Dugga Dugga -- 2

"Ma, o Ma", a pretty young girl, with beautiful doe eyes, and shiny black hair stands in front of the bathroom vanity mirror with a worried look on her face. She is intently studying the labels on two identical jars, each containing some gooey black and green stuff that looks like face cream.
.
"Ma," the girl repeats again anxiously. "What do you think is better for my face? Dead sea mud and volcanic ash or Ashwagandha* and Ghritakumari?"
.
In absence of any reply, the girl hesitantly assures herself, "Ghritakumari* sounds so beautiful. I think this will be better for my complexion. After all, it is made in India. There is no other way to go with this product than fair and more fair."
.
She then carefully applies the greenish gooey, substance on her face, making sure that every inch of her face and neck is coated with the product.
.
"Ma, can we meet Ghritakumari, when we go to India this time? I think am her fan. I want to follow her. Is she on Insta? Does she do Tik-Tok?," Lokkhi makes a pouty face and takes a selfie.

The mother, bent double over her phone, her eyebrows furrowed, her ten hands flying across ten different apps, does not even look up.
.
"Didi, grow up. Think beyond your piggy bank and face mask. There is a whole Universe out there to explore before global warming destroys our Kailash," a fair and bespectacled young girl, marches in with a tall glass of emerald green juice, the color of the juice only a shade lighter that the green mask on Lokkhi's face.

She does not drink the juice however, holding it aloft like a statue instead, and keeps checking her phone every few seconds.
.
"Why do you keep checking your phone? Is your boyfriend going to call you?" Lokkhi suppresses a giggle beneath her masked face.
.
"Not BF idiot, IF" the fair girl murmurs, letting go off a very audible sigh.
.
"IF?" Lokkhi squeaks.

The Mother keeps tapping, her bifocals hanging off  the tip of her nose, beads of perspiration shining like drops of pearls right atop her upper lips.
.
"Intermittent Fasting re baba. Instead of only taking selfies, you should start reading your FB and WhatsApp forwards, Didi. IF is the range in US and India. Everyone is doing the 16:8".

"16:8 ?" Lokkhi squeaks again, just when the phone in Saro's hand starts beeping urgently.

"It's time, it's time. I did it, I fasted for 16 hours, " Saro jumps up, gulps her juice hungrily and quickly snaps into a squat position.
.
"Dhurr no weight loss with IF. What everyone needs to do is Keto instead. Good food. Lots of fat. Eat as much mutton kosha you want. And still have a figure like me," Kartik walks in with a smirk, pushes Lokkhi aside and flexes his muscles in front of the mirror.

Well, he deserves to be narcissistic.He does indeed look good -- tight muscles, gelled hair, trim mustache. Looks like that Keto or whatever he keeps doing works. Now, only if he tried a little and stopped looking at the mirror so much, he could have a job, even get some role in Bollywood.

While the two of them argue about IF and Keto and Lokkhi keeps taking selfies of her green face, their pleasantly obese, fat bellied brother strolls in with a Krispy Kreme donut-laddoo in hand. He doesn't look into the mirror and focusing on his donut says,  "If I do Keto, can I eat as much mutton kosha as I like? With Luchi or Mishti Pulao?"

Kartik shakes his head in disbelief and looks disdainfully at Ganesh's protruding belly. Ganesh ignores him and takes a bigger bite of his cream filled donut laddoo.

Tension brews in  #12 Kailash Drive. It's always tense and chaotic around here. You couldn't expect anything else with four adult kids living at home.

**************

"Gonshaaa," the Mother's shrill voice pierces through all the arguments, "Eta ki sottiy? Is this true?" For a Goddess, she has a real shrill voice -- years of shouting at he worthless husband, her four kids and that Mahishasur has permanently raised her voice to a high pitch.

"What is true Ma?"

"That now back in my home, that "Bhuter Raaja dilo Bor" is a reality? Only instead of clap, you have to tap your phone and food arrives like magic?"

"Ahh, are you talking of Swiggy Ma? Or Uber eats?" Gonsha smiles benevolently at his Mother.

He loved them. Not mothers. The apps. They were the only reason he could survive all those la-re-lappa songs and intense arguments over Ganapati Visarjan for those 10 days in September. Biryani for dinner, Idli with gun powder for breakfast, Vada Pav or Khao Suey for lunch, and even his favorite Krispy Kreme donut-laddoo for midnight snack...it was pure magic.

"Sottiy tahole? Mandap e delivery korbe?**" Mother's face lights up with a 1000 watt smile. Finally there was something to look forward to after all that standing around in that weird pose for five whole days. She wasn't getting any younger and all that standing with a bent knee was taking its toll.

"No more of that Khichuri, labra everyday! Uff such a blessing." Dugga murmurs to herself.

Now she could have her favorite chilli chicken from Tyangra while posing at that ludicrously expensive pandal in Sreebhumi. She could order Beguni and Muri from Baagbazaar, waiting at Maddox square pujo pandal where no one seems to have heard of North Calcutta. The possibilities seemed endless. She should not forget the pack of Gelusil and Joan er Arok though, her digestion is not as good as it was ten years back

"And Gonsha, what is this? All these food bloggers are taking our recipes and posting them on Facebook, why re? Our Oshur doesn't even cook that well, why are they going crazy?" Dugga peers closer into the phone screen.

"Ei, don't complain about my cooking, free te ranna tar abar oto kotha," Oshur groans from the dining room.

"Plagiarism? Ke koreche? Let me get a internet lawyer. did they use our photos?" Saro jumps in and snatches the phone from her Mom.

"Thakurbari'r mangsho , Thakurbari'r Chholar' Dal, Thakurbari'r aloor chop, Thakurbari'r maggi..." she murmurs scrolling down the list.

"Thakurbari'r Maggi? That is my recipe. Mine. Totally mine" Lokkhi shrieks. "OMG, I am famous. They are copying my recipe".

"Uff Ma, you are too much. This is not us, not Durga Thakur. This is Robi Thakur, Rabindranath Tagore", Saro shakes her head in disbelief. How did she land up in this family of idiots? How?

"Ohh Robi? He rote such good songs, aha. He cooked too? I always knew he was multi talented," Dugga smiles fondly thinking of her favorite bard.

"Achcha Gonsha make me a list of what food to order in the Mandap. There are so many reviews of where to eat for Pujo that I am getting confused now. We have only five days and I am getting older, can't eat that much anymore," Dugga hands over the phone to Ganesh and finally sits back, relaxed and smiling..

"Dada, I kintu want phuchka with jhaal-mishti-tok water," says Lokkhi sliding up to Ganesh.

