Celebration

- by Deepa Krishnan

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Today my daughter went out with friends, to celebrate the end of her 10th Standard CBSE Board exams. For a month now, the exams have ruled our household. But no more! As I write this, we are (...sigh of pleasure here...) reverting to the old ways.

Right now for example, I'm watching television. It's not like we didn't watch TV this past month - but today I'm watching it in a happy mindless sort of way. I don't have to turn down the volume, I don't have to feel guilty about having a good time while my kid is slogging her butt off. Sigh. It's nice, even if there's only some really crappy stuff playing on HBO.

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And you know what the other nice thing is? We can order in. Without thinking about upset tummies and food poisoning and missing exams! Yayy for the greasy little pleasures of life!

Nendrampazham - King of Bananas

- by Janaki Krishnan
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Food is one area where my husband and I are poles apart (although our horoscopes show samasaptakam, or perfect agreement between our stars!).
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While I am a foodie, my husband believes that one should eat only to live. Recently, he had a minor surgery, after which he was advised to eat a nutritious diet with plenty of milk, vegetables and fruits. This is where the Nendrampazham came to my rescue. The only fruit that my husband eats with delight is this king of bananas, a big yellow variety that is also called 'Rajali Kela' in Mumbai.

Rajalis from Vasai come into the city, but the Kerala variety is sweeter

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Unlike the usual small sized bananas, this fruit can only be eaten plain if you have a strong digestive system. The popular method is to steam cook it, so that it becomes an ideal food for the sick, the elderly and for young children.

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For my husband, I often cut the banana into 3-4 pieces and steam it with jaggery. It takes just ten minutes to cook, and everyone loves the taste. The pleasure of unwrapping the banana with your hands and tasting the caramelised jaggery is simply heavenly.

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Bananas in a kadai with water and jaggery.

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Ready to eat!

My younger granddaughter likes to have bananas sliced into thinnish circles, and stir fried in ghee. She eats it with a fork, Western style. But my older granddaughter loves banana chips. These are made using the raw version of these bananas, by slicing it very thin, and deep frying it in oil.

Nendrankkai - the raw version of Nendrampazham

My mother was an expert in making banana chips (and my father in distributing it among his office friends). As a young girl, whenever we heard a hissing sound coming from the kitchen, I was sure that my mother was busy making chips. The hissing sound comes at the last stage of making these chips, when salt water is poured on the chips before pulling them out of the oil.

That is what differentiates the traditional home-made chips from the ones we buy in Matunga market. In the market, the salt is added later, after the chips are taken out of the oil.

Home-made Nendrankkai chips

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There are many more ways to enjoy this versatile banana. Sarkaraupperi is made by deep-frying raw bananas, dipping them in a jaggery syrup and then dusting it with dried ginger.

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Sarkaraupperi is served at our weddings. After the first spoonful of payasam is served, this is the second favourite.

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No food is wasted in India, even when it is available in plenty. Dried banana is powdered, stored, and later mixed with milk and water for use as baby food. My Christian friend makes sweet and salty bhajias using ripe bananas. Even overripe bananas, with the skin blackened, are turned into halwa using jaggery and ghee.

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Banana varieties in Matunga Market

Nendrankkais are also used to make many Kerala specialities - erisseri and kaalan are my favourites. Even the skin is cut into tiny bits and converted into a tempting side-dish. No wonder this banana is called 'Rajali' - it is truly the King of Bananas!

Valentine, Schmalentine

- by Deepa Krishnan

At breakfast yesterday, my 15-year old daughter put down the newspaper in irritation.

"What's all this fuss about saving 'Indian culture', anyway?", she said. "Shouldn't we be more worried about poverty and hunger?"

She was referring to the ongoing brouhaha over Valentine's Day. The press is full of it - there are those who say festivals like these are foreign transplants, which destroy Indian culture. There are those who stoutly defend the right of people to adopt whatever culture they like, whether it is Western or otherwise.

