Ever since I was a kid, and well into teenage, then college and now as a 30 year old grown-up (sad, I know), weekends have had this lovely relaxing quality to them. O come on, you'd say. Weekends are supposed to be relaxing, why would you say like you discovered that. Yeah, I know, but I'm just gonna run with it and describe my idea of a perfect weekend here, Ok? Ok.
So, on a Saturday or a Sunday morning, as kids, its wake up and get dressed (we used to despise that in the joint family, and hence ended up giving up ablutions on weekends altogether when we moved to a different city in a nucelar family). Then it would be the wholesome Sunday programming that would start with Rangoli, have Jungle Book, TaleSpin, Duck Tales (all in Hindi) and that's the peak. We would switch off the TV as soon as the Spirit of Unity Concerts used to come up. Although we should've seen those. Would've put some more culture into our heads, no?
And then, it was 12 o clock and time for lunch. The anticipation of food started right around Jungle Book, with frequent visits to the kitchen to see what was brewing and those lovely smells. O sweet and sour Gujarati tuver ni daal, I can write poems about you. Or the simple tindora-nu-shaak or the tindora nu sukku (dry) athanu (pickle) to accompany it. And as we started eating, there would garam garam rotli with ghee all over it served right into our plates. Bliss that was, I tell you. No fancy mithai this and samosa that. We were all healthy eaters and there wouldn't be any of that unhealthy fried nonsense at meals. Nono, not even on weekends. That was reserved only for special occassions, like birthdays. A birthday should be celebrated with a Sheera or a Basundi or some other such thing along with Dhokla (the white ones, again poem-worth) and green chutney. The simple culinary delights of the Gujarati kitchen are manifold. On a tangent, not that there weren't any sweets in the household on weekends. Its just that they were those dry sweets which are stored in dabbas. Like adadiya or golpapdi or chikki or some other such delightful treat. They were around pretty much every day, owing to our family's weakness for the sweet stuff.
Well, so that was when we were kids, and then we grew up (why why why!?!?!?!) and moved out of home. Even so, this need for good relaxing food on weekends stayed. Be it the regular Sunday visits to Bhojan or Rajdhani or Atitthi (I think that was the name of the underground place we used to go to on 18th June road which closed down later) in Goa for lunch or even now, the visits to Taaj for idli, dosa and putu in Liberia now for Sunday brunch, coz sadly you don't get Gujarati thali here. And, Taaj has closed down. What could be more sad?
Oh, and then weekends, they should not just be about food. They should be about wholesome family entertainment as well. Like watching a Golmaal, or a Chupke Chupke or a few episodes of Mind Your Language along with people you love and having one of those gala times laughing your guts out.
Sitting right here, in Liberia, devoid of any and all entertainment and nary a Gujarati Thali in sight, we reminisce, and pray that this singular happiness of the childhood weekend can be recreated. Soon.
So, on a Saturday or a Sunday morning, as kids, its wake up and get dressed (we used to despise that in the joint family, and hence ended up giving up ablutions on weekends altogether when we moved to a different city in a nucelar family). Then it would be the wholesome Sunday programming that would start with Rangoli, have Jungle Book, TaleSpin, Duck Tales (all in Hindi) and that's the peak. We would switch off the TV as soon as the Spirit of Unity Concerts used to come up. Although we should've seen those. Would've put some more culture into our heads, no?
And then, it was 12 o clock and time for lunch. The anticipation of food started right around Jungle Book, with frequent visits to the kitchen to see what was brewing and those lovely smells. O sweet and sour Gujarati tuver ni daal, I can write poems about you. Or the simple tindora-nu-shaak or the tindora nu sukku (dry) athanu (pickle) to accompany it. And as we started eating, there would garam garam rotli with ghee all over it served right into our plates. Bliss that was, I tell you. No fancy mithai this and samosa that. We were all healthy eaters and there wouldn't be any of that unhealthy fried nonsense at meals. Nono, not even on weekends. That was reserved only for special occassions, like birthdays. A birthday should be celebrated with a Sheera or a Basundi or some other such thing along with Dhokla (the white ones, again poem-worth) and green chutney. The simple culinary delights of the Gujarati kitchen are manifold. On a tangent, not that there weren't any sweets in the household on weekends. Its just that they were those dry sweets which are stored in dabbas. Like adadiya or golpapdi or chikki or some other such delightful treat. They were around pretty much every day, owing to our family's weakness for the sweet stuff.
Well, so that was when we were kids, and then we grew up (why why why!?!?!?!) and moved out of home. Even so, this need for good relaxing food on weekends stayed. Be it the regular Sunday visits to Bhojan or Rajdhani or Atitthi (I think that was the name of the underground place we used to go to on 18th June road which closed down later) in Goa for lunch or even now, the visits to Taaj for idli, dosa and putu in Liberia now for Sunday brunch, coz sadly you don't get Gujarati thali here. And, Taaj has closed down. What could be more sad?
Oh, and then weekends, they should not just be about food. They should be about wholesome family entertainment as well. Like watching a Golmaal, or a Chupke Chupke or a few episodes of Mind Your Language along with people you love and having one of those gala times laughing your guts out.
Sitting right here, in Liberia, devoid of any and all entertainment and nary a Gujarati Thali in sight, we reminisce, and pray that this singular happiness of the childhood weekend can be recreated. Soon.
1 comment:
It was called Shravan, the basement joint opposite the Saraswati building in Panaji. You didn't have to be a Gujju to think of these places. But then, there are many of such watering holes across the towns and cities of India which have been lost in the gusty winds of change.
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