"I want momos Dada, and Hakka Noodles, but ask them to deliver before 5:30. I have IF", Saro picks up her books and stands behind Ganesh's shoulder.

Kartik shuffles his feet and meekly says, " Dada oi Shiraz er Biriyani ar Rezala, 2 plates, we can share. Biryani is allowed in my Keto."

"Ami vegan. For me, Dosa with coconut chutney only," groans Mahishashur from the kitchen.

Shib finally stirs up from the recliner and says, "Duto shingara, bonde ar ek cup cha".


*Ghritakumari -- Aloe Vera
*Ashwagandha -- Indian ginseng
**Sottiy tahole? Mandap e delivery korbe? -- So it's true! They'll deliver at the Puja pandal.





If you like what you are reading, get Bong Mom's Cookbook in your mailbox

Enter your email address:


Delivered by FeedBurner

Eating in and around Kolkata -- Part 2

Though the title of this post is about "Eating in and around Kolkata", unlike the last one, this one is not about food at restaurants. It is more about the simple things, which were so much a part of life once but has now become blog worthy by their mere absence. I don't think the adage "Distance makes the heart grow fonder" applies to any relation so aptly as to our relation to food.

The one thing that was on my mind even while we booked our tickets to Kolkata was fish. I did not really want to gorge on Ilish or Golda Chingri. Instead my heart was set on "chara ponar jhol"(fresh baby rohu or katla cooked in a soupy gravy), "tyanga maacher jhaal" (tyangra fish in mustard gravy) and a very light gravy of winter vegetable like cauliflower, sweet peas, potatoes with fish and bori -- my Mother's speciality.

My parents and the husband man's parents however thought otherwise. Since their priority now days is the granddaughters and I come a very far third or maybe fourth, all the fish dishes planned were around them. Any small fish with head and bones were out. Fish like Bhetki and Prawns were in. Since the husband-man is not a big fish lover either, he was happy with my Mother's awesome dish of Bhetki in a cashew gravy, Bhetki Kalia and fish fries. The daughters of course refused to touch any fish and settled on paneer. I threw a tantrum. "Bhetki is not why I have travelled for 24 hourrs in a closed steel compartment where the air smelled like a mix of biriyani, sambar, dolce vita and flatulence", I cried.

The next morning I was out with my Baba to scour the neighborhood fish market. I didn't trust him. Left on his own, he would again concentrate on only those fish which he faintly hoped his granddaughters would love.

The very sight of "gleaming silver fish" in the neighborhood bajaar upped my spirits. I took out my phone and started clicking pictures. The fish sellers gave me an incredulous look.

An elderly Bengali gentleman standing nearby asked if I was really taking pictures. Another lady asked why. When I said I don't get such good fish where I live, they looked at me with sympathy and asked where I lived. Then one of them said their nephew lives in Oklahoma and if it was near where I lived. Another said that no one cooks in USA and every one eats microwaveable food. The fish seller trying to pull the conversation towards himself said that he was much used to pose for cameras. Every year many of his clients who live in foreign lands ask him to pose with his fish for photos. And then all of them make calendars with these pictures and send him the calendars on New year. Why, even German people have photographed him and made calendars.
"Dekhen giye, koto koto calendar amar baritey", he smirked.("Go and see, how many calendars with my photo are lying around"). I smiled politely and bought Tyangra. He was apparently my Baba's favorite fish seller.

The next few days, I gorged on "chara ponar jhol" and "tyangra maacher jhaal" cooked by Ma. She over did it and every meal overflowed with fish. Ma also made and an amazing "kaankrar jhaal", a crab curry, which unfortunately I did not have the patience to learn.

In a couple of days, we were off to visit the husband-man's parents who live in a town about 170km from Kolkata. My childhood is scattered over several such small towns and though my parents now live in the city, I re live my childhood days through the husband-man's hometown. The high point of the three hour bus journey is the JhaalMuri at Shaktigarh. Though Shaktigarh is famous for its lynagchas( a sweet akin to gulab jamun but elongated in shape), the shops along the Highway do not really have the best lyangchas in town and after several disappointing lyangchas I have now learned to trust only the jhaalmuri man.

Jhaalmuri, puffed rice with specks of onion, green chilli, bits of cucumber, fried peanuts, julienne of boiled potatoes and tossed in mustard oil, is a simple concoction which I love. When on the road and a few foods can be trusted, this really fast food seems to hit all the right spots. It is healthy, fresh, and if you ask the jhaalmuri man to skip the pickle oil of dubious origin or the onion which is not looking fresh cut, you have a perfectly wholesome snack in a minute.

I watched with hawk eyes as the jhaalmuri wala tossed the muri in a steel dabba. Since I have been hearing of the "muri mashla" packaged and sold, I asked this guy what was the spice he added at the very end. He declared it to be a simple "dhone-jire-shukno lonka bhaja masla"(coriander seeds-cumin seeds- red chilli dry roasted and powdered). If that is the trade secret, no need to buy the packaged moshla stores sell.

To offset the green chillis, we had "daaber jwol" or tender coconut water. When Big Sis was younger, she would call it "Dabba Juice". Surprisingly, bot the girls love the muri but do not appreciate the tender coconut water.

This was followed with "bharer cha" or cha in earthenware cups, the only way tea brewed along the highways is served.

At my in-law's place the meals are around local ingredients which are easily available. One was the "Bok Phool Bhaja" which I ate after years. These are flowers of the "Humming Bird Tree". In Bengali, these flowers are called "Bok Phool" or "Crane flowers" because of their resemblance to white cranes. The flowers are dipped in a batter of besan and rice flour and fried crisp. There was also "mulo shaak bata", radish greens paste which was delicious. When it came to fish, they had again defaulted to all kinds of Bhetki Kalia and Bhaja. This Bhetki was getting on my nerves by now!

But I like the little town with its sedentary life style so much that I drowned my Bhetki sorrow and compensated it with the little treasures around, like the "bread-biscuit wallah" who comes calling every morning around ten with his "chaand biscuit" and "madan katkati" and the "hannsher dim wallah" who sells duck eggs from his bicycle to the cries of "dim chai dim". My idea of a perfect life is lounging on a rocking chair in the warm winter sun in such a small town as life slowly crawls around me.

 Life literally crawls there, even the sun moves slow casting its shadows this way and that, peering in through the huge "Tej Patta" tree and playing hide and seek with the areca palm which stands tall and erect.

I know a lot of people go to retreats and meditation resorts to get away from their stressful city life but I think that stressful life is a choice you make. One takes that choice in return of the modern world luxury and material pleasures. But there are many who have chosen a slower paced life style for themselves, a life where you can live in the moment and not chalk your day by the minute. When I visit such small towns I often feel a tug in my heart for a life I could probably have had but thought too sedate and boring when the choices were doled out..

