Mango-mango everywhere :P

As I have told in my earlier post, how Holi time reminds me of home made delicacies. The main snack that is prepared for Holi in states of Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan, Bihar, New Delhi, Haryana, and Madhya Pradesh is Gujiya. After I came to the US, for first few years I missed eating Gujiya on Holi. Although, Gujiya was not always my favorite thing to eat during Holi and I had always thought that this famous snack is little over rated. But as one only realize the importance of something after going afar, same happened to me. Therefore,  one year I asked my mom to ship me some from India. The package that reached me had gujiyas, which were not whole pieces but were a perfect harmonious mixture of broken outer crispy cover and inside filling. I was happy with that too, as honestly I had no other option. And, then one day I decided, now that I am an independent young girl and have managed to live by my own pretty well ;), I should make gujiya by myself, and also I had no other ways of eating gujiya. 

Finally,  in the year 2012 around Holi,  I bought khoya (reduced milk solids) from the Indian store and made gujiya. This was my first attempt at making gujiya and although they didn't turn out to be perfect and were little hard to eat, they were still manageable and delicious. 

I used wrong proportions of oil and flour and that was the mistake. The same happened the following year, but 2014 brought a smile and better cooking sense and the gujiya I made turned out perfect. (Below the post I have shared the recipe).

This year in 2016, I wanted to do a notch more and hence decided to do something different along with Gujiya. Last year I made mathri (fried crispy snack). My husband and son loooooooove Kulfi (Indian milk based popsicles), therefore, I decided I will make kulfi. Early last year my husband and I followed Indian version of master chef and in one of the episodes participants were asked to make mango boondi. I was intrigued by that thing as it was also mentioned that boondi were not the traditional fried besan boondi (fried crispy little chick pea flour pearls used in yogurt based side dish or are sweetened to make sweets) while the boondi spherification was done using cold oil. From over a year I was looking for the recipe and was trying to find how mango boondi is made.

Finally, after googling with different search dimensions and names, I found out that mango boondi that was shown on that show is basically mango caviar (Recipe is towards the end). Making any kind of artificial caviar from fruit juice is a technique of molecular gastronomy. Please don't ask me anymore about it, as I am not a molecular gastronomy expert, I am actually just a poor molecular biologist. Anyhow, so I found the recipe and luckily I also happened to have a can of alphanso mango pulp. 

I found agar agar powder at Asian store close by and was all set to make mango caviar to top the Kulfi. It was an awesome idea and recipe didn't look too difficult. There were few things I didn't realize, such as; the mango pulp can was big in size around of one kg, recipe had juice which is lighter in weight in comparison to pulp, I didn't pay attention that I had to cool the mix before dripping pearls in cold oil, I should have done my first experiment in small quantity, and that I should have had large amount of cold oil in order to make mango caviar from one kg of pulp. 

And, I ended making up a mango mess in my kitchen. I tried working with hot mango pulp boiled with agar and it resulted in mango pulp spill everywhere, on the floor, on the counter, on the cooking top, spluttered on the microwave, and on my clothes. I emerged out of all that and started the process of dripping slightly colder mix in cold oil and was happy when little drops were settling in the cold oil. To my horror when I sieved the oil through a strainer, instead of finding beautiful pearls, I found one big mass of mango jello at the bottom. Although oil was cold, but pulp was still very hot and little heavier than regular juice. 

Finally, I asked my husband for help, because I still had more than half of the mix left. He and I started dropping mango mix in oil using droppers, and as it always happen this way, all the mango pearls dropped by my husband in cold oil turned out to be perfect mango caviar. That was the only one cup worth mango caviar that turned out perfect and gave my husband an extra reason to gloat for the rest of the evening. We still had 1/3 mix left and it was already cold and was already in jello form. I still didn't accept defeat and cut that jello into small square bits to use as topping on kulfi. 

This is my delicious and beautiful mango caviar :).

The good part in the whole mess was, that all the mango pulp spill was jelled and it was pretty easy to clean it afterwards. Altogether, it still was a good experience and a learning event. My friends and family played holi at the end of that week and enjoyed gujiya and kulfi. It was all together a good time and rest as always are only details ;).

Recipes:

Gujiya:

2 Cups of all purpose flour

Oil to mix in dough and frying

1 lb of khoya

2 tablespoon sooji

and sugar according to taste

Mix as much oil in flour as to make sure that when you hold flour in your fist, flour should not slip in between the fingers (this is important, as without this much oil gujiya doesn't turn out crispy), nor it should be in dough form. After that mix water to make a smooth dough. 