It's not just Valentine's Day, but also other Western influences that irk many Indians. Many of us are bewildered by Bollywood videos of near-naked women gyrating to 'disco' songs. Where did these come from, we wonder, these images that are almost soft porn? Take a look at this one - Isqh Khudai, Rab ne Banai. While the lyrics are in Hindi, the setting is undoubtedly Western. The actors toss down tequila shots, the music has strong Western influences, and there's not a salwar kameez in sight.

Parents and teachers are also coping with the spread of McDonalds, the increasing absorption with skinny bodies, the new mall culture, the alienation of children from their traditions, the growing incidence of divorce, the popularity of chat sites...somehow, all of these are perceived to be the results of the increasing influence of the West (read America).

My husband looked up from the sports section that he was reading.

"I can see why they want to stop this Westernisation", he smiled. "I half want to stop it myself!" (this from a very liberal man who loves jazz and the blues and thinks no party is complete without whisky!).

"Oh?" I said, quite amused. "And why is that?"

"Cultural exchange is great", he said. "But this is all so one-way! How come so little of Indian culture gets exported in the other direction?"

I thought it was a very interesting perspective. If the West celebrated Indian festivals the way we celebrate theirs, perhaps people wouldn't feel so threatened? Perhaps if Holi became a popular world festival, we'd learn to take Valentine's Day in our stride!

Anyway, this whole conversation went on and on, the three of us argued the merits of preserving and documenting culture, the rate at which cultural change happens today, historical trends, and all sorts of other interesting things. Finally, we all agreed, like the sensible family we are, that change is inevitable. We must change with the times; adopting some changes and ignoring some.

Last night, my husband boarded a flight for Chennai, where he is spending this weekend with his parents. Today is Valentine's Day. I haven't wished him, and he hasn't wished me. Looks like I'm not changing my ways on this and neither is he!

No Valentine-Schmalentine for THIS couple!

Living in 'magical Mumbai'

That's the title of my recent interview on CNN.com. I was pleased as punch, of course.

The interview on their website is part of a TV series called My City My Life. In the TV series, Anil Kapoor takes viewers on a tour of Mumbai.

If you squint really hard at this picture you can see me at the bottom right!

The link to the interview is here, in case you want to hear me air my views on 'aamchi mumbai' and what makes it magical to me.

http://edition.cnn.com/2009/TRAVEL/01/30/mumbai.localview/index.html

- Deepa

Living alongside Slumbai

- by Janaki Krishnan

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Mumbai's slums have been attracting so much attention these days that we should probably rename the city Slumbai.
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We have been living in Sion for the last 35 years - in an area where there is a large slum population alongside middle class residential buildings.

Our side of the street

Slums on opposite side of same street

This is a large slum area, a part of which has extended to the street opposite our house. Unhygenic surroundings, early morning brawls for water, blaring speakers during festivals...these have become a part of our life.

But living near a slum also has a positive side to it. It is a symbiotic relationship, where we depend on each other for many things in daily life. We also learn many things from each other.
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As a working woman for 35 years, and as a senior citizen now, I have come to depend on my maid and cook, both of whom live just outside our building. Both belong to the Maratha community (Bhosles) and have been instrumental in my learning colloquial Marathi. They have also helped me understand their way of life - festivals, rituals, crafts, etc - all of which take place just outside our house on the street. My cook has now become an expert in South Indian dishes.

My maid's house is one of those on this street. Her grandson is at the door.

The menfolk in the slum outside our building have different types of occupations - security guard, pujari, carpenter, plumber, bhajiwala, postman...they are all ready to help us if we need it. Even at midnight, I can walk through our lane without any fear. When I need drumstick leaves for my 'rice adai', they quickly climb the tree and get them for me. When we need something heavy moved, they lend a helping hand, without any payment. I remember the time when my 10-year old daughter was hit by a car. One of the men from the houses in the slum carried her to a cot on the pavement, and revived her with water.
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In turn, I think they find us beneficial too. Living near us provides employment for all the women who want to find work, without any commuting. Some mothers send their children to me for help with schoolwork. We contribute towards community festivals. We help in filling forms and writing letters, and also in finding jobs for young men. In times of water crisis, my maids fill their water pots at my house. In emergencies, we provide first aid. These are not extraordinary acts of social service, but the day-to-day exchange and accomodation that comes from having slum dwellers for neighbours.

