Aam Pora Sharbat / Aam Panna

Budhua awoke with a sense of doom. He opened his eyes and looked around. Still lying down, he looked around the small yet neat room that he called his home.
The roof of fresh hay looked very neat, filling the room with a warm cosy smell. Budhua marvelled at his handiwork. The walls are filled with diiferent hooks, on which hung his clothes and other little household things. At one end is a small kitchen that had the chulha, the water pot, some small wood pieces and a few kitchen utensils.

He got up, walked to the door of his house and looked out. Every morning he did this small ritual ... stood at his doorway and looked with pride and satisfaction at the decent patch of land that he had worked so hard to make his own. Small patches of different vegetables looked back at him happily ... the morning dew still fresh on them. Beyond them was a small water body that he had dug himself, that stored and held rain water. Yes, he has done a good job.

Budhua looked around once more before walking down to the small pond for his bath. On returning he offered some flowers to the banyan tree beside his hut and went to sit at the door.
The morning was warm. The birds that wake him early in the morning are all done with their jobs and slowly dissappearing. They won't come out until the evening cool sets in.



Waiting, Budhua felt restless. He was waiting for Moina.
The very thought of Moina made his heart miss a beat, and then beat rather fast to make up.
The most beautiful girl in the village, Moina had not shown any interest in Budhua just as the rest of the girls of the village did not. Living on the outskirts of the village all by himself, he had earned the reputation of a loner. And a good for nothing.
He did not know to deal with people well. Neither was he interested in them. So people let him be. They were not interested in knowing where he lived and what did he did for a living. And as his hut was after a small patch of jungle, nobody ventured there ... thus he lived in peace.

But his peace was disturbed last summer. Just like the rest of the village, he too had gone to have his bath in the river as his pond had dried up. A bunch of giggling girls crossed his path. Budhua knew he was handsome. With a strapping body and shiny black skin and hair, he stood tall over most village lads. Many parents would have wanted to give their daughter to him had they not ignored him as a fool.



But Budhua was no fool. He knew his quiet was his key to a peaceful life. Yet when he saw Moina among that group of girls near the river, he forgot everything. Time stood still for him. All he could remember was the huge dark eyes and the red Palash (Flame of the forest) flowers in her hair. Unlike the other girls, she had not laughed at him. Just looked at him with those huge eyes and then cast them down as she walked away.

It took him full three new moons to be able to talk to her. And to make her talk to him. And then one day he took her to show his hut and land.
"O ma! Eeta tur ghor?!" ( Is this really your house? )
"Haw, tur bhalo laigse?" ( Yes, did you like it?)
"Khuuub". ( Very much. )

One day, when they met at their usual riverside place, Budhua decided that it was time. While the sun painted the sky a fiery red on setting, he asked her " Tui amar shathe ghor baandhbi Moina? " ( Will you set up a home with me Moina? )
"Haw ... kintu amar baap?" ( Yes, but my father? )
"Ami taar shathe kotha koibo!" ( I will talk to him! )
"Na na, age ami koibo, tarpor tui". ( No, I'll speak to him first ).



Today Moina will come to tell him her father's verdict.

While waiting, he thought he will make something for her. No matter what the result is ... she was the one who would have to face the wrath of her father first. She deserved something good.

Budhua got up and went to the mango tree behind his hut. Selecting some good sized stones, he threw them at a couple of mangoes. A good marksman, he got them down in no time.
Going inside, he saw the embers of last night's fire had not yet died. He had forgotten to clean out the chulha in his worries. So threw in the mangoes to roast them a little. He would make Aam Pora Sharbat for Moina.

When the mangoes were cooked, he brought them out, skinned and mashed them well and strained the pulp with some water.
He then added a little salt, gur ( jaggery ) and some more water to it. He had some cumin seeds in a little bottle. Taking a little out, he crushed them on a flat stone and added it to the drink. And then set the bowl to cool on some wet sand kept at the corner.

There ... Moina will have a cool drink after her long walk in the sun.

Budhua again sat near the doorstep and kept gazing at the pond beyond his small green patch. And wondered if he will see Moina ever again. And worried. The sense of doom surrounded him again.
It was not uncommon for a man to like a girl and to want to spend the rest of his life with her.
What troubled him was he had chosen the most beautiful girl in the village.

