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Dec
05

Myar Gaon ka Bhaddu

The best food of my life I had was, what my Granny used to prepare. My mother’s village was cooler than my father’s village and nature had further blessed it with exotic flora and fauna.

Our arrival was greeted with great warmth and un matched cuisine which consisted of Urad Dal cooked over slow fire in a special pot called ” Bhaddu” and Rice.

Please share better picture of Bhaddu if you have one :)

During course of education and work I travelled far and remote places but the taste of that Dal still is above everything. How the Dal use to be steaming hot and rice just the right ? I had once asked her. My Naani told me one day with a spark in her eyes that she would hear the sound of 10 O clock “Gate” (Gate was referred to time of arrival of Buses at a particular Time) and would start preparing meals. I enquired of what happened on days when we could not make it in time (My father was in Army and it was not un common for him to proceed on journey a day later than he had announced, Mobile phone were still not invented). My Naani did not speak a word but I could see the moistness in her eyes.

I was later told by one of the “Bodis” that she would prepare the same food every day, from the announced date of our arrival till the date we actually arrived. Now, I realize that the recipe of her cuisine was not fresh Dal, coarse spices or Bhaddu but the expectation of our coming which filled her with unbelievable zeal. I happened to visit her alone after a couple of day later she was a caricature of her earlier days. But the frail Naani did not disappoint me even that time also and I had my self satiated with indulging food once again.

Our encounter with hills began to dwindle and so did our memories of Naani but my mother told after some time that Naani does not cook the same way as she used to do. Now the food prepared by her was nothing but raw salt and boiled water. Perhaps she was too tired of waiting for 10 clock gate. Her week eyes were still strong to see that we all were so busy in our worlds and in our own ways. She still would stand and look up where once the solitary sound of Bus hooters had been dwarfed by noise of deafening sound of vehicles.
She happened to visit us in Delhi shortly before she breathed her last. She did not volunteer to cook and we also did not ask for it. The poor lady left after a week or so and I heard of her demise after a month.

Before going she only said “Khub Bhalu bani Baba, nani tayi na bhuli” she went away and along with her has gone the aroma of her love and care. The poor Naani perhaps wanted me to come to her one more time, but could not say so.

Now, perhaps I realize that there is Naani waiting for us to come by 10 O cloack gate and looking up in expectation for us to come back. Waking up early, waiting for that 10 oclock gate and retiring in the hope that her beloved ones would perhaps come next day. That Bhaddu still baking on fire waiting for us……

  • Vikas Bisht

    Its not Bhaddu its Taula…

    the lower utensil called bhaddu & upper one is luttya

  • Cookie Vagabond

    That’s true, its not Bhaddu. Thanks Vikas for correcting this, as per my knowledge its close to PHUCHETU where we used to wash kali urad daal in diwali. Just remembered today on the occasion of diwali. Happy Diwali

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