Over the course of the past 35 years, these daily interactions have allowed us to also become part of their extended community. Although the dividing line between have and have-not exists, it has definitely blurred over the years. Another phenomenon I have observed is that a spirit of equality has emerged, very different from the traditional attitude of servitude and humility that the poor still display in villages.

My maid's neighbour, a confident and assured lady.

Having slums nearby has also opened my eyes to the lives of people who have far less in life than I do. A lesson that all of us can learn from watching slum dwellers is that of sharing and co-operation. A cup of tea is shared by half a dozen people. When a mother goes to work, other women mind her children. On festivals and occassions, even the poorest houses celebrate. In fact, the best thing to learn from the slums is their vibrant, happy and carefree attitude. I often wonder how they have so much fun and laughter when they are not even certain of where the next meal is coming from.

My maid's daughter Kartika, always smiling

2009 starts well

I've been silent for nearly 3 weeks. A lot has happened. Mainly, my dad went into surgery for what we suspected was throat cancer, but fortunately it turned out to be benign. He is well now.

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Daddy at our room at Jaslok Hospital. He is going to be 80 in April.

We are all immensely relieved and deeply thankful to Dr. Prabodh Karnik, our ENT surgeon. It was interesting to meet with Dr. Karnik - he was clear about the problem, the potential issues, and what he was going to do. I know some people prefer reassuring white lies, but I prefer knowing everything. That way I can be prepared and not feel like something cluelessly tossed on the waves.

I am also deeply thankful to Dr. Ravi Ramakantan, one of Dad's students, for his solid support throughout the three weeks. Ravi, you have been wonderful to us.

Sunrise outside dad's hospital window on the morning of his surgery. At the time, I didn't know how the day was going to turn out.

The hospital experience made me realise yet again how fortunate we are to have family around us in times of crisis. My sister, mother and I were all together, and our presence brought much confidence and strength to my dad.

Little bed where I slept at night, next to dad

My sister ran around doing all the paperwork - hospital bills, check-in, check-out. She made sure her policy covered treatment (tons of calls and faxes) and got us really good rooms at the hospital. I handled the doctor visits and kept track of the treatment. Together we were on top of things, and it kept mom from getting stressed out.

We all drew strength from each other. While the surgery was going on, my mom and I were in our hospital room, waiting for news. We could talk to each other, and keep ourselves from brooding or worrying.

Sitting area of the hospital room (it was a suite). My laptop in the corner. Mum slept on this couch at night.

Small table where we had our meals. My copy of 'The Last Mughals'.

All through the 2 days, we felt like we were all pulling together in a crisis. I cannot tell you how much strength that gave us. When finally the doctor gave us the good news, we had a mix of emotions. Relief, gratitude, joy...Mum said "Let's go down and celebrate!". We called my sister to give her the news, and then we went to the hospital cafetaria and celebrated, Mumbai-style, with hot batata wada!

I watch a hockey match

Last month, my husband and I went to the Mumbai Hockey Association’s stadium to watch kids from Akanksha Foundation play a match.

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A glorious bright Sunday.

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My husband is a huge sports enthusiast, and has been speaking to Akanksha about helping with their sports initiatives. So we went to take a look at some of their efforts.

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It was just a local match, so the stands were empty except for a few of us who came to cheer the Akanksha team. I found myself enjoying the sense of space.

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Some of us Akanksha supporters under the cool pavillion

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Scoreboard at the Mahindra Stadium

The match started out with high hopes, but as the game progressed, there was much moaning and agonizing over every lost goal (the other team had much better, more seasoned players!). The samosa-walla provided a very welcome diversion.

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Five rupees for two samosas. Extra chutney for free.