The Morol's daughter.
Morol, the village head ... the most powerful man in the village.

For the first time in his life, Budhua wondered if he was a fool.




Aam Pora Sharbat ( Roasted Raw Mango Sharbat )

Need : ( I am not giving any measurements here as the taste will vary depending upon how sour , sweet or salty someone likes this sharbat. Ideally it has an equal balance of sweet and salty taste. And I usually make it in the MW and use sugar. )

Raw mangoes
Sugar
Salt
Roasted and crushed Jeera / Cumin Seeds
Drinking water

How to :

Wrap the mangoes in aluminium foil and roast them in an oven.

Alternatively you can pressure cook or pan boil them in a little water.

Or run them in the Microwave in 60% for 10 mins.

Remove and cool. Then skin and mash them into a fine pulp. You can also run a blender.

Remove into a big sized bowl and add sugar, salt to taste. Add enough water and chill.

Just before serving sprinkle some roasted jeera powder in a glassful.

Serve chilled.



Why does it have be a hot cuppa always? Go ahead and have a cool cuppa this summer! :-)

This is, for the very first time, my try at writing pure fiction ... spurred by the wonderful event Of Chalks and Chopsticks by Aquadaze co hosted by Sandeepa and Sra.

Off goes my story to Sandeepa who is hosting it this month.

Updated : Sending this to Srivalli's Thanda Mela too.

In the fast flying days, I forgot my blog's 2nd happy baarday. :-(
And did not even complete 200 posts. Not done. No excuses.

See ya'll around folks! TC !

A yarn from memories with Tarmujer Sharbat / Watermelon Juice

Two young girls. Just stepped out of the boundaries of school and into junior college. Both came from very different schools and family backgrounds. Both as different as chalk and cheese.

Yet.
They met. They talked. They liked each other. And became friends.
And with time, fast friends.

Both girls gelled into each other's families with ease and were treated just as the other daughter of the house. While S looked forward to the mutton dish cooked so lovingly by C's mom, C would often spend a night over at S's house during holidays ... easily a part of the huge gang of boisterous cousins.

Inspite of being a part of a big group of friends, there was a special bond between the two.
Both were a little idealistic and could never accept or justify anything wrong ... like bullying the old phuchkawala / panipuriwala by other girls ... who were ready to swipe a phuchka or two when the old man was busy with other customers.
Sometimes their serious academic discussions would spill over to young dreams of the future ... and what lay beyond the academic world ... and their sleepy little hilly town.



The college was just a block away from S's house. During the hot summer months, whenever they got a chance, they would walk down to her house for lunch and some rest and respite.

During summers, Tormujer Sharbat or Watermelon juice was a regular at her house. S's Ma would make them by the pitcherfuls and stock the fridge. Anybody coming in from the hot sun would get a couple of glassfuls of this soothing and simple drink. Sometimes it would have the tang of lemon and a slight salty taste, at other times plain and naturally sweet.

As soon as the girls would walk in, S's Ma would hand them a glass ... sometimes two.
The first time C came, she was offered a glass of this watermelon juice. She demurred and refused. S insisted. C again shook her head.
But S's Ma came along and said that she need not feel shy and go ahead and have the drink.

So it became a ritual. Inspite of C always hesitating a little before taking a glass, summer became synonymous to glassfuls of watermelon juice that both girls had many an afternoon all through their junior college days, sometimes when cramming for exams or when just yapping away about nothing. :-)



Cut to adulthood.

S, just married, is visiting home. C, married a while back and staying in the same town has come over to meet her ... just as she did every time S was home for vacations.
A lot of water has flown under the bridge. Both girls now know life from a very different plane. And so naturally love to reminisce about the olden days.

Both go "Remember when we ...", "Remember when that girl ...", "Remember ..." ... and so on.

And C says "Remember how we used to walk down in the hot sun just to prove we were all grown up and do not need rickshaws or cars to drop us?"
"Yeah", S makes a face. "How I wish we were not so stupid. It would have saved us all that agony over tanned faces and arms".
Both laugh out loud.

