic, to catch and cook, for if we are ready to spend the right moolah. Again if negotiated properly, one can carry a little brew and proper lunch and have a hearty meal on the boat with family and friends, within the mangroves. But I don’t want to give ideas here to the Indian tourist lot, who are unruly in general and disorderly at best.  But for those who appreciate nature and the wonders around, plan this trip well and experience something which is not your usual boating in the lake or a visit to the beach, for sure.

 

So for next time, we are thinking to get Bhai along for little fishing, which he completely loves to do, and crab fishing as well. Maybe an extended trip into the still unknown and definitely the beach within the mangroves. Then there is Mahabalipuram too, which was looked over in this trip, to be visited.

  
Until then, there is Bhujji getting ready with a post on all the gastronomic outing we had in Pondy. Not sure if I can wish you Bon Apetite!

                       
P.S: Our Oarsman, Mr Sarvanan’s, number is 09626616204. Keep your Tamils skills handy for a meaningful dialogue.

Incredible India through my eyes- Lac bangles

I had a wonderful weekend with a group of friends at Dakshinchitra. 'Dakshinchitra' means a picture of the south. It is a cultural center which tries to showcase and preserve the traditional art forms , architecture and performing arts of the four Southern states ( Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu and Kerala). I have been there twice throughout my stay in Chennai so far but this time it was a beautiful experience. It was because I had lovely company who were in no hurry to rush through the beautiful artifacts in front of them. We paused to admire the musuems, the art forms and even interact with the artisans. I could write a lot more on Dakshinchitra but I wont and would save them for the later posts.

Something that captivates my attention everytime I land there is the lac bangles. I first saw them at IIT for Sarang the cultural festival where this lady put up her stall and mesmerised the womenfolk with her magical bangles. A little bit research on bangles revealed to me that this ornament worn on the hand originated from South Asia precisely India and was worn by Hindu women. Different states in India have different kinds and colours of bangles worn by women at different phases and occasions in life. Be it the green bangles of Maharashtra or the white bangle of West Bengal or the red bangles with stones studded all denote the symbol of being married. Many customs even requires a woman to break her glass bangles as a symbol of widowhood. Bangles of copper, silver, gold, glass, metal, plastic, rubber and lac are all worn in different parts of the country even today.

Lac bangles are made of Lac a resin collected from insects. It is a specialty of Hyderabad which is the city of bangles. But the stall I visited claimed lac bangles to be of Rajasthani origin. But it's a delight to watch your bangle being custom made in the shades you want. And the knot tied to join the ends of the bangle rather stick the ends gives it a personal touch. I have 4 of them since years and the look still the same with no chipped ends or faded looks. They are brittle and can break if you drop them which is why they are special to me and taken well care of. Here are some pics on how lac bangles are made.

The lac is at first heat on the coal and whatever colour is on it with soon change with the application of the dyes.

These are the dyes the colourful cakes attached to wooden rods. I am not sure what they are made of.

Once the lac is heated the dye is applied on to it in such an manner that when the lac is twisted later design like swirl would appear.

The lac is then flattened onto a board

It is cut into strips

Rolled to get the spiral effect

The edges are now joined and the the round shape is achieved using the rod onto which she moulds it according to the size of our hands

The bangles is then dropped into the water for cooling as it was heated before joining the edges. The knots as you can see in the picture gives it a beautiful touch. They can also be made without knots. I found it a beautiful experience watching my custom made bangles moulded for me that too for Rs 20 isn't that a delight. Incredible India through my eyes ......

Incredible India through my eyes- Art of Kulfi making

Before Baskin Robbins arrived with their thirty one flavours and before Naturals started serving tender coconut and sitaphl, there was for sure the humble Indian ice-cream. This edition of Incredible India salutes the very nature of Indian Anthropology called "Jugaad" and serves to you, from the labyrinths of Chor Bazaar, Mumbai, the long forgotten technique of making ice-creams. Lest we go biased with words, we thought of telling this story through pictures.