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As everyone queued up for samosas, I realized once again how much I like going to small local club-level competitions. There is something homely and warm about cheering for players who you know. It’s even nicer when you know the people in the audience and can exchange “expert” comments or wisecracks. Compared to “big league”, serious, competitive sport (NBA Playoffs, cricket matches), I find that this sort of almost intimate sporting experience is much more satisfying for me.

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To tell the truth, I am not a big fan of commercially organised sport. I’m not sure why - perhaps I don’t like the like the advertising and sponsorships and media frenzy. Or perhaps I don’t like the way huge numbers of sports fans become polarized, especially when games are played across countries. (Did you watch the Olympics? Surely people don’t need MORE ways to pit themselves against each other and prove that “we” are better than “them”?).

But I suspect the real reason that I don’t like organized sports is because I understand all too well that sports is a substitute for war. When I watch an India-Pak match on TV, or football hooliganism, it reminds me that humans are an aggressive, unattractive, jingoistic species.

Of course, it isn’t as black and white as that. Games teach us how to cooperate with each other to achieve common goals. They teach discipline and hard work. They help us learn how to handle defeat.

More important, they teach us how to overcome odds. On a recent trip to Masai Mara, we were on a long dusty drive between two villages, when I saw a long-distance runner on a training run. I don’t think he had access to fancy equipment or expensive coaching, but he wasn’t letting that stop him. When we passed him, running alone under the vast Kenyan sky, he raised his hands and smiled a broad smile – it was both a greeting and a victory sign. To me, this is among the most attractive features of sports – that it is a great leveler. Rich or poor, urban or rural - if you have sporting talent, that’s what really counts.

In India, where gross inequalities are embedded into the societal framework, sports can offer a new ray of hope for poor children with little or no access to the benefits of an English education.

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And of course, sports can create a new sense of self-worth. As the first match drew to an end, I watched a new team of boys from Akanksha get ready for the second match. As they kidded around, showing off their moves, I couldn't help thinking how happy they looked. Some of them didn't have the right shoes, or the right socks or ankle guards, but their smiles were bright and they were on top of the world.

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The Akanksha motto "Aspire. Achieve. Be the Change."

Cuisine tour photos

I always love it when I get photographs in my email. The latest ones in my collection are from Katie and Allyson, two guests of mine, who sent pictures of their recent cooking session. They were part of a group visiting Mumbai on business, but they stayed back a couple of extra days to do some private tours.

The cuisine tour was led by Arundhati, who is a wonderful cook, and whose lovely apartment was the venue for the cooking. Arundhati has published a very nice cookbook (that's her in the centre, signing autographed copies of her book for each of them).

The cuisine that Katie and Allyson tried was South Indian - a Tamil Brahmin meal, to be precise. Before the cooking session, they went to Matunga Market to look at a traditional bazaar and to understand the basics of Indian cooking. Freni, their guide for the tour, explained different ingredients and spices, and also the ayurvedic /philosophical classification of food in India. They also bought banana leaves, to use as plates for the meal.

After the bazaar walk, they went to Arundhati's house, where Katie and Allyson both tried their hand at making vadas and dosas. I was there as well, because Arundathi lives almost next door to me, so it was easy for me to join in. Arundhati did most of the cooking, but it was fun for me to watch Katie and Allyson experiment with Indian cooking techniques and compare it with their cooking back home.

It was a very pleasant afternoon, with great food and lovely conversation. The menu, in case you want to know: Masala Dosa, Lentil Vada, Coconut Chutney, Sambar, Coconut Rice, Vegetable Rice, and Kesari. We all ate too much, I think! The coconut-rice was absolutely divine, and the tamarind in the sambar gave it a special tangy kick that we all loved. (The shallots and spices in the photo are some of the other ingredients for the sambar).

Arundhati brought out a photo album of her traditional religious house-warming ceremony, and we discussed the costumes and rituals. Arundathi's teenage daughter (who was Chief Taster for the day!) and 20-something son added to the family atmosphere.

Katie and Allyson had done city tours with Mumbai Magic before that, but I think they enjoyed this one more. I think it's because it was very much like visiting friends; they could go to someone's house and really see what life in Mumbai is all about. When the tour ended and the goodbyes were said, I was very pleased with myself for organising it!

