Postcards from Kerala - Day 3

We were still at Coconut Lagoon, Vembanad Lake. This is the 6:00 a.m. kalaripayattu practice session we watched. There was much groaning from Pramod and Marco at having to wake up early but they did it.

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The martial arts performance was interesting. There were warm-up exercises first (a Japanese couple who were watching this with us participated in the warm-ups, but we didn't). After warm-ups, the two kalari practitioners demonstrated several fighting techniques and moves, using hands, sticks, knives, swords etc. Many of the moves are long intricate sequences - and several of them require very high jumps into the air.

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I dragged Pramod and Marco to a 7:00 a.m. pre-breakfast birdwatching session. We saw 31 species of birds in an hour's time. I was very pleased because this is the breeding and nesting season, so I could see breeding plumages of several birds which I had not seen before. The two men suffered in stoic silence.
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We took a smaller boat and went for an hour's cruise on the narrower lanes of the backwaters. It took us past small villages. Every house on the banks of the river had little steps leading to the water. Little kids were bathing in the river, their mothers were washing clothes or doing the dishes and keeping an eye on the kids. Many men, women and children were fishing with simple sticks for rods - we guessed the afternoon's catch would be cooked and eaten for dinner.

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Private plunge pool at our villa. Perfect way to end the day.

Postcards from Kerala - Day 2

Two days at Coconut Lagoon, on the banks of the glorious Vembanad Lake.

Our first sight of the lake - so big it looks like the sea! From this jetty, we took a boat to the resort.

Houseboat ride on the lake - the 'must do' Vembanad experience. As you cruise, the views are incredible - beautiful waterbirds fly past the boat, the water slaps against the wooden hull, and the breeze lulls you to sleep.

Lunch inside the houseboat - catch of the day (karimeen fry), sambar, poduthual, bitter-gourd fry, rice, yoghurt, papadam and pickle. A most delicious meal, cooked on board by the friendly crew. I fell asleep on the wooden bench, listening to the sound of the waves.

Postcards from Kerala - Day 1

Four magical days in Kerala. Deepa, Pramod and Marco.

Here's Day 1, at Marari Beach Resort, Alleppey.

The beach was private and very quiet. There was a security guard who walked the stretch - maybe because the sea was a little rough and they wanted to keep an eye on the few guests who were in the water.

The three of us spent some time sitting under the tree - but soon realised it was better to sleep! So we got ourselves some beach towels and spent a blissful 45 minutes snoozing under the tree. I saw a kite flying overhead.

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Pramod and I wake up - and a classic Bollywood pose is born!

My kitchen knives

- By Deepa Krishnan

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When I first set up my kitchen, I bought a set of five steel knives from an upscale lifestyle store. There was a lovely chunky wooden holder (you know, the light coloured wood that you see in Scandinavian furniture?). The knives sat snugly in it. The darn thing caught my fancy.

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I brought the knives and the holder home, and set it up on the kitchen counter. When the sun streamed through the window, the knife handles gleamed satisfactorily. Ah, Deepa, I told myself - you have quite the modern kitchen!

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Five years have gone by now - and guess what - the knives are still sitting in the holder. We don't use them at all! Instead, my maids prefer these - the 10 rupee handmade knives from Zaveri Bazaar.

These knives are made by hand. A blade is inserted into a wooden holder, and bound with thin wire. The blade is then sharpened on a grinding stone. The nicer, bigger ones cost twenty rupees.

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It's not just my maids who love these knives - I do too. They are excellent for slicing vegetables; and even the trickiest tomato is no trouble at all. I think it's because the blade is really thin and flexible. T-chak! T-chick! In minutes the carrots and beans are all neatly sliced!

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My food-writer friend Rushina is a big fan of these knives too. I remember a couple of years ago, I was walking in Bhuleshwar with her and she said, "Deepa, you know, these are really great for vegetable carving." That's when I bought these for the first time, and now I'm hooked.

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The knives are incredibly sharp when you buy them. But they lose the sharpness in a couple of months, because they're really thin knives and I don't think the metal is high quality. When we've used them for a couple of months, we take them back to the knife guy, and have him sharpen them again.

In spite of the need for sharpening, they're really lovely to use, and we've switched over completely to these. Next time you're in Zaveri Bazaar, or at your local market, buy yourself one of these. Oh, and if you need to see how sharp the knife is, ask them to demonstrate that neat paper-slicing thing they do! It's fun to watch!

This khus thing

- by Deepa Krishnan

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Just opposite Mangaldas Market, under the shadow of the Jama Masjid, there's a little attar shop. My friend Shoba wanted to buy sandal extract, so I went along with her to have a look.

I have never bought attar in my life - actually, I've never bought any perfume at all, apart from the mandatory deo - so I was a complete novice. Shoba seemed to know what she was doing though, so I stood quietly watching while she talked to the shop owner.

He was young and good looking - and with the kind of acquiline face and glossy black hair that belonged in the movies. Once he figured we were really going to buy something, he warmed to us and gave me a tiny smile for my camera.

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While Shoba tried different extracts and essences, I tried to read the labels on the crystal decanters. What interesting names they had - Jannatul Firdose, Kasturi, Estanbul Gulab, Black Musk, Tea Rose, Mogra, Majmua, Ajab...

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The one that interested me was a dark coloured liquid on the back row - Ruh Khus, or Soul of Vetiver.

I know what khus is - have you seen it? It is a sort of long aromatic grass. We've got khus incense sticks at home - the smell is woody and smoky. For those who are not big fans of floral essences (like me!), Indian vetiver or khus is a good alternative.

Khus is widely used in India, and not just in perfumes. In the summer months, it is woven into mats, and hung on the doorways of houses to keep the sun away. Water is sprinkled on the mats, and when the breeze blows through it, it keeps the house cool and fragrant.

The most interesting thing I've read recently about khus is how the Konkan Railway has used it to safeguard the rail track against soil erosion and mudslides.

The Konkan Railway runs between Bombay and Goa, on the foothills of the Western Ghats. Of the 740 kms they cover, one-third of the route has been either tunnelled or cut through the hills. There's also heavy rainfall here in the monsoons, so keeping the tracks clear of mudslides is critical.

On the Konkan Railway website, they've actually written two pages of stuff explaining why they picked vetiver for their embankments:

1) It is easily available all over India.

2) It is cheap and easy to establish as a hedge.

3) It can be easily maintained at little cost.

4) It withstands wide range of climates – from 300 - 6000 mm rainfall and from 15 - 55 degrees temperature. Moreover, it can withstand long and sustained drought for more than six months.

5) It is totally free of pests and disease, and does not serve as an intermediate host for pests or disease of other plants.

6) Its strong fibrous root system penetrates and binds the soil upto 3m depth.

7) It is perennial and requires minimal maintenance.

8) Over a period of time it helps in changing the PH of the soil from about 2 to 8 i.e. from acidic to alkaline.

OK, I'm thoroughly impressed! Not just with khus itself, but also with the Konkan Railway (just when you think everything is going downhill with the government, you find out they're doing some very cool stuff).

Anyway - I'm off now - I'm going to get some vetiver for my home garden!

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