Preamble: I took this up as a project for NaNoWriMo. Our writing community had a great setup for this. Carve out morning time to write-write-write. I had it all worked out. Of course, life happened. I could not complete heck even begin writing this. So I extended it saying ‘lets-try-to-finish-it-this-year-Y’ trying to meet the Dec 2022 timeline. Becoming a non-believer in traditional start/end of the year at a specific date so if I can’t publish it this year, no biggie!
I have been thinking of writing about this for a while. Having witnessed a generation of better-than-average, love to cook, and resourceful home cooks. Of course, talking about aaji, aai, and mavshis.
*And not talking about friends’ moms, friends and acquaintances. Strangely most people who identify as men in my family cook only when the situation calls for it. Unfortunately.
One of my fondest childhood memories is my aaji (maternal grandmother) cooking for us. Whenever we visited she would churn out something basic but tasteful in nick of time. Whether it was a 4 hour visit or 4 days, she would always have something up her sleeve. Her sabudana khichdi, pithla, and kadhi were my favorites. One of the enduring memories of childhood is reaching Aaji’s home during the evening. She would put up some khichadi and pithla as a quick fix for us. Feeding 9-10 people instead of the usual 4-5 was a task for anyone running a home kitchen. She would also throw in some home made papad, सांडगी, dried mirchi to this meal. It wasnt really what you would make for guests. But we werent really guests. It was home. That meal was home.
Her kadhi. My aai would say it’s the buttermilk you get in her town that lent the kadhi its rich taste. I would like to believe it’s the used pans, pots, and years of eyeballing every minor ingredient that made the kadhi so mind-blowing every time. You could never have just one bowl of it. A minimum of 2 bowls to declare your meal innings! Even today that smell of hing, Mohri, methi, jeera, kadi patta tadka transports me to aaji’s kitchen every time kadhi is on the menu.
My aaji cooked as long as she could and I can remember. She was pretty clever and it showed in her traditional, day-to-day cooking. I guess cooking for large(er) families with limited access to resources must have made her so too? Legend has it that she even taught her daughter-in-law (my mami) to cook. My mami entered aaji’s house as someone who had not even seen the kitchen in her pre-marriage life and under aaji’s tutelage is now one of the forebearers of family cooking traditions. Makes me wonder how these women truly were the carriers of cultures and traditions through a largely undocumented history of familial cooking. All my skepticism toward – how cooking or the expectation to cook is also what binds most women (needlessly?) to gender roles – aside (But its not about this).
As one of their oldest grandkids, growing up, I have spent quite a lot of summer and winter (Diwali) vacations at my grandparent’s home. My parents thought I wasnt used to staying away from home at all so this was supposed to be great character building. So some of these visits used to feel forced to me. I would protest of course, but I was a kid, I wasnt calling the shots. So that’s that. Thankfully my grandparents were warm and nice people so my initial protests and tantrums would be forgotten in their house. (ok once I threw such a tantrum (I was 8-9 then) that my parents had to take me back the same day. To my credit I havent had to pull another one like that yet).
Anywho theirs was a home with a tiled, tall roof, and an आंगण with a small garden of plants and bushes lined by its sides at the entrance. There was also a narrow, side passage that ran along the house that connected the front yard to the backside. There were two side entrances that opened in this passage. Running amok through the passage, entering the house from these doors and giving my grandfather hell by knocking over things and people was one of our favorite sport back then.
On those visits, most days there was nothing much to do so I would either end up reading or hovering around aaji in the kitchen or backyard where they had an earthen चूल. In aaji’s kitchen I learnt how to make पोळी, observe her pots and pans, and learnt (reluctantly) how its bad luck to stand in the kitchen and stare when अनारसे are being fried. In winter the चूल was a coveted spot for warmth and many chances to play and experiment with embers. We would sit with aajoba and stoke the fire, learn how to roast वांगे, tomato, potato, कान्दा, papad, and what have you on those embers.
And this brings me to the family heritage we have received from Aaji. I dont know if every family has this. But there is usually a particular dish cooked a particular way that becomes a family heirloom of sorts. Sometimes it can be as elaborate as a biryani and other times it can be a simple khichdi.
Introducing मिसळीची bhakri – as its known as in our family circles. It is a black urad + jwari bhakri. This bhakri is usually had in winters as its a little heavy to digest.
The bhakri with thecha, vangyacha bharit, kadhi, koshimbir is a meal that Aaji used to make. Just the mention is enough to evoke nostalgia, hunger (alas not having it tonight), and memories of sitting together in anticipation to share that meal. The end meal is so damn unique and tasty every time that I cannot remember a single time I wasnt excited about having it. Ok! during 2020 my stomach developed a weird intolerance to this flour so I reduced the frequency but could never give up on this bhakri. My (sometimes) uptight Baba who grew up in a different part of India still hasn’t fully embraced it, but I am so glad that Aai continued cooking this inheritance and passed it on to us. When we were younger my brother and I would fight over who will eat more bhakri if it were on the menu. We would come up with all sorts of games and contests to to win that extra share of bhakri. Amongst the two of us. Yes kids are lame.
Every winter there would be a package containing the flour (a kilo or two maybe) delivered to our house. Through whoever was visiting our part of the city. My aai also followed this tradition and would send us a small batch of this flour every winter if we could not visit her. Until recently. Now as a reluctant grown up I know how to make this flour so cannot really depend on the mothership.
When I stepped away from home to study, it was my first real, prolonged encounter with people from other parts of Maharashtra. As someone in a new place/setting/surrounding does, I would of course try to find common, relatable things with other people. I found a lot of commonalities, made a lot of friends over those, but no one had heard of this bhakri. I mean bhakri is such an integral part of the maharashtrian meal. My heart would sink at the non-familiar reactions people would give. From what I know Aaji grew up in Mahrashtra, the farthest away from home she had traveled to was Mumbai that too well into her middle age. Who taught her how to make this bhakri? Did she invent this? Was it some secret that only Aaji knew that she passed on to her next generation? I never got the answers to these questions because I never asked her. When I asked Aai her response was ‘we have always had it.’ When I dug deeper it changed to ‘Maybe aaji did invent this.’*
*This bhakri is also made in some parts of northern Maharashtra. Someone once showed a familiar reaction and I immediately asked them more questions and can confirm that this isnt a unique to aaji as I would like to believe. Its just less popular.
The typical ratio to make this flour is 1:1 i.e. 1 kg jwari to 1 kg whole black urad dal. Aai also puts some methi seeds and black chana to the mix making it true multi-grain flour! This flour results in a sticky dough so you need to develop patience to work with it. Once done I usually roll them out like chapati and roast on tawa and direct flame to get that lovely char on the edges. If I am lucky it also plops like a fulka. Accompanying this is thecha – make it your way and adjust the chilli level to your needs. I like it medium hot to hot. As there is kadhi to offset the kick of the mirchi. Vangyacha bharit tastes good with this. If you have fresh, tender radish and other greens then cut them as a basic salad to add more fiber to the plate. Et Voila!
This is such an indivisible part of our lives and winters that I carried this flour with me to Amsterdam when I was visiting my brother, a couple of years ago. The joy of cooking this away from home along with the shared meal is unparalleled.
Aaji, Aajoba are no longer alive. Both passed away more than 10 years ago. The house is no longer there. In retrospect, its such a small part of my life that I spent there. It isnt much. But the time spent in those formative years soaking in that warmth continues to stay with me. Defying all time travel odds 🙂
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