The husband-man's home is surrounded with a lot of trees and both Big Sis and Little Sis were very excited with "supuri" or areca nut but not really interested in tej pata.














The star of the stay was "Kodbel Makha"! Kod Bel or wood apple has a hard exterior and the pulp is sour and tangy. The pulp is scooped out and mashed with mustard oil, green chilli, salt and sugar.

When we were younger we would scoop it, mix and eat it right there on quiet winter afternoons, sitting on the terrace, the sound of our slurping piercing the quiet.Ideally it tastes better if sunned for a few hours or a day to reach that perfect balance in flavor and taste.

Back in Kolkata, I got my Phuchka fix at Dakhhinapan. The fact that I had it with a school friend whom I met after about 25 years and her daughter made it all the more memorable. I tried two kinds, the usual ones and one a tauk-jhaal-mishti which a lot of the younger generation around were asking for. I would suggest you to stick to the good old original one if you are not going to have it regularly. Apparently dahi Phuchka and Aloor Dum Phuchka at this stall is very popular but I didn't want to skitter away my few chances at eating Phuchka by deviating from the original.

Two more places we went out to eat was "Hakka" at City Centre 1. It was a pre-birthday treat for Big Sis from her grandparents. Since she adores Indian Chinese and this restaurant seemed to be quite popular we decided to go there. Both the girls loved the food. The chili chicken was just right and they politely suggested that the one I make at home is not as good. I guess it is because of the absence of ajinomoto in my dishes. Chilli Potatoes and a Lamb dish were also very good.

More Indian Chinese was had when I went out with a college friend, who again I met after many years. She treated me to a delicious lunch at the old favorite Bar-B-Q where we talked and ate and discussed about the very polite server who refused to budge from his English in spite of my severe Bengali requests. The Hakka noodles and the Chilli Chicken here were literally to die for. The days were so good that I really did not want to come back.

All the food that I was eating had to be heavily balanced with daily doses of "Hajmola" to eat more stuff at home. Even then I couldn't resist the things that I do not get here. Like "Jolpai" or Indian Olive. My Mother makes an amazing and very simple fresh chutney with this.

She cooks the olives in the pressure cooker with enough water for 1 whistle to make them soft. The water in which the olives are boiled is strained and the olives which are now soft but not totally mushy taken out and cooled. Then with her hand she presses them to separate the seed from the soft flesh. Once she has removed all the seeds, she adds mustard oil, finely chopped green chili, little sugar and salt to the jolpai and mashes it all up with her fingers. This mix when kept out in the winter sun for a couple of days tastes like heaven. This chaatni needs to be eaten within a day or two. For a longer shelf like, my Mother suggests to cook them in mustard oil tempered with Paanchphoron.

And then it was time to pack bags and get back with only a box of this to remind us of  that when you choose to make a home in two countries you learn to appreciate the sweet treasures that each one offers.



If you like what you are reading, get Bong Mom's Cookbook in your mailbox

Enter your email address:


Delivered by FeedBurner

Eating in and around Kolkata -- part 1

It has been a while that I have logged in here and I am glad that I haven't forgotten my password!!! It has been so long that it feels like I blogged in my other life or something.

But if I tell you all that I did since November, you will know that there was a worthy reason for all that absence. In November we went to India for a three week vacation. Now, that itself is big enough, given we were traveling with two kids, who had neither valid visa nor passport, a fact we were oblivious of until we decided to book the tickets, which incidentally was about 10 days before the travel date. You see the dependency in there ? The multiple critical paths ?A slip at any point and we would not be going anywhere. But it did not slip. Thankfully.

Then we came back, right in time for the Christmas holidays, and so had to rush around getting the Christmas tree up and then buying at least a few presents for the kids if only to re-instill Little S's faith in Santa Claus. Throw in a birthday party for Big Sis where seven of her friends came over one evening to make their own pizza, sundae and to generally have fun. The girls were self sufficient and I hope had fun though Big Sis was vehement about not having a party this year.

We had one more party on the 24th, where I made only the appetizers and catered the main food. I made a roast pork in the oven which was really good and wanted to note down the recipe, which involved marinating the pork in roasted Indian spices and was kind of free flowing, but never got the time to do so. Next time, I guess.

Then my sis-in-law was visiting with her family and we did the usual Rockefeller tree visiting on Christmas day braving the insane city traffic for about 2 hours, before our car could land up anywhere near the tree. Next the whole family went to watch PK where, you wouldn't believe this, two back-to-back shows were all sold out. We had to go back the next day for a showing!!! Some perseverance. Soon after sis-in-law left  we drove across neighboring states to spend the New Year with another friend. Finally when we were back on the 3rd, endless days of school and work seemed more relaxing than the break we had.

So, you see, in this whole rigmarole, it is a miracle that I still managed to remember my blogger password.

I had originally intended to do the New Year post about a chocolate cake that BS had made for her birthday and whose recipe was given by my niece R, a dear friend's daughter. But out trip back home was so much fun this time that I thought of writing at least a little about it, along with a few pictures in this post. I think after many years, this was a trip, when I ventured out of the home most and also ate out a lot. The second is definitely a difficult task to achieve, given our short stay and the home cooked food that my Ma and Ma-in-law wants to feed us but I persevered and managed to sample a lot of the old favorites.

The day after we arrived, we were at Park Street to get some personal work done, and of course I had to visit Hot Kati Roll. The small store was packed as it was around lunch time and the owner was visibly irritated with my attempt at photography. The egg-chicken roll however was not what it used to be and left me a bit disappointed and at the same time happy that I was not missing out on anything in the US.

From Park Street, we went straight to College Street to buy our stash of Bangla  books, Amar Chitra Kathas and Enid Blytons. I know, I know, Starmark or Crossword is the place these days but a trip back home without going to College Street is incomplete for me.

Since on my last visit we had done the Coffee House, this time I decided to skip it. Also we had landed just the day before and I had already consumed an egg roll. For old times sake, I walked around college Square to get a glimpse of Paramount. Again was a bit skeptical of going in and I opted for a fresh daab er jwol from the roadside. See, what age and staying outside the country has done to me. I am ashamed of myself.

However the sadness of not eating a kobiraji or drinking a chocolate malai sherbet was swept away by the sight of books jumping out of every bend and corner. If I had to define "happy" at that point, it would be to roam College street with the sole aim of buying books of fiction for pure pleasure. No tension of shouting for a Maiti-Ghosh or Tannenbaum. What relief.

