Free of 'Cost'...


Sahil woke up stretching his body. He knew it was 3 in the afternoon and he still had no mood of getting out of the bed. After all, you rarely take a 7 day off from work and he knew this one was important. He had to disclose the fairly colossal fact that he was in love, to his parents, before they started looking for a girl for him. He loved being in a second tier city of the country – they were comfortably eased out about daily routines, still there were branded showrooms, there was a perfect blend of history and future and there was less traffic above all. But there were certain things that also disturbed him about these cities – the conventional and middle-of-the-road thinking of people, which pulled India back every now and then.

He dragged himself to the washroom and washed himself up. He wore the stupidest clothes he could lay hands upon. It was still time for his dad to return home so he could probably wile away this time in Playstation games or some other stuff which he rarely got to do during his working days back in Mumbai.
 He was about to barge into the living room to meet his mom, when he heard voices from other side of the door.
“Sarita, your son is such a grown up now... It is time you get a daughter-in-law now...”
Sahil immediately knew it was one of the aunties from the colony. The aunties who criticized each other behind backs and became extra sugary in front of each other, they could actually play the diplomatic official between India and Pakistan. But he realized, there was more than one. He could count 4 aunties other than his mom, from the voices that came from the living room.
“Of course! She is right, Sarita. What are you doing, sitting at home all day at such a crucial time? It is time you make a free account on shaadi.com ...” Sahil knew it was the auntie from the red house, 4th from the left end of the colony. She always bargained for free tomatoes from the vegetable vendor.

“And oh! Our Sahil is an IIT-ian, Sarita...” And here went the “our” Sahil. “You should charge at least Rs. 50 lakhs this time.”
This sentence woke him up all of a sudden and all his loaf and laze flew away in a jiffy. His ears almost stood up in attention. After all not every day you are charged in the marketplace of Indian marriages!

“You have only one son... you should definitely not miss this opportunity. It is time you take a trip abroad...” One of the two horribly fat aunties said and they all guffawed like it was the best joke ever.
“C’mon Gauri ji, 50 lakhs is not the right price for our Sahil... It should rather be 50 lakhs and a car at least, I would say. If I had a daughter, I would give that without a second thought for a man like Sahil.” Another one said with pride and smugness in her voice.  Sahil could not contain any longer. He banged open the door and barged into the living room obstinately in embarrassingly low shorts and a black vest.

“Sorry Auntie, but I couldn’t help overhearing your remark about my dowry...”
“Dowry? What dowry?” The auntie he had addressed interrupted him looking aghast as if he had insulted her character. “We are not such kind of people.”
“Oh, then I must have heard wrong... your remark about me deserving to get Rs. 50 lakhs and a car...”
That is not dowry, my son... That is what you are worth... We are not asking for a car. The girl’s father will give it himself if he is not a shameless person, we can just tell him our preference of the brand...”
“Excuse me!” Now it was Sahil’s turn to interrupt. “You really think that is what, I cleared IIT for... FYI, oh sorry, for you information, I earn 45 lakhs per annum and I can pretty much buy my own car.”

All the aunties now looked at him. He had suddenly gained everybody’ attention with his lack of guile and forthrightness. “I have had close friends who are girls and I have sisters in my family... I would kill that ass ... umm... whatever... huh!”
His anger had no boundaries. He knew this evil was deep rooted in the country, but he never knew he would witness it ever. He felt disoriented suddenly. Looking at his heavy breathing and uncivilized attire, the aunties got up and bid farewell. His mother looked at him after everyone was gone and thankfully not with anger.

“Mom, I love a girl...” He said as she was clearing the table. She suddenly stopped and looked at him as if she had expected this already.
“Who is she?”
“Garima S**** ... works with me in Mumbai. Her father is an executive director in an MNC and her mother works with an investment bank. She is an MBA from Australia.” He tried giving the maximum details in one sentence.
“So, she is a...”
“Yes mom... she is not of the same surname, same caste, same gotra, same familial roots... But she is exactly who I want to be with all my life, and I don’t think anything else should matter.”
“I don’t know... this will never be accepted in your father’s family. There will be an outrage; I never wanted to lower my eyes because of you...”

“Do you really care?” Sahil said holding his mom lovingly and looking into her eyes. “I will be happy all my life... I would not have cared even if the same girl was from a different religion”
“Yeah, this is the problem with your generation. Is this the result of your high-fi education? Is this for what we spent so much money on your education?”  She sounded close to tears.
“Look mom...”
“No... Just ask your dad... You will know his reaction...”
“I will mom... I love you guys... and I am sure he will understand...”
“What? That you are going against the family tradition... that you will be destroying the respect and image that we built in all these years. You are just disillusioned by the shine of a metropolitan.”

