The Karelฤ Story
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(originally posted May 2023)
The (soon
to be) sensational / viral / counterfactual WhatsCrapp forwards reminded
me of my own salad days. Again. As most of the crowd here knows, we
were molded gently but firmly by Sr Carmella who toiled valiantly for a
major part of her wakeful hours working patiently with whatever
mis-shapen lumps of clay she was given, us the inmates primates
semi-literates.
Outside
the perimeters of the prison zoo pathshฤlฤ / vidyฤlayฤ / escuelฤ,
we were mostly left alone under the watchful gaze and the benevolent
dictatorship of our moms and other Auntie ji's such as Babul's mom, mashi mฤ. The neighborhood dad's and assorted unkills, etc. made
occasional family appearances from behind the daily broadsheet when
report cards were brought home or a decision was needed involving larger
sums greater than ten rupees.
In
those days, there was only one landline, which was installed at our
household among the five on our lane. It was to be used for only the
vital and most important communication by all the five families, mostly
for incoming long-distance news. No teens could or would occupy the
phone for hours. Their counterparts just didn't have phones, so there
were no issues. No one just called our neighborhood grocery stores.
There was delivery by a physical flipcart, not via any app, but only for an emergency. One usually went in
person to the brick'n'mortar Bholฤ's dokฤn for the occasional miscellaneous items and to Sharmฤ Groceries for the monthly staples, with a small wad of bills and
with (but often without) a list meticulously prepared (but left behind).
Usually accompanied by our household help Subhฤn to help carry the
groceries back, the multiple sturdy, homemade jholฤ's on his bike's
handlebars, in the front basket, the connecting bar and on its rear
carrier. On those occasions when the list had been forgotten at home
(oops), Subhฤn (apparently his real name was Sohan but he had
escaped the clutches of his first wife in his native Nepali village and
changed his name along the way) came to rescue - he had a phenomenal
memory and awareness of stock levels of different staples at home while I
could only regale people with useful Information like how the phoreners did not use water to clean themselves after the daily...
ahem... you know.
The
daily meal planning, especially the curries, were a big... nay, huge
topic of discussion between the adults. Usually, the kids were not asked
nor encouraged to provide any input. Adults firmly believed in the adage that "Children should be seen, not heard." The only times we were to express ourselves in front of adults were to recite a poem, produce a recent artwork or perform some other trick on demand when Sharmฤ ji unkill (not the one with the grocery store, the one with a child prodigy beta or beti) and Sharmฤ Auntie ji came to visit, like the sideshow bandar (monkey) who accompanied itenerant madฤri and his mesmerizing damru.
Those were the days before
refrigerators. All vegetables (and chicken or meats for Babul's family,
ours was a vegetarian household) were bought daily during the morning
walk of the main bhadralok of the household whose primary
responsibility (according to themselves) was to provide the freshest
seasonal vegetables of the best quality for their household at the
lowest cost. All KPIs were considered - Vitamins, Minerals, Taste, Freshness, Quality, Quantity, Rarity. And the intense Price negotiations between the bhadralok and the sabji wallฤ.
Much energy
was devoted in the anticipation of and after this morning
meander-through-the- sabji bazฤr exercise (and I am sure during the
grand bargaining there). Discussions afterward covered wide-ranging
topics like freshness, quality, price, taste, and variety; about desi khฤd, cow gobar vs. chemical fertilizers (poison!); horrible degradation in godowns and
other mass storage of vitamin and mineral content; of curative,
preventive, palliative, and enhancements properties for human mind and
body provided by fresh roots, tubers, bark, shoots, leaves, tubers,
vines, fruits, etc. etc. This, mind you, was loooong before WhatsCrapp!
Later,
more often than not, quiet daily corrections were made to these morning
purchases by the moms to supplement the items procured earlier, based
on actual quantity and variety needed for the upcoming meal. That was
when some of the sabji wฤllฤs and their pushcarts made their way through
our lane going from door to door. Any leftover food from previous meals
was given away to them and to household helpers and panhandlers.
Most
of the vegetables available during the different seasons were quite OK
for me since I was not a picky eater. Except during summertime. Two
despicable green veggies made their dreaded appearance simultaneously - parwal / patal and karelฤ. Both had hard seeds that I abhorred, and
thick skins with pulp consistency and texture that me gag...I will
only mention the bitter wart-skinned karelฤ today leaving the smooth-skinned,
slimy parwal for perhaps a future note.
There
seemed to be 32,000 different variations of karelฤ that would make my
mealtimes a misery during those summer days. I skip with horror the
mention of a certain neighborhood bhadralok who extolled the virtues
of having his daily karelฤ juice which Shri Chromedome claimed was the
secret to his impressive mustachio, his paunch washboard stomach, his
kidney function, his GI tract, leading to his... regularity with #1 ... and
#2. (International flyers, please take note)
Reflecting
back, however and armed with the newly learned wisdom from Mrs YT (who
is extremely talented in aventurฤs cocina matching my extreme
cluelessness), there are typically only 3 such verifiable karelฤ
preparations, not 32,000.
The first is to take this infernal bitter green little monster, chop it up into
discs and fry 'em to a crispy crunchy char till any vitamins and nutrients were obliterated but bitterness is apparently not (yes, I know now there
is some citrus stuff that can help). The second is a somewhat mushy curry,
as much as it is possible to cook the thick karelฤ skin in some liquid
gravy while retaining its structural integrity and bitterness. The
third is what is know as bharvฤ karelฤ (stuffed karelฤ), hollowed out and
filled with nuts, fruits and its seedy pulp, all sweet and nutty... and
bitter. If memory serves right, none of the three methods left any
oh-so-happy thoughts in my mouth nor on my mind.
Also,
at least on one large multi-family, semi-formal gathering held on our
lawn one summer, multiple children emulated yours truly by stashing away
most of their karelฤ dish behind the conveniently available nearest
bushes, potted plants and palm trees. Our gardener who tended the lawn
and kept it in immaculate shape was not a happy camper the next morning.
His prize roses were wearing discarded, smelly goop covering the
blooms, the decorative potted plants had been used as trash cans and the
mulch around the tall, shapely palm trees as ungainly karelฤ compost
pile. He and the other kids ratted me out, and our moms were
collectively furious at us. I believe some unkind and discouraging words
were heard by all kids that day. My leadership was not appreciated by
any of the Auntie ji's, my friends nor my mom. Sigh.
"It may be your karelฤ story, it is not our karelฤ story," (mis)quoting a certain Mr S. Tharoor. Thanks for the inspiration.
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