After strolling a bit, I went to the old trusted bookstore of Dasgupta & Co., where a chai-wallah had come with his huge aluminum kettle and stack of earthen cups to deliver the bikel er cha. I started so longingly at the khuris(terracotta tea cups) that the the book sellers finally relented and offered me a cup. After a cup of tea, Lila Majumdar Rachanaboli, and "Aro Satyajit" we were out to face the booksellers on the pavement shouting out "Didi, ki boi chai, ki boi?" It is such a warm, fuzzy feeling to be in a street where all people ask is which book you want.

The next day, was at Flury's with the whole family. My dad felt it was a place fit for his grand daughters and so wanted to treat them there. Around noon, it was totally empty and the servers hovered around us constantly which made me feel a tad nervous as I like to be left alone when I am making up my mind about what to eat and then actually eating it. But they were only doing there job with too much enthusiasm and I shouldn't blame them for that. The ladies at the pastry counter were opposite of enthusiastic though and I figured had not much idea as I asked about the various kinds and the differences between two very similar ones.

The girls thoroughly enjoyed their pastries and ordered a pasta which they loved. My club sandwich was totally delicious and I will forgive the over zealous servers for it.

Our Biriyani quest started with Aminia, the one at New Town, and it went down with a whimper. Next since everyone was raving about Arsalan, we decided to give it a try too. I had never heard of Arsalan before so it was a brave move. I thought the biriyani was good but the pieces of meat in the Biriyani was really disappointing. Also in the US, we get really good Hyderabadi Biriyanis and again I felt that I wasn't really missing much.

All that changed of course, the moment we walked into Shiraz. The fragrance itself put me in place. It was 11 in the morning. I was there after a full breakfast of luchi-torkari and yet my heart trembled with what was to come. We ordered a Biriyani, mutton chaanp and roomali ruti. My words fail me at what I felt at the first spoonful of the Biriyani. The roomali roti, soft as cloud was like a whiff of warm air in our mouth enveloping the soft morsels of meat in the chaanp. The tender meat seemed to have cooked in the spices for a relaxingly long time to achieve that perfect taste. I hate to admit but the chaanp that I had attempted at home was not even a distant cousin of this miracle. 

Since we were running short of time, the plan was to do Shiraz and Peter Cat on the same morning. A difficult task bur had to be done. So after the 11 am Birriyani at Shiraz, we spent about 2 hours in and around New Market for the sole purpose of eating again at Peter Cat. Only a Bangali will do that. Hang around  for food like that

The 2 hour gap was not enough to induce hunger and only a single plate of chelo kabab was ordered to be shared by D and me. The taste was exactly like I remembered, the rice moist and rich with butter and a poached egg on top, and the succulent kababs. I don't care much for the chicken kababs but the buttery rice and the skewered lamb kabab is out of the world. I have to get the recipe of a chelo kabab and try to make it at home soon or I could just eat generously buttered rice. I think the second option will make me equally happy.

And then of course there was Oh!Calcutta. I had decided that come what may I would make sure to visit the restaurant on this trip. So even when folks on FB suggested Bhojohori Manna or some other place, I went ahead to Oh!Calcutta with a steely determination.

The ambiance was excellent and I was really happy to see apun ka Bengali food being served in such an atmosphere. However US has spoiled us and being used to large portions of food in restaurants , I was bit taken aback by the small portions. The price too I felt was exorbitant given the portions. The food was good if not great and loved the fried boris they served along with myriad chutneys. Little Sis loved her plate of bhaja with Gobindobhog bhaat. The Gondhoraj Bhetki too was delicious. We also had daab chingri, railway mutton curry, kaanchalonka murgi and another bhetki dish. The star was however the Nolen Gur er ice cream, it was totally out  of the world and even my parents, who were not impressed by any of the other dishes, agreed that the ice cream was really something.

(Part 2 coming soon...)


If you like what you are reading, get Bong Mom's Cookbook in your mailbox

Enter your email address:


Delivered by FeedBurner

Dugga Dugga

I had planned to post this short story on Mahalaya, but never got the time. So finally here it is. Shubho Bijoya.

"Ma, Ma, Maaaa", there was frantic rapping on the door, a heavy, ornate, teak affair , showing signs of age. The paint was peeling off around the middle but you knew that this was a door which had seen good times and kids.

"Uff, this girl, she won't me let me do even one thing in peace," Dugga muttered, frantically clicking on the mouse, while scanning the screen in front of her with utmost concentration.
"And that nonsense of a guy I married. Shiva. No idea of family planning, no stable job, no investments, nothing. Just went ahead and had four kids. Did he even once stop to think that five flight tickets to Kolkata every year would cost more than his five year's worth of pot?"

Her grumbling was interrupted by the phone which set off ringing in a jarring conch shell tone.

"Oshur, Mohisashur. Can you pick the phone ? This Oshur is an absolute lazy bummer. I must have been out of my mind to hire him as secretary. Should have killed him right there at the Pandal." Dugga grumbled.

Seeing no signs of Oshur, she extended her fourth hand on the right to pick up the phone. It is not as simple as it sounds though. Weaving through her three other hands and flowing tresses to get the phone to the ear was a task in itself.

"Hello? Ke bolchen?", Dugga said, her voice calm and polite like the lady at the T-Mobile Call Center.

A far off voice, anxious and tense, came over the airwaves -- "Ma, Ma. I am Mrs.Sen from Baguihati. You are our savior Ma. Only you can help me from my suffering.My son is in Singapore Ma and he says, I have to send a sari for his Malaysian girlfriend. What to buy Ma ? Too many choices these days. Chiffon, georgette, dhakai, silk is all I know. But now they say Satya Paul, Mora, Sabyasachi. How do I choose Ma? What if my son does not like what I send ?"

"Aa molo jaa, jotto shob. Baba Mortyobasi earthling, I have enough troubles of my own to sort first.I haven't been able to book my tickets yet and it is already Mahalaya. MakeMyTrip.com is giving me the cheapest fare via Sierra Leone. Do you know what that means ? What if my Karthik gets ebola and doesn't make it. Well, he will not be missed exactly. But what will happen if Oshur is infected ? Do you understand that kids will not even come to the pandal without him and Tanishq will not sponsor a single gold necklace? But no, you will not think of my troubles. All you are interested is in your son, family and saree. Haven't I told you umpteen times that all of this is just Maya."

"Maya? Ma, Maya Saree? Now that you have given me wisdom, that is the one I will buy Ma. Joi Ma Durga", said Mrs.Sen, from Baguihati

Dugga banged down the phone in frustration and looked back at the screen.

"Maaaa, open the door," the whiny voice outside the door got louder."Have to ask you something?"

