My Heroes of 3rd Dec - Chennai Floods

you can help in many ways depending on your ability and reach:
http://www.oneindia.com/india/chennai-rains-floods-help-know-what-where-how-to-donate-1945428.html


*****

I spent much of the 3rd Dec 2015 in T P Chatram. Here thousands of homes are submerged in water.

I have a new respect for Chennai and its people. While I am sure there are brighter stars in the universe, in my system these are the heroes who shone the brightest:

1. Rajesh and his friends - take the first spot. These unassuming half dozen friends just standing idly in the darkness at the (knee deep water submerged) street corner, jumped into action and led me with all the sincerity, alacrity and courtesy of professionals. Helped me identify homes with infants and helped deliver baby formula. Also helped me distribute fever meds, milk and candles.

2. Unknown individuals and unnamed NGO who were distributing food in T P Chatram at lunch time.

3. Sub-inspectors of T P Chatram police station who were helping with all the efforts and keeping order. They also were making jokes and keeping people smiling, agreed I did not understand any of the jokes in Tamil but I know for sure some of these jokes were on me.

4. Ambulance drivers who worked relentlessly and helped all, especially infants and elderly reach hospital from T P Chatram.

From the rest of the city,

5. The solid waste disposal vehicle operators and drivers.

6. Bus conductors and drivers who kept the city connected.

7. Auto drivers who were willing to go in the direction no one was taking me to for making my work possible.

Perhaps these people will not go in any other history, but in my books, they are heroes.

*****

Incentives and preferences:

All the people who I rubbed shoulder with yesterday were excellent people. But everyone, perhaps, had motivations other than philanthropy.

     Rajesh and his friends decided who will lead in which building based on who (of perhaps which girl) lives in that building, make a good impression. All the people employed by city and state, were perhaps working on orders of their superiors and were getting paid for it for sure. NGO workers were employees. Auto drivers charged way above the usual fares

But does that reduce our contribution to the efforts? Does that make the food they delivered less nutritious or the candles burn dimmer? 

I guess my lesson for the day was that what one does counts at the end of the day. Why you started doing it and what you got out of it, who knows?

The Mess

In the lunch time he is only one of the many boys who serve food at the New Andhra Mess, but this 19 year old is the master cook in the evening. He owns the show with his ability to make perfect round chapattis and dosas. His set-up is outside the small food joint, an invitation to the passers-by with the smell of cooking of the amazing combination of wheat flour and water that people like me miss in Chennai. 

I eat at the New Andhra Mess lunch and dinner, day in and day out, Rs. 50 a meal. Despite the description of my emotional need for Wheat rotis the decision to eat here all the time is a very rational one, based on a matrix analysis of cost and unquantifiables such as quality, taste, and accessibility.

When I arrived this particular evening, he greeted me with a wide grin and a hand to the forehead secular army like salute, something I greet everyone with, and a loud and clear Hello, sir!”

      We had a short personal interaction when he wanted some of his mobile phone setting changed and was unable to do so since he cannot read English. The mobile phone and English language literacy! Most phones manufacturers identify this issue, but not his phone’s manufacturer. Anyway if he saw me do it a few times and tried it a few times in my guidance he will remember it by sequence, the shape of first character and length of the word. But I digress.

      Point is, he knows me and we greet each other all the time.

This particular evening, after greeting me, he started asking me a question in Hindi an offer very difficult to turn down in Chennai! 

He was kneading a large ball of wheat as he asked me “aap kahan ke hain?” (Where are you from?) and offered his guesses: “Punjab? Delhi?”

"No, I am from Mumbai, my parents live there. But I was born in Gujarat." I replied and asked “Aap kahan se hain?” curious about his kind-of-Bengali-but-not-really accent.

"Main Odisha se hain,” he replied, and went on to offer me his derivation from all that he knew of me with a wide grin of bright and shiny approval, “Aap pakka Hindu hai, hai na?” (You are a staunch Hindu aren’t you?) Gujarat’s religious fanaticism fame has reached far and wide beyond the literacy gap.

"Oh no, I am a weak Muslim” I replied with a laugh, stating a useless fact in a light way.

But there was no reply. He was visibly crestfallen at this discovery. He looked down, his smile had set and shine was turned off. He did not say another word.

I said "talk to you later" and walked in to the New Andhra Mess.

That evening I ate a chapatti made by my Odishi friend. I have to admit that I had doubts if my cook knowingly soiled my food. Who is ordering what, is very clearly visible here. But I removed this doubt away ate two more chapattis in memory of my Gujarat.

When I had done eating slowly and thoughtfully, paying for the food, and washing my hands, I passed by him on my way out. I was not sure what to do, so I saluted him in my army sort of secular way, smiled my practiced smile and said a loud good night!

He was startled and mumbled something like "ok good bye."

I walked a few steps to my motorcycle which was parked close by and a few long seconds later, I heard a loud and clear “good night sir!” in what I now know is Odishi accent. I turned back and smiled a smile: a genuine one. He looked at me in the eyes and nodded with a faint smile.

He also had time to think. 

All is well for now in this complex micro-world of human encounters.