“No mom... what are you talking about? I really want to do this and not just for myself, but for the good that I will be doing as a youngster of this country. Do you realize, mom, that how deep rooted this problem of dowry is? Did you look at what those aunties were saying? I will never be demanding a single penny from the girl’s parents. I will prefer having a marriage with 50 people rather than spending someone else’s money for my marriage. I will never hesitate in raising a daughter. I will be a proud father of a princess, by God’s grace. I will never be making my wife feel guilty for not having extracted money from her parents or not having demanded n number of sarees from her parents for my extended family. I will be ashamed to drive a car which I will get by exploiting a father. Think about it, mom. Please. This is my chance of playing my part in building of a stronger nation, free of these evils.”

Sahil’s mom looked at him. She had a feeling that her son was on his way to join politics. She just nodded and went back to her task of clearing the table.  Sahil, however, did not give up. He continued with convincing his mom for the rest of the evening. He felt tired with the discussion and conferred the task of disclosing the ‘news’ to his dad, to his mother. He had his dinner mostly in silence, where his mom kept thinking about the fury and insult she will have to face and he kept pondering over the reaction of his father. He had imagined everything ranging from a slap to being thrown out of the house.
He went off to his bed with the hope of meeting his dad in the morning at the breakfast table. He dozed off with the thoughts of his future life and a simple smile on his face.

Next morning, he woke up to an eerie silence. He went to the dining table almost shivering where he knew his dad would already know about the news and will be ready with his reaction. Although Sahil was very confident about his feelings and absolutely clear about his thoughts. His dad looked over his newspaper at his son and continued with his cereal cynically. This scared him even more. He sat down on the chair opposite to him, out of the reach of his hands. Nervously he said, “Morning dad!”
His dad folded his newspaper and looked straight into his eyes.

“So, Am I invited to the bachelor’s party, dude? After all you are doing your part for the country; give me a chance to do mine...” His dad said with a smile and a wink.

***

Supreme Court of India says that inter caste 

marriages will 

remove the difference of our society.








The Plausible Solution...


I am an Indian... and although I don't believe in geographical boundaries, but a Rajasthani at that. I say that because we are a blessed race. We have awesome things selling at every nook and corner of our state, called by the name kachori. Most of my food connoisseur friends will vouch for that and so will my aching stomach. This amazing, mouth watering snack is supposed to have originated in the state of Rajasthan and so we make it best! :D ... Yeah, I am bragging a little here but who won't, when he has seen people almost fighting their lives away to get hold of a piece at the halwaai stores. These stores promote a healthy and unbiased environment where people getting down from a Mercedes behave in the same way as the people on bicycles - it is heart touching to see the cultural, social, economical biases going away in a flash! 

I just contributed towards our economic growth by stuffing myself with 2 onion kachoris. I paid for them, and increased the money flow in our nation.
Maybe someone never thought of it, but this amazing snack is a solution to all the world problems, but sadly, only if we could have kachoris made in every street around the globe. The world would be such a better place. First things first, it will promote vegetarianism, and thus solve many of the equilibrium problems. Also, as soon as the fried kachori comes in the hands of the achiever, they start gorging on it immediately. So, no paper/plastic plates are used and thus it promotes a healthy environment, at the most old newspaper cut outs are used which again encourage recycling. Moreover, the white and black, rich and poor, wealthy and humble, everyone stands in the same queue to get their hold on these gram flour/moong daal manifestations. Thus, it helps solve the problem of racism, discrimination and cultural biases. 

Also, too much of deep fried food causes impotency and thus more kachoris in the world can help us curb the evil of population explosion. Instead of useless and bulky schemes that government devises, it should work on distribution of kachoris across the nation to each and every living soul. Maybe Anna Hazare should have opted to send a packet of kachoris to 10 Janpath, and the magic of this enslaving snack could have helped passing Lokpal Bill. Also, terrorists across the globe should be sent huge amounts of kachoris as a peace message and this scrumptious meal would have helped us get rid of terror forever.

On advantages of kachori, I could write volumes... but it is better to close it now. However, the need of the hour for the governments around the world is definitely to open more and more halwai stores in every area, which will also solve the problem of unemployment. May peace and kachoris prevail! May we have a healthier world!