On the other side, slowly roast khoya in a pan on slow flame and sooji in another pan on slow flame. Combine both things and add sugar to the mix.

make small balls out of dough and roll them in a little thin circle. Keep some khoya mix in the middle and fold the flat disc in half and seal the ends. 

dry the raw gujiyas in between two paper towels. 

This dough yielded into 20 gujiyas for me (in two I filled snack mix, as I was out of khoya mix :P).

Fry the dumplings in hot oil on medium flame and then enjoy.

Store gujiya at room temperature.

Mango caviar (based on my experience)

Keep oil for getting cold in the freezer for atleast 4 hours.

take mango pulp (any kind) and mix agar agar to it (quantity based on the package instructions). Boil the mix for  5 minutes and let mix get colder (not a lot but tolerable cold). Use a dropper to drop this mix in cold oil. Strain to remove oil and wash the mango pearls with water. Store this mango caviar in water in the fridge.

Mohe Rang De! (Color me)

As the name suggests, this post is about Holi. Holi is the spring festival of India. Like any other festival, this festival is practiced to celebrate the victory of good over evil. In India, all the festivals that are celebrated in any culture are associated not only with the season but also with an old story or a legend. And as usual, all the stories pretty much ends with the victory of good over evil. Also, as India is a diverse country, stories related to one festival are often little different from each other in different regions or its the same story but with different characters or version. The story behind Holi that I have learned while I was growing up is the most popular version. 

"There was once a devotee of Lord Vishnu (One of the supreme god among the three supreme gods or Trimurti of Hinduism) known as bhakt (disciple) Prahlad. Prahlad's father, Hrinyakashyap was an asura (demon in human form). Prahlad was told not to worship Lord Vishnu and was punished often for doing the same. When there was no stopping Prahlad, his father asked his sister Holika to burn Prahlad alive to punish him. Holika was blessed with a boon that she can not be burnt or in short she was fireproof. A big pyre was arranged and Holika sat in the middle of it with Prahlad in her lap. When pyre caught fire, the blessing backfired and Prahlad came out alive from the fire while Holika was burnt to ashes."

The moral of the story was: Evil (Hrinyakashyap and Holika) was defeated and good (Prahlad) survived. And to honor the legend Holi is celebrated in the Hindu community in all over India. Holi got its name from Holika. From many days before Holi people in the neighboring community start collecting tree branches and fallen leaves at one common designated place to make a holy pyre. Holi is celebrated in two days. On day 1 of festival people go and worship and do some rituals at the pyre. Rituals include offering cow dung cakes and other flammable things to the pyre. At night or early morning next day that is day 2 of the festival, the pyre is burnt and most of the people in the community go there to attend the ceremony. This is known as Holika Dahan (burning of Holika in the form of that pyre). In my culture, people take fresh barley stalks with them and roast the grain in that fire. After roasting barley people go to friends and relatives houses to wish them Holi and exchange roasted barley as a small customary Holi gift or offering. The guests who come to house with roasted barley are offered Holi delicacies. And after that, the main festivities starts, which is playing colors. 

Holi is my most favorite festival. I like it even better than Diwali. For me, Holi is the news of spring, it is welcome to heat and bye-bye to cold, it is the time of year when we stop taking bath with hot water and start using regular tap water (Yes, in North hot water is used to take bath in winters only), it is the time to get crazy and play colors with family and friends,  it is the time to eat all kind of Holi delicacies (In my family festival associated delicacies are made around Holi and not around Diwali), and flying kites (honestly could never learnt it, but enjoyed seeing my brother flying kites and competing with neighbors). In my region Holi is also the festival or an occasion to make amends with friends and family.

When I was a kid, on the first day of Holi my brother and I use to accompany my mom to the holy pyre for prayer rituals. On that day, my mom used to make garlands of nuts and candies for my brother and me, which we use to hang around our neck and walk with our mom to pyre and back. After coming back home we would break those garlands and collect chocolates, candies, and nuts out of them and enjoy them. Rest of the day was fun because it was off from school. My brother used to fly kites for the rest of the day and I use to hang out with him up at the roof and tried my level best to learn to fly a kite. In India, flying a kite is a sport which is played with neighbor kids. The sport is to cut other's kite thread with your kite thread. The trick is to cut their threads by looping your kite's thread around theirs. For that purpose, sharp glass coated threads are used to tie to the kites. Up high in the sky one never knew which kite belonged to which individual or even if one knows that person, it is only the kite flying high in the sky which mattered. It was fun to watch people trying cutting each other's kites. That day meal was also festival associated meal such as; puri, chhole, kheer, different curries and much more.