Haleem

On one of my numerous trips to Hyderabad, near Chanda Nagar for my work in Nov-Dec 2012, I saw an unusual and welcome sight. A topi clad person was sitting with dishes piled in a pyramid. In a reflex, without really processing it I had a craving for food that I describe as Muslim Indian food.

 

My concept of “muslim food” has nothing to do with religion, only the culture. These are special delights made by the muslims of India, and are different in different parts of the country but there are many common features. One of these features is that they are made by Muslim shop/joint owners! But I have eaten excellent Muslim food in food places I don’t describe as Muslim, where the religion and culture of the cook, owner is not important or is deliberately secular. One such place is the Coffee House in Thrissur, Kerala, where I have had excellent Curried Chicken and Chicken Biryani!

In the meanwhile, I asked this person what he was making and selling. He said he was selling haleem. I was happy beyond my dream. I have never had haleem in Hyderabad, but I have read poems written in its praise. And I have had haleem in other parts of the country, and thus knew enough to not waste even one more second. I sat down on one of the plastic chairs trying to contain my overflowing excitement, in this case via salivary ducks, and asked him to serve me one portion. 

Even as I watched he removed a lid and took something out of the ground! This left my mouth open. Given the excitement involving salivary gland, this has some undesired effects.

More precisely he took something out of a huge metal container which is encased in the large concrete block he was sitting on. As I cleaned my mouth with a handkerchief, I tried to form the words to ask “what is the meat?”

“Chicken” he responded.

Unusual for muslim food to have chicken instead of lamb or beef, but it is the most affordable meat nowadays. And all I care for is the wheat, lentils and spices anyway.

After gobbling down two platefuls of the amazing mix, I was full of haleem. 

In the small space between larger grains and in the air bubbles, I was full of pity. Pity for the unenlightened poor souls in our country and the world who have no idea what wonderful delight of civilization I was savouring. I burped a happy reflux of tasty haleem which created some space for creative though, and I decided to write about it.

To begin, let me describe what I just ate with near death excitement. 

When served, haleem looks like a orange yellow grainy mix sprinkled with crispy fried fine springs of onion, fresh and fragrant finely chopped green coriander leaves, and a yellow slice of juicy sour lemon. In most parts of the country the paste is fine with no identification whatsoever of the contents other that some whole spices such as cardamom, cinnamon, or cloves, that are meant to be taken out at the time of eating. In other parts the ingredients are left in slightly bigger grains that are well blended with the invisible meat. 

Before this once, wherever I had haleem, it was served out of thick walled, sometimes big, but always regular sized containers. I asked the topi-ed guy about the huge metal deg dug into the ground. And unearthed a story. 

 Father of this chap is the hero of this story. He started this business 21 years ago. Then people considered it shameful to sit outside and eat, and there weren't many people who would eat at his shop. But he persisted, he would cook for marriages and on large orders, and daily a good quantity in this very container. Slowly he taught the people of this area the idea of outsourcing the preparation of complicated and time consuming food items to experts who offer this service for a small premium. And his business took on. Many years later his brother-in-law who was more of a business man than him, offered to look after the growing business. The brother in law used his brand name to start many branches in other parts of the city as well. But the business partnership spelled a financial disaster for the original cook. When he passed away the brother-in-law decided to lay a claim on the whole business. Now the son of the original entrepreneur is left to runs this one small shop to make his living. 

A rather sad story behind great this exciting food. Excites some other glands  such as the tear duct. But don't let the story dishearten you, keep your heart and let the spicy fatty food like haleem do things to it. If you want to cook haleem, one recipe can be found here and another one here (video).

Read More:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haleem
http://www.deccanherald.com/content/183586/hyderabad-haleem-now-rs100-crore.html

Sangam Poetry

I had no idea this kind of poetry existed. I am so glad I am living far away from familiar! I just saw a Bharatnatyam performance which was performed on a Sangam poem. The performance was not spectacular, there was some discord between the performer and the mridanga player, but the poem was nice. The performer compared it to Haiku, but I find it too literal to be compared to Haiku. Nevertheless it was very beautiful. And I found the poem! Or so I think:

My father gave me fatty fish to dry,
and I spread it on the wide seashore,
rested in the sweet shade of the punnai tree
and chased the birds that tried to steal it.
My friends and I hung a thāzhai fiber rope swing
from the tall gnāzhal tree and played
on the salty shores where the red crabs dig deep holes
and the eastern winds create sand dunes.
We did kuravai dances together,
played on the white waves,
and wore beautiful skirts
made from many flowers and fresh leaves.
We were slandered by the terrible
gossip-monger ladies in this town
because we played often on these shores.
Mother heard their harsh words
and has imposed restrictions on me,
afraid that my lover
will ride in his chariot with beautiful horses
on the moon like white beach sand to see me
at any time of the day or night.
What can I do now?    

Translated by Vaidehi




Please visit the sources:
http://sangampoemsfordances.wordpress.com/
http://sangampoemsinenglish.wordpress.com/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sangam_literature
http://artsinsangamtamil.wordpress.com/