I close with the recipe of this amazing snack – ... :)


Preparation Time: 15 mins
Cooking Time: 30 mins
Makes 12 servings

Ingredients

For The Dough (crust)
2 cups plain flour (maida)
1/4 cup
 melted ghee
1/2 tsp
 salt

For The Filling
1/2 cup yellow moong dal (split yellow gram),
soaked for 4 hours
1 tsp
 cumin seeds (jeera)
1/4 tsp
 asafoetida (hing)
1 tsp
 ginger-green chilli paste
1 tsp
 chilli powder
1 tsp
 garam masala
1 tbsp
 dried mango powder (amchur)
2 tbsp
 besan (bengal gram flour)
3 tbsp
 oil
salt to taste

Other Ingredients
oil for deep-frying
Method 
For the dough (crust)

1.    Combine all the ingredients and knead into a semi-soft dough using enough water. Knead very well for 5 to 7 minutes.
2.    Divide the dough into 12 equal parts and keep covered under a wet muslin cloth.

For the filling

1.    Drain the soaked moong dal. Heat the oil in a pan and add the cumin seeds and asafoetida.
2.    When the seeds crackle, add the drained moong dal and sauté for a few seconds.
3.    Add the ginger-green chilli paste, chilli powder, garam masala, amchur powder, gram flour and salt and stir for 5 to 7 minutes till the masalas are cooked.
4.    Cool and divide into 12 equal portions. Shape each portion into an even sized round and keep aside.

How to proceed

1.    Roll out each portion of the dough into a 50 mm. (2") diameter circle.
2.    Place one portion of the filling mixture in the centre of the rolled dough circle.
3.    Surround the filling mixture with the dough by slowly stretching it over the filling mixture.
4.    Seal the ends tightly and remove any excess dough.
5.    Roll each filled portion into a 62 mm. (2½") diameter circle taking care to ensure that the filling does not spill out.
6.    Gently press the centre of the kachori with your thumb.
7.    Repeat with the remaining dough and filling to make 11 more kachoris.
8.    Deep fry the kachoris in hot oil over a slow flame till golden brown on both sides. The kachoris should puff up like puris. These take a long time to fry as the crust is thick and needs to be cooked on the inside also.
9.    Cool and keep aside or store in an air-tight container.


The 'Drops' of Nostalgia

Its been raining for a couple of days now... And when you live in a desert area like Rajasthan, that statement means a lot. When you get up early in the morning and unlike usual sunny days with sun rays obstinately peeping into your room through the window, there is darkness... a beautiful serenity and there is sound of raindrops pit-patting on the windows. You get up lazily and look outside the window. The roads are being washed clean, little streams of water are flowing down the narrow colony lanes, not a single person in sight except for romantic-natured people in their balconies sipping a cup of hot tea with fresh crispy pakodas. You might hear cheery cries of a few little kids on their small tricycles and bicycles that once decorated your porch too. You take a deep breath only to get your nostrils filled with the amazing tar-damp smell of wet sand and rain, which you want to lick. You see above almost in a conversation with God, and see the thunders and lightening pummelling the embrittled clouds... Stretching yourself, you move into your own balcony for a little stroll. Its drizzling beautifully. Fresh. Pure. Divine.

You look down at the road. Puddles here and there. And you see yourself, actually... an 8-year yourself, jumping wildly into those puddles splashing water all around. Sometimes, playing that marble game with your group of young friends, competing together as to whose marble will tip on the water more than once. Maybe, bicycle riding, cutting across the small water screams on the sides of the road, to see the water beautifully splashing and raising your feet high above. Or probably, a game of wet-cricket (of course, It's India!) with risky chances of slipping while taking a run. Or maybe, going to school in a bus, when rain is pounding the window panes, and you would dim the window with your breath and write your name... When you would paddle across the school ground with your friends like a flotilla of little ducks...
Sometimes, returning home, with feet all dirty with mud and dirt, and for a change, not getting scolded at all. After all, its monsoon!

A Season everyone looks forward to...  a season that cheers up everyone... a season that encourages moms to cook delightfully "different" fancy meals...  a season that makes the dads come back home earlier than usual... a season when siblings adorn the house terraces with self invented games... a season when groups of youngsters are found at the most happening places...

Its a monsoon evening... darker than it should be at 4 p.m. ... an evening when work might take a back seat... an evening that inspires you to do something that YOU like... an evening which brings me back to writing a blog post... :)

It couldn't be better... Happy Monsoons! :)