Then C says " Remember how we had to have those BIG glasses of watermelon juice everyday?"
"Yeah", S makes a face again. "How I hated it!"
"What ??!"
"I just hated it."
"Whaat???!"
"Yes, I hate watermelon juice."

"What?!" C, looking flabbergasted and laughing at the same time, asks.
"What whaat? "
"If you did not like it, why did you drink it ... everyday?!" ... C asks.
"Because you used to be so shy ... if I did not drink it, you wouldn't too. "
"But aunty? She knew?!"
"Yes, but she saw it a good chance to get some of that into me ... so never said anything", S says.

"Whaaat!?" C says again.
"Now what?"
"Why did you not tell me that you hated it?"
"Why?"
"Coz I hate watermelon juice too!"
"Whaaaaat?!!"
"Yes. And I had it because you used to drink it up like a good girl and I would get aunty's glares!".

Both friends stare at each other for a while. And then burst out laughing. And go on laughing ... it took quite a while for them to soak in the whole thing. :-)


S and C are still fast friends. And never forget to offer each other a glass of watermelon juice when the other is visiting ... which of course is declined ... but not before a lot of exaggerated shocked looks, rolling of eyes and laughter. :-)



And whenever S makes watermelon juice now , a smile crosses her face when she thinks of those two young friends, happily enduring something they so dislike ... just so that the other is not deprived of it.

This simple Tormujer Sharbat or Watermelon juice is my saviour these days ... as am not allowed to eat or drink a whole lot of stuff.

Am sending this no frills glassful to this wonderful event going on ...
Of Chalks and Chopsticks by Aquadaze

... co-hosted by Sandeepa and Sra.

I hardly take part in events, but when unique ones like this are around, could not resist the temptation to be a part of it.



Need :

Watermelon, cut into biggish pieces

How to :

Run the pieces of watermelon in a juicer.

Serve chilled.

If possible, freeze some juice and add to the glassfuls when serving. It is better than adding plain ice cubes ... on melting does not make the juice watery.

You can also add a few drops of lemon juice and a very little pinch od salt for a different taste.

Sometimes a slight taste of ginger ( run a piece of fresh ginger with the fruit in the juicer) also gives a wonderful flavour to this juice.


And on a parting note, I thank all of you who have cared to stop by and leave good wishes for me here ... and also those who have regularly mailed me and have been anxious to know about my well being.

It is indeed heartenening to see so many lurkers delurk and so many non bloggers concerned about me.

I am still not fully well ... and still a lot of restrictions in diet. And still in pain ... albeit a lot less than before. So it will be a while before I can be back here ... though am considering making a post once in a while ... anything to get my mind off this trouble.

Till then ... thanks again folks ... and keep in touch.
Love ya all !! :-)

Aamras

Ever since I have started to blog I have been going thru a lot of other blogs ... enjoying recipes and writings, picking up certain things, learning all about events or just plain how to go about. Almost every blog has something written on Briana. Briana has been diagonised with cancer. And she is putting up a brave fight. Just look here for everything about Bri .

Learning about her has kind of shaken me.So much of difficulties, not to mention physical trauma....and so much courage.I may not know her ... but she is a person .. and needs people by her now.And so many people are rooting for her.I too felt like doing something ,however small. So took faltering steps .. visited Bee and Jai's Jugalbandi site, read up about Click and decided to send in an entry.


I maybe new here .. but one thing I have learnt ...if I need to know about something ... all I need is to ask. Delhibelle helped me with some usefull pointers and jugalbandi too replied to my queries.
Am no great photographer...but am trying. The colour for this month is Yellow .. for Bri. I decided what better than a mango. It is summer ... and the king of fruits is right here with us. Yellow at its purest form.... straight from nature....for Bri. No additives ....no other interventions.

We look forward to the torturous summers of India just to enjoy the king of fruits. Just as its colour and sweetness fill people with happiness , this Aamras is for Bri ...bright,colourful and sweet. Just as we wish all of Bri's days be filled with. And prayers for her health go with this too.
Get well soon Bri.

Aam ras : Take ripe mangoes of any variety. Peel and cut into chunks and churn in a blender.