Hair secrets

- By Janaki Krishnan

Kerala women are known for their long, lustrous black hair. Their secret? Traditional hair care methods.

I remember my childhood days in Matunga, when Tuesdays and Fridays were "oil bath" days. We children would gather in the bathroom, and take turns to sit on the large stone seat in the centre. My mother would massage til oil, heated with pepper and cumin, into our scalp. It was called neer-piditham - both cumin and pepper are belived to have heating properties, and were meant to keep us from catching cold. There was always a lot of rush-rush-rush on oil bath days because all of us had to get ready for school.

The oil was washed off with a home-made shampoo - we would pluck tali leaves and grind that with shikakai to wash off the oil. If the leaves were not available, then the kanji starch from the previous night's rice was used with shikakai.

As I grew up, I had neither the time nor the inclination to look after my hair. In fact, I've never shared the common belief that long thick hair is an important aspect of female beauty. Maybe it's because I've never had long thick hair! My usual retort is that you can either grow grey cells, or you can grow your hair! And I usually conveniently point at my youngest sister, who is the brainy one in the family, and has short hair.

But at the age of 70, I became a little worried as I experienced severe hair fall. It was then that I spotted, in a Tamil magazine, a recipe for a hair oil that guaranteed dark, long hair. I've adapted that recipe to my needs, and now my hair care routine includes this oil. I do feel that the hair loss has stopped.

Here is how my recipe works:

In a pan, collect the following: shoeflower (you can use both the leaves and the flower - if you don't find the flower, just use leaves), fenugreek, curry leaves, pepper powder and cumin powder. Heat the ingredients until the leaves become a little dry.

Add coconut oil and heat over a low flame. When you see oil bubbling (usually a white froth forms), then switch off the flame.

Let the oil cool, preferably overnight. Strain and store in a cool place. Apply on your scalp 30 minutes before a shower.

The original recipe I saw in the magazine also had henna leaves in it. But I don't want my hair to change colour, so I don't use henna. Also, henna has cooling properties, and it's easy to catch a cold when oil is infused with henna.

Another aspect is the pan itself. Traditionally, a heavy iron pan is used for heating hair oil. The oil is left in the pan to cool overnight, it is believed that the iron reacts with the oil, adding some of its properties to the oil.

So now you have it - my secret recipe for hair care! If you do try it, let me know the results!

Finding the magic

On Saturday we went to this new club called Magic, in Worli.

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Very nice if you want a quiet sophisticated place for a couple of drinks after work. High ceilings, and tasteful decor. Cocktails were very decent, although my husband swears there was no alcohol in his Jack Daniels ("How come I'm still standing after so many rounds?!").

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The trouble with Magic is that after 10:30 p.m., the teeny-boppers take over and the music gets downright terrible. There were six of us, and not one of us liked the music. Admittedly, none of us were teenagers, but honestly, even teeny-boppers shouldn't have to put up with that kind of house music.

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By 11:30 we decided enough was enough, and made a quick escape to Worli Sea Face. There were several cars parked already, we found some space for ours. Families were out strolling, there were couples, and groups of friends. The pavement had been dug up. "Perhaps they're doing it up, like Marine Drive", said Rajeev.

There was a half-moon glimmering on the water. On the horizon, we saw ships, and a curve of land glittering with light. I clicked several photos, but none of them did any justice to the moon or the waves or the cityscape.

At midnight, a coffee vendor came along on a cycle.

"Kaunsa coffee hai?" asked Roopa. What coffee is this?

He showed her a branded sachet. "Instant hai", he said, in an accent that placed him firmly as a first generation migrant from UP.

He served us coffee in little plastic cups, at 5 rupees a cup. As he walked away wheeling his cycle and calling his wares, Roopa said in a very matter-of-fact way: "Kuch-na-kuch kaam dhoond lete hain sab". (Everyone finds one way or another to make a living). "Look at this guy, he's chosen to walk here at midnight selling coffee."