The second day we use to wake up early in the morning when my mamaji (Mother's brother) would come to our house to meet and greet Holi with roasted barley. After that other people would also start coming to our house to greet Holi to us. It was my amma (father's mother) who use to go to pyre to roast barley for the family accompanied with Munshi Chacha (please refer to my early post). As soon as the sun was fully visible the color play would start. Early on when we were kids we use to play colors with our cousins and later on when my sisters got married, their husbands would visit us especially to play Holi. Holi didn't only include playing colors but it also meant whole house, especially central courtyard and all walls around it to get colored too. There was one thing which was done in my family every year with no exception and it was to soak palash/tesu ke phool (flame-of-the-forest flowers) in the water on the first day of Holi and let them rest for the whole night so that tesu's color will seep into the water. We use to play Holi mainly with that water as it was natural and non-toxic. But that doesn't mean we didn't use store bought, toxic, unhealthy, chemical laden colors. Oh yaa, we did and loved it, which often would result in causing blisters on our skin, but who cared.

After playing Holi we would take a bath and remove colors from our skin as much as possible, but there was always a lot left and no one cared. The house used to get deep cleaned and we would eat comfort food for lunch. And, after that everyone would take a long nap because everyone use to be tired after a short night sleep and lots of fun. Later in the evening, the whole family used to go to my mamaji's house for Holi party. And, that was the end of fun-filled two days of Holi. I still remember Holi as I have played it yesterday. Up to this day I love Holi and here in the US if I can't arrange colors I just play with water with whoever I can trap in playing Holi with me. I guess festivals is the time when I miss my country the most even more than my family. I do miss playing Holi with family but what I miss the most is the whole atmosphere around us during the festivals. How everyone is preparing for festivals and markets are full of particular festival associated products. Festivals are in the air in India. I miss you my watan (country), my motherland. 

Next post is about all the delicacies associated with Holi, wait for it... it is going to be legendaaaaaaary!

*I would like to mention that whatever I have written about the legend or the rituals is strictly limited to me and to what I have learned and seen while I was growing up. I don't have the authority to comment on Holi or legends associated with it. And also whatever I have written might be wrong for some people or different from what other people know or practice. Therefore, please enjoy this post as an anecdote of my life and not as a post about the festival. 

I do or I don't, I will or I won't!

In my last post, I tried not to make people emotional or overwhelmed, but I failed drastically. Therefore, in this post, I am determined to make people smile or may even manage out a laugh. Now, before I go ahead I want to make some disclaimers, the following views are totally my views with no intention to judge anyone's culture or make fun of. This post is based on my upbringing, little rules I learned as a kid, and my mental blocks about certain things. I am not talking about the religion I brought up in or some family secret. I only want to mention few rules, which makes sense sometimes and don't make any sense at all other times. These are the rules which I think I have inhaled in my body while I was growing up, and now they are a part of my body's cell and tissue and I don't think so I can ever get rid of them. I am going to mention some small sweet rules I followed willingly or unwillingly along with my possible reasoning, the level of persuasion (ranging from mildly strict to very strict), and my current status of whether I follow them or not. Let's begin:

1. "Do not touch broom with your foot": This rule first, because this is the rule I never break, in fact, I should say I can't break it at all. Whenever anyone touches broom with the foot for the purpose of moving it or tossing it around, eeiiiish is the only sound comes out of my mouth. This is I guess the biggest mental block I have. If I ever accidentally touched a broom with my foot, my mom would make me touch the broom with my forehead to give it proper respect (I promise I am not kidding).

How strict it is: Very strict
Mummy's reasoning: Goddess Lakshmi (Goddess of wealth) resides in the broom. 
Possible origin: Indian brooms are mostly made of stiff grass (soft broom used for dusting) and coco broom made of coconut known as seekh jhaadu (for heavy duty work like cleaning porch or washing floor). Now a days there are non-natural material brooms are also available in the market but they are not as functional as the natural material ones. In past, when I guess this rule was made brooms made of natural material were available only,  and if one would accidentally touch broom with bare feet, they may have got hurt by the stiff grass. Also medical facilities were not great as today. 

Soft Broom(phool jhadu) Seekh Jhadu

The possible link to Goddess Lakshmi could be because using a broom to clean house will lead to clean house and fewer diseases and thus more wealth. 
Do I follow it: Yes, definitely. I don't believe in the reason but I do follow it. I have a big mental block regarding this.
Do I force my family to do the same: Oh yaa, they have to follow this rule too, at least in front of me.

2."Do not wash or cut hair on Thursday": Any Indian reading thing would totally be able to relate