"What is it now Lokkhi ? Can you not be on your own for even a minute? Told you I am working."

Lokkhi managed to open the door somehow and entered the study in spite of her Mother's ire. A pair of low cut jeans hugged her bottom and molded her shapely legs.

"Maa, do you think I look fat ?" she asked. Her hands at her waist, one leg in front of the other, her face tilted slightly upwards, she tried to pose like Alia Bhatt.

"Nope", said Mother without taking her eye off the screen.

Lokkhi pouted and swiveled this way and that.

A melodious, tinkling laughter came from behind the huge couch. There was Saraswati, snuggled in a corner,the latest best seller "Fault in our Stars" in hand.

"You know that you cannot pack that for our trip, right?" Saro said.

"Maaa, I can't take my new pair of jeans??? Really ??? Aren't we going to stop over at the France?" Lokkhi looked visible worried.

"No France baby. Too expensive. Looks like Air India is our only option. Go pack some nice sari" said Dugga.

"But Kol people wear jeans Ma. And even dresses. Minis too. Why can't I? I look fat in sari, " wailed Lokkhi

"Whatever," Saraswati said, "Kol people might like your jeans Di but not the Kol Police".

"Haah, easy for you to say. You are so fair. Those folks will not even see what you are wearing just because you are so white," Lokkhi grumbled.

"You are so clueless Di.Have you even heard of the Dark is Beautiful campaign? No one wants to be fair anymore Soon they will market a cream called Dark n Lovely. "

"That is just what the antel people are doing. When I go to Liluah and Baanshdroni, they put up the Fair & Lovely ad right in front of my face. And then they say my complexion is wheatish."

"Uff come on Lokkhi. You are supposed to be Goddess of wealth.Have some confi, mortyovasis will always like you. They love money even more than the tube of Fair & Lovely."

"Wealth? You make me laugh Saraswati. I don't even have a job. What wealth do I have?"

"Arre you don't have to like really "have" it. Just post a pic on Facebook with the latest BMW na and they will all like it and think you are rich. It is all in the mind, you see. And besides that, it is high time you got a job."

"Girls, can you just stop your jabbering. Did you see the news ? At Sreebhumi pandal they will make me wear diamonds and we will each get our own bodyguard. And in Ekdalia, it is all that gold again by Tanishq", Dugga exclaimed.

"Really Ma ? Really? Can I wear some too? Hope I get Salman Khan for my bodyguard", Lokkhi squealed. Her sorrow over sari forgotten.

Saro rolled her eyes and went back to her book. Kartik strolled in, hoping to make his case, amidst his sister's conversation.

"But hey Mom, what about me? Why do I have to be still bare chested and all? You know all that waxing really hurts.And then they make fun of me, compares my tummy with SRK's six packs.I am going to wear my T-shirt this time. And remember none of those naru, sondesh for me. I am on a diet. I will make do with egg Roll and biriyani."

'Baba Kartik, do whatever you want. Honestly no one cares. I would have left you with your Dad and saved on a ticket but the organizers want some kind of symmetry on both my sides so have to take you."

"Hrmmmph, you always always ignore me.You never loved me in the first place. Always you and Dad are partial to Ganesh", Kartik stomped his feet and looked like he would burst into tears.

"And you love Lokkhi more than me too. I am the one who has to do all the studying and play the veena and practice my singing, while all Lokkhi does is paints nails and watches MTV. Not fair Ma", Saraswati joined in.

"Seriously can we have some peace here ? I have just come back from nine days of brain numbing Yo Yo Honey Singh and I have to go back there again. Do you even understand what I am going through ?" wise Ganesha strolled in, his belly fatter than what it was two months back.

"Yes, yes, we all know, nine days of modaks and laddoos are showing their signs Dada. You better sign up for the gym fast."

"Hey Kartik, don't act smart with me ok ? I don't complain because I know that Ma has to run this family and the moolah comes from our annual tours. But seriously these earthlings are getting on my nerves. They invite us and then expect us to kow tow to all their wishes. We cannot just continue to do things we don't like because the society says so"

"Baba Ganesh, what exactly do you want to say? Your mouse is giving me enough trouble and at this age all this online booking is driving me crazy. Given a choice I would have gone to Mars on vacation than the Earth."

"Well Ma, I mean if Lokkhi wants to wear her jeans, let her, it is okay. #hokkolorob. And Karthik doesn't always need to be bare chested, it is high time you realize that he is no match to Sallu. Even Tollywood has Parombroto these days. Saro, if you don't want to play the veena and do rap, go ahead but think wisely before you give up on it. And finally Ma, I think it is high time you decide what you want to do with Baba. A irresponsible , crazy guy like that doesn't deserve you. I think you should just move out."

"And also Ma, can you just stop hankering for diamonds and gold.Have you forgotten the fragrance of  garlands made of the orange stalked shiuli?"

Dugga, Lokkhi, Kartik and Saro stared, their mouth agape and their eyes wide.

Finally Dugga said, "Baba Ganesh, no doubt they call you Siddhidata.Tell those organizers at Ekdalia, I am boycotting pandals with diamond and gold. Karthik, go find where they have made garlands of shiuli  picked before the first sun's ray touches them. I will stand there where the kaash phool sways in the autumn breeze under the azure blue Sharat akash. If I am going to Earth on my vacation, it better be in my terms.And when we are back next week, get me a lawyer Ganesh will ya?"

"I think I will keep playing the Veena," murmured Saraswati.

If you like what you are reading, get Bong Mom's Cookbook in your mailbox

Enter your email address:


Delivered by FeedBurner

Back to School and School Lunches

School started last Thursday after a long summer break. Yeah really long. I think I have talked about "long summer breaks" enough in my last 3 posts which spanned over 2 months, to ascertain that they are indeed long. You have probably also realized that of the 2 adults and 2 kids in my house, the one who was most depressed about "back to school" was me. But I couldn't complain much because after all I am the Mother and it is my joi de vivre towards new school year that is going to influence innocent young minds. So I took a couple of Prozac, three deep breaths and told them how exciting the year is going to be.

Not that the Prozac convinced me to really think that way. After all you need something much stronger to think, that a dreary stretch of 180 days where the morning alarm goes off at 5:30, is indeed exciting. Maybe Faith, resilience and a "positive attitude" will work. I have heard those are wonderful miracle workers and I need to find them ASAP.

So far, we have survived 56 7 school days. Bus for the new middle school-er comes at 7:15 in the morning. I have managed to not hit the snooze button more than 3 times and wake up latest by 5:45. Okay today actually it was 6:15 but everything still worked fine and no one missed the bus. I even carried my cup of tea to the bus stop which is right across our house and sipped my cha, enjoying the crisp morning air. This is actually the right moment when I should start worrying about  the bitter cold mornings of January, but I won't because the Prozac is probably working. Or maybe the deep breath.

And then bus for the new first grader comes right after 8. At this point I should have let out a loud wail as I shall never have both the sisters attending the same school and going by the same bus at the same time. NEVER.You understand how heartbreaking that is. But I will not wail as the deep breath is weaving magic.

Thankfully because of  all the early morning cacophony LS is all ready and raring to go by 8. The first day of her first grade I worried a lot. This would be the first full day school for her. Kindergarten was only half a day and though she did got to a full-day day care , it was only a couple of days a week. I was sure she would fall asleep in the bus or in class. For some inexplicable reason I also worried that she would not be able to find the restroom. Well, this does have roots in my own childhood but that story later. And then like all Bengali Mothers I worried that she would not eat lunch and go hungry.

The Goofy First Grader

Nothing like that happened. I am a chronic worrier. Not "warrior". But "worrier". I worry a lot and I am really amazed that the girls did not inherit this tiny code in my DNA. They do worry about things like whether the garage door has been shut and the front door locked at night, stuff I forget to worry about, but on other aspects they are much more fearless.No wonder they jump on all those amusement park rides that go high up in the air while I close my eyes tightly, clench my heart and recite "Hanuman Chalisa"

Mostly it was LittleSis's calmness that amazed me. Probably being the second born, my expectations from her are more flexible. She was a tad anxious the day before school started but I told her a funny story where everyone from the Principal to the lunch lady is anxious about school and that relaxed her.The next day she dressed and got ready all by herself and walked to the bus with a big smile. Her being able to navigate first grade with perfect ease and without a single melt down surprised me. Keeping my fingers crossed.**No Jinx**.

BigSis too seemed to take to middle school with elan except of course for the lockers.

"How was your homeroom teacher BigSis? Do you have homework?"

"She was great. But I got the top locker and I am not tall enough so I swapped for a bottom locker".

"Okay, how was the science lab?"

"Good but the lower locker got jammed and has a different combination.I need to have more practice with lockers. Don't you have one at home which I could open? Do you think I can skip lunch tomorrow and practice opening my locker instead?"

"Did you make any new friend?"

"You know there is this one girl who got a tiny chandelier and a pink furry rug for her locker"!!! And this is real. The girl even got a pink wallpaper for her locker

You would think middle school is all about lockers and lockers alone. After a few days of  locker swapping, jamming and what not it seems she is a pro on lockers.

The first few exciting days will slowly give way to more homework, tests and a routine. Things will start falling into place, five more minutes of sleep will be squeezed in and I will pack sloppier lunches.

Lunch Menu

The first week I tried to be very organized with a menu printed on the board. There were slight deviations from there but more or less we followed the norm. After school snacks included Mini Wontons from Costco, Milk, Maggi and eggs.

Day 1 -- Snack for LS -- Goldfish and mini oreo. Lunch -- Pasta with basil pesto + Honest kids Juice + Belvita cookies for BS

Day 2 -- Snack for LS -- Goldfish and mini oreo. Lunch -- Grilled Cheese sandwich + Honest kids Juice + slice of Date cake

Day 3 -- Snack for LS -- Grapes. Lunch -- Indian Style noodles with vegetables for both + slice of Date cake

Day 4 -- Snack for LS -- Pocky Sticks. Lunch -- Bagel with butter and Bagel with jalapeno cream cheese + plum + chicken nuggets

Day 5 -- Snack for LS -- Goldfish and mini oreo. Lunch -- Macaroni  + chocolate milk for LS and Date cake for BS


If you like what you are reading, get Bong Mom's Cookbook in your mailbox

Enter your email address:


Delivered by FeedBurner

Hing er Kochuri and Alur Tarkari

Hing er Kochuri and Alur Tarkari. The HaatPakha i,e the Palm Leaf fans that you see in this picture are decorated by my Aunt. Aren't they gorgeous ?

Durga Pujo is almost here. Mahalaya is this Friday. The gorgeous blue sky, the kaash phool, the lazy cotton clouds and the fragile shiuli with their orange stem and fragrant notes is making it all very real. As if! The only thing missing is the "Sharodiya PujoShonkhya "which my Ma brought along with her way back in August. Now that is what I call "blasphemy". You should not have a "PujoShonkhya" in summer.  No, No. NO! In August you can only have trembling hopes for one or two. You have to wait and wait some more and then wait until Mahalaya to get your copy. For what is Pujo without its Pujo Shonkhyas.

The annual Pujo numbers -- Anandomela

Many, many years ago when I was a timid kindergartner, still struggling to read fluent Bengali, my Ma had given me the best gift on Durga Pujo. She bought me a shiny, thick, colorful book. It was the Pujoshonkhya Anandomela, the annual number of the popular Bengali children’s magazine published every year during DurgaPujo. I don't know what spurred her in doing this when I could just about manage to read the "juktakhors", the Bengali conjugant, but that single book set me on a path of loving to read and read more. When I try to think of that Pujo, from a long time back, I do not have clear pictures of Durga or the Asur. All I see is snippets of a well lit mandap reverberating with the beat of the Dhaak and a fat book with glossy cover plonked onto my satin frock's lap.

Since that day, Pujo for me has always meant waiting for the PujoShonkhya. While others waited for the squeaky clean blue sky of Sharat, the swaying kaash phool or the latest cut in salwar kamiz that the local tailor would reveal, I waited for my annual Puja number of Anandomela.

The full page advertisement announcing the book would adorn the pages of the biweekly magazine as early as April or May. Gradually the list of writers who would write for the year's number would be revealed. Satyajit Ray, Shirshendu, Sunil Ganguly…the list was rich and endless. Around end of August, my mother would book a copy for me along with a couple of Desh and Bartoman for herself, with the newspaper delivery guy.

From early September, my heart would take a dip and start beating faster every time I heard the ringing bell of the newspaper guy further down the street. "Esheche? Is it here?" I would shout as he skillfully tossed the rolled newspaper on the front porch. As he rode away shaking his head in the crisp Sharat air, I would be dejected only to live in hope and again ask him the same question the next day. You see we lived in a small town far from Kolkata and the magazines usually arrived late there. So the "pujoshonkhya" published in Kolkata would take a while to make its appearance in our mofussil market and even then there was no certainty to that.

And then one school morning, a week or two before Mahalaya, he would announce "Aaj Bikel e. Today afternoon". That day would be the most exciting one and I would rush home in the afternoon, my strides back home faster than others. Tossing my school shoes and book bag aside I would pick up the thick colorful book that sat on the center table. I held it close to my nose taking a deep whiff, I admired the nifty bookmark dangling on a thin lace and I quickly sneaked in to see the cartoon they had this year.

That afternoon I refused the call of my friends for a round of hide and seek or playing tag on the terrace. Instead I went to bed, tucked two pillows under myself and carefully opened the thick Anandomela to be lost in the next adventure of Shontu ar Kakababu or the quirky inventions of Professor Shonku.

Waiting for Anandomela was probably the best part of my pujo and that is the only part I miss these days. I also miss the fact that my daughters will never experience that yearning and eventually the deluge of happiness. For waiting for something is much more exciting than finally getting it.

*********

Last weekend we made Hing er Kochuri at home. It seemed a very Pujo-isque thing to do. Also I am ashamed to say, it was my first time. Yes, I have sailed through half of my life without making a single Hing er Kochuri and the experience or rather the lack of it has not harmed me in anyway, as I see it. For, I have ate enough of them. And that is what really matters.

The thing is, I don't "deep fry" much. I kind of have a mental block which makes me eat "deep-fried" goodness by the kilos as long as someone else is "deep-frying". The moment I see all that oil, something in my brain goes "Twang" and I hyperventilate. I was not always like this. There was a time when I loved deep frying. But at that time, I feared anything that had to do with "dough" unless of course it was "play-doh" which "Duh! is not dough". But lately and specifically after my "small organ where bile is stored" had to be removed, I don't seem to work well after a meal of "deep-fried goodness". Of course it would be okay, if I did so in moderation. But moderation is never the keyword when things are being dunked in hot oil.

So anyway since Ma is here to give expert advice and all, I felt it was the right moment to make Hing er Kochuri because you know my girls need to remember their Mother's kitchen as one where kochuri puffed up and yadda, yadda, yadda. But what is Hing er Kochuri, you ask ? Well it is a deep fried savory snack almost like a luchi or puri but with stuffing made of spiced Urad Dal paste and with a strong and beautiful aroma of hing or asafoetida. It is usually served with a side of Cholar Dal or Alur Dom. But in this recipe I served it with a Aloor Tarkari or a Potato Dish inspired by A Mad Tea Party

Usually I don't write up a recipe unless I have tried it a couple of times. But I figured that would make it 2016 until I put up this recipe. And really the recipe is perfect, it is the expertise which many of us need to gather to make stuff like this, that needs to be worked on. And we can all do that until 2016 strikes. Until then here is the recipe to follow.

 

Hing er Kochuri

Make the Stuffing 

Soak 1 cup of Urad Dal/Kalai er Dal/Biulir Dal overnight in water. Yep. Shuddh nirmal paani aka H2O aka water.

Next morning forget that you have soaked urad dal

Then in the afternoon when other folks in the house ask you why is there some dal soaking in a container, it all comes back. **Ting**. You have to grind the Dal. To make Hing er Kochuri.

All enthu, you put the dal in a blender along with
3 green chillies
1" ginger chopped

With aid of very little water, make a coarse paste. Not very coarse but not smooth like a Vada batter either.

Now you heat some mustard oil in a kadhai. I would suggest to use non-stick.

To the hot oil add
1/4 tsp of Hing/Asafoetida
1 tbsp of grated ginger
1/4 tsp of ground fennel seeds

Add the dal/lentil paste that you made. Add salt to taste and a pinch of sugar. Mix well.

Now comes the part where you have to keep stirring like a maniac. Okay, maybe not maniac but still considerable stirring as the st***d paste tries to stick to the kadhai. You might also have to add some more oil in the process.

Eventually your hard work will show some result. The paste will slowly start coming off from the sides and will get drier. It will also no longer taste or smell raw and will actually taste pretty good on eating. If it does not taste right, adjust the spices and keep stirring. Add little more Hing/Asafoetida if you feel the aroma is missing.
But take heart, this whole process takes a mere 20-30 minutes of your lifetime and life gets better after this.

Once you have the stuffing, keep it aside and make the dough for the kochuri. You could also have made the dough earlier, while the dal was soaking and all but then such foresight is not my plus point.

Make the Dough

In a wide mouthed bowl add
1 cup of AP Flour/Maida
1 cup of Whole Wheat
pinch of salt
1.5 tbsp of Vegetable Oil

With your fingers rub the oil in the flour. Then gradually add warm water to knead the dough until the dough is soft. Cover the dough with a damp towel and let it rest.

Note: My Mother later said that she also adds a sprinkle of hing to the dough for a more Hing-y flavor, so try that.

Make the Kochuri

Take a small ball of the dough. It might take 2-3 tries until you settle at the right size. The size should be like a gooseberry/amla. Roughly make about 20 dough balls out of this dough.

Dip the tip of the ball in oil and then flatten it between your palm.

Now roll it out to a 2" circle. Take a little of the stuffing and put it in the center. bunch up the sides of the dough disc now to form a purse like formation. With your fingers, close the top of the purse so that the stuffing does not come out. Flatten it between your palm and you are ready to roll.
Note: You can also stuff it the traditional way by making small dent in the flat disc, putting the stuffing in and then sealing the dough disc

Roll out the stuffed ball into small discs about 3" in diameter, same size and thickness as that of a luchi or poori. Well maybe a wee bit thicker than luchi

Heat enough oil for frying in a Kadhai. When the oil is hot, dip the rolled out disc to see if the oil bubbles. If it does, slowly release the disc in oil and press with a slotted spoon coaxing the kochuri to puff. Once the kochuri puffs up and takes a shad of pale brown, take it out and get ready for the next.
Note: Now honestly, I might write all the theory but this step takes some practice and mine fails to puff up 40% of the time. So it is okay. Even if it does not puff up, it tastes really delicious.


Kochuri needs some Alu Torkari and different homes make it different way. Another favorite to go with Kochuri is the Cholar dal, a hot favorite to be precise. However, having made Anita's station aloo a couple of times, I have fallen in love with it and so that is what I made to go with these Kochuri.

Alur Torkari inspired by A Mad Tea Party

Chop 4-5 large potatoes in quarters and put to boil in the pressure cooker. We will peel them later.

Once the potatoes are done and have cooled down, peel the jackets and crumble the potatoes by hand. Don't mash them, just gently crumble.

Now heat some mustard oil in a Kadhai.

Temper the Oil with
1/4th tsp Hing
1/2 tsp Cumin seeds
2 Tej-Patta

Follow with a tbsp of grated ginger.
Once the ginger sizzles, add 1 small chopped tomatoe and 5-6 broken green chillies.
Fry till the tomatoes are all mushed up.

Add 1 tbsp of Coriander powder, Turmeric powder, salt to taste and saute for a minute.

Add the potatoes and then add about 2 cups of water. Stir around and let it come to  a boil.

Let it simmer for about say, 10 -12 minutes. In between break up some of the potatoes to give a thick texture to the gravy. Taste and adjust the spices.

Both my daughters enjoyed the Hing er Kochuri and Torakri a lot and I think I have to make it soon, if only for then.

Happy Mother's Day

"Ma, Maa", Mr. Bhattacharya's stentorian voice resonated across the still sleepy neighborhood.

The two gray pigeons trying to catch the last snatches of sleep in their filigreed skylight home, flapped their wings in annoyance and flew up to the terrace. Mangala, the neighborhood milkman's much pampered cow, shook herself and hurriedly called out with a matching "Moooo", as she shuffled to get on her four legs. The far eastern horizon beyond the neem tree, behind the mismatched houses of the neighborhood, further from the swanky new flat building, now had strokes of pink on a slate background and the last of the twinkling stars knew it was time to wrap up their nightly glamour and take rest.

"Your neighbor Bhattacharjee kaku is  very religious. Too much I would say," the Sens' youngest son's brand new wife, who had married into the salmon pink two storeyed house across the Bhattacharya's colonial gray one,  jangled her shiny gold bangles in irritation.

"Aha, it has been 26 years and there has not been even one single morning when Bhattacharjee Didi's son has been a minute late for his morning prayers. Winter, Spring, Summer, Monsoon-- always the same. Such devotion for Ma Kaali. And such love and respect for his own Mother. It is Ma's blessing that he is doing so well in his work and getting promoted so quickly," said Mrs.Sen softly to herself. Sleep did not come easy to her these days, her arthiritic knee was getting worse and the pain kept her awake many nights. "Blessings from Mothers are precious. But do my own sons realize that ?" she muttered with disdain

Unaware of  what his neighbors thought, Mr.Bhattacharya, CIO of McNally and Sand, freshly bathed and pious at 4:30 in the morning, picked Ma's favorite flowers, the scarlet hibiscus from his sprawling garden. He had four varieties of hibiscus. The crimson, pale pink, the soft egg yolk yellow and of course the scarlet, rokto joba, the Mother's favorite. Gently he plucked the flowers from their  stem, the petals wet with morning dew, and put them in his saaji as he sang a Kaali Bhajan in a low voice that lacked sweetness or tune. What he lacked in tune, he made up in his earnestness though.

After he had offered his prayers in the marble floored prayer room and lighted enough incense to fill the whole house with fragrance, he went to meet his Mother. On dot at 6:10. This was his everyday routine. One and half hour spent for Ma Kaali and then 20 minutes for his own mother Suhasini. In this twenty minutes he made sure that Suhasini was taking her medicine and doing the exercises suggested by the therapist. If time permitted, they also discussed the state of the country and listened to Suhasini reminisce about her childhood in Jamalpur.

For Suhasini, these were precious 20 minutes. She had led a hard life with a husband whose temper was legendary and a mother-in-law known for her miserliness. It was only in her old age, as a widow, that she finally could experience a comfortable life. And for that she was grateful to her son. She had been an ordinary Mother, with little time for her son in a life filled with drudgery and hardship. But the boy had worked hard and made a name for himself. In his busy life, he had not forgotten his Mother and pampered her with all the affulencies that she never could have imagined for herself.

Yes, she knew, he had a temper, as bad as his father if not worse. At times she even felt a pang for Sunita, her daughter-in-law. But she kept quiet. Everyone on this earth is born with their fate written on their forehead. Who was she to interfere and upset that ?

When the clock on the dining room wall struck 7:30, Mr.Bhattacharya came down to breakfast. He did the same every morning. In fact he was so punctual that you could adjust your clock by him.

"What is this ?" he shouted. His face puffed up, his jaws stern. The early morning piousness had been wiped off  by an almost cruel expression. Suhasini, counted her rudraksha beads faster. The Sen's youngest son's new wife, in the salmon pink house across, nodded her head in disdain and said "There, he goes again like clockwork".

"Why did you make Luchi for breakfast ?How many times have I told you that on first Thursdays of every month, I will have only crisp buttered toast and sausage for breakfast ? Did your Masters in International Affairs not teach you even this ?" Mr. Bhattacharya thundered.

With a powerful swipe of his right wrist, he sent the platter of white puffed luchis hurtling across the rosewood dining table. The airy luchis, floated in the air for a millisecond before they plopped on the shiny expensive moasic. The bowl of sada alu charchari lazily hit the wall and landed with a thud, the steel bowl making a clattering sound. In the kitchen, Sunita, his wife of 20 years stopped midway in her effort to make the next luchi puff up right.

Mr.Bhattacharya uttered profanities and called names. She kept quiet. She had learned the power of silence in her 20 years of marriage. It was not that he was a bad man and she had learned to shake off words like water from a duck's back.

"You cannot handle even simple affairs at home, how do you work at that bank of yours ? Some sorry state it must be in. Don't know what you would have done if you worked in a corporate office like mine ? They would have fired you the very next day. And remember, if I see such carelessness again, I will make sure that you are kicked out of this house," he wagged his finger and announced before stomping off to his chauffered car that waited at the front gate.

Sunita still silent, switched off the stove and went on her task of picking up the deflated luchis from the floor.

"Bouma, how many times have I told you that my son has a bit of a temper. If you would only be a little more careful when he is around, " Suhasini said in a liquid whisper, her 63 year old voice tinged with guilt. "Had she been a good Mother?" the doubt rose like bile in her throat.

"At least I am better off than Malati," thought Sunita. Malati, their house help, had called in sick again today. Her husband had beaten her black and blue last night. "At least I don't get beaten up like her," she comforted herself.

"Don't understand why she just doesn't walk out. She is educated, earns a good living and still...," the Sen's youngest son's new wife  gossiped to her colleague over the water cooler.

*******************

There is a little backdrop to this story. It was triggered by this ad, from a series called "Ma jaisa Koi Nahi" by Mother Dairy and which I got as a forward either on last year's Mother's Day or later. BTW, there are other Mother Dairy ads in the same series which are perfectly fine but it was this that I had got and this that I will talk about today.

That an ad from a reputed company would think it was completely natural for the husband to behave in such crass manner and then promote it on national television, amazed me. Don't know what they were trying to prove but then such scenarios do happen in many homes. It is easy to say that an educated women could walk out of the situation or try to make it better. But I have been privy to a couple of such women and however educated and strong they are, when looked at from their viewpoint it is easier said than done.

In a world that celebrates Motherhood but has little respect for its women -- Happy Mother's Day.