Incredible India through my eyes- Tea shop

Tea was never a favourite during my formative years at home. Though it used to be in demand from Don; Bhai and I were brought up on a healthy dose of Bourvita and later Boost. But once we stepped outside the cocoon of our home, it was not long before tea became manna of life for me. I would not say it was not addictive as cigarettes, gutka or booze but rather it was devoid of all the taboos associated with enjoying one of the former ones openly with friends. An innocuous statement as “let’s have tea” would not unfold itself, into a solemn discussion or a trifling, until the first sip had hit the lips. Our favourite hangout was Mama hotel, but we never took a seat at the place, always stood on the curb, sometimes with purpose otherwise just reminiscing. With our fingers folded, across the glass of tea, we felt empowered to take on the world; sometimes it was just a quickie otherwise across many servings.
Times apart my addiction still goes, and so is Don’s. I remember waking up at five in the morning, during our stay in Kerala, and walk a mile to the only ‘thata kadah’, that opens at that time to serve people like us. No problem if the milkman is still asleep, we will have it black. Hundred miles across, in Mumbai, we walk a similar distance to get our daily dose of evening tea. No thanks, the tea from the office coffee dispenser will not do.

We dedicate this part of Incredible India to the humble tea shop. The genuine ones, where the guy would prepare the brew in front of you, on a wood burner or LPG, with milk and water all going in fresh and the aroma just so entrancing that you wish it would touch your lips soon. Take a trip across the length of the country and you would find one of this in every village, town or city. Once, on one of our early morning cuppa in Kerala, Don pointed my attention and asked me to decipher the clicking metal sound coming out from a water filled tumbler at the tea shop. Puzzled and not in my senses at that early hour I gave in easily without much care. He said that the tea guy will place a coin inside the water tumbler and once the water starts boiling the coin would start dancing inside, making the weird noise against the tumbler. This lets the guy make out the water is boiling without even opening the lid. Smart, huh!
I am sure that there are such tea provisions in other parts of the world, especially our neighbours, but the larger world is devoid of the good sense that the tea shop brings to a being. I am sure the west can relate to it through their pubs and cafes but again we have them too. This is over and above them. When you don’t really have the time to sit around lazily, don’t have the bucks to pay for the cover charge, you need something to go well with your puffs and when you really need to take a tiny tiny break or just want to go for a walk and muse over the world passing by, you look for a tea shop.
Such is the reach of the humble tea shop that it has bridged times, distances and cultures to become an imprint on the psyche of our everyday life. That’s why every time I go back to Bhopal, Justin would still always suggest, “Let’s have tea”. And I know it’s just the perfect beginning to whatever is to follow.

Incredible India through my eyes- Milk Sweet

I have always been to air-conditioned eat-out joints all my childhood. Even the shawarma restaurants I had been to never served it the way even vada pav vendors here do. My life in India introduced me to tidbits’ on the street. I soon discovered there were two kinds of people, irrespective of class and caste, when it came to food. One which associated class with food and in the name of hygiene missed out on the best tastes in life. And the others whoevenrisked a dysentery to savour the best, even if it was on streets. I have often seen foreigners, elderly and rich upper class too savouring the local street stuff. I have seen many others who freak out even at the thought of having a bread omelette from a handcart.

I was frustrated after a day’s shopping on the streets of T- Nagar. What irritates me about this street is the madding crowd, resembling a stampede, running crazy in shopping spree. It requires peculiar skills to traverse these paths on weekends. Mom tells me it is like Mumbai locals, people push you in and out and you need not bother walking. And shopping with family was always a nightmare to me. I hate the glitters and jitters they choose and it makes me crazy deciding between colours and collars.

My refuge at such times is the street vendors selling tidbits. I try them all despite warnings from my friends not to trust the unhygienic stuff they sell. That day too I could see salted mangoes, gooseberries, fried cashewnuts, wild berries, Bombay mithai and what not.

And that’s when I discovered this vendor selling ‘manna’.

I saw a mount of white jello like stuff which looked like paneer. The seller was cutting it like pedas . He said it was made of the first milk, mostly that’s rich in fat hence not used at home. This sweet was totally new to me and many others too. He gave two names in Tamil and Teulgu which I don’t remember. The Tamil one was something like “sinnapal”. Well I call it ‘manna’ hereafter. Why I decided to call it so was because when I read about manna in the bible I formed a mental image as a kid and this was something closest to that image. And it was so powerful a taste to have rummaged the attic of my memory and brought up this image.

My brother and sister gave me their weirdest look which could qualify for the tenth rasa ( In classical dance after navarasa there is no tenth one) which proclaimed me as a dehati kuntry fellow, who was more excited at the sight of this thing, made of water from which gutter than at the sight of sarees worth thousands. Mom was all game and so we shared a bite. It just melted in my mouth and was not too sweet, just the way I liked it. There was something about the way it tasted that made me feel it was pure and hygienic unlike any milk peda or sweet I had ever tasted.

For those of you who have tasted stuff from vendors on the street, there is something about the taste that makes you want for more. And I enjoyed every moment savouring it, risking dysentery, which my sister was worried about. Now describing a taste is a tough exercise. I’ll try my best. This thing was soft and clay like. It had no added sugar but it was still sweet. It tasted like paneer but was jelly like.. Rs 5 for that piece would look too much considering other stuff you could buy for the same cost. But all that reasoning happens when you’re done with it, because it’s too irresistible to say no to.

When I asked him if I could have a snap of his delicacy he felt proud and said I could. So here he is. For those in Chennai, he is right outside Nalli silks, at T Nagar. And next time if you go that side, tell him you saw his snap here and that I am big fan of his. Or ask me out, I am always game for a second serving.

Incredible India series salutes you boss

Try your luck and taste ‘manna’

For some, pleasures in life wait at the corners of streets.

Incredible India through my eyes- The Cobbler

This is my tenth year in India and it has never ceased to amaze me. My understanding of India was built through the Indian cinema, newspapers, photographs and stories told by my parents. Definitely the diaspora abroad is very distinct. But for the people NRI’s from Gulf are nearer to Indian culture as in they feel Gulf is more or less in Kerala or India ( Kerala because there is a general perception that Gulf is flooded with mallus):) . So when I say I lived abroad its like I was always here. I felt the same too but such experiences made me understand how far I was. Two movies I watched recently drew my attention to these real heroes. Welcome to Sajjanpur which talks of a letter writer who makes a living in a village writing letters in this internet era was one of them. Delhi six which showed a glimpse of Delhi from an NRI’s eyes was another. Both brought back my glimpses of India. So here are some sights which marveled me.
What I describe would be something common to most of you but for me they were delightful, indescribable experiences I ever had.
India rocks!

The cobbler

To think of it this country is as much his as yours and mine. He makes our varied heritage even colorful .The enthusiasm with which he prescribes you solutions to patch, mend and transform your chappals, shoes and sandals for 10 rs would mesmerize you. He is our favorite mochi, cheripukuthi, cobbler whatever you can call him. If you are not one of those who would throw away a chappal for one missing stitch here is your doctor. Where I grew up this luxury was not available hence if you bought foot wear today and it tore the next day its fate was the dust bin. When I was first asked to go to a cobbler my eyes grew wide. To me it was a term I read in stories. More than getting my foot wear repaired I was excited to meet one of my story characters in real. To me he was a real hero. And ever since he is my mentor. There isn’t a problem he has no solution for and to think he has not learnt the foot wear technology.

It might sound unbelievable that a guy earns his living this way in this globalised world. But in his world he is the KING. As Paramu a cobbler in Broadway told me once “this shop has seen them all politicians, college students, call centre executives, policemen, trade unionists, priests. My shop is very secular and democratic and I am one person who can make them all wait, make them all stand awkwardly. You must see the postures they take when one foot wear is mended or polished. After all what would they do with just one pair of foot wear?”

India never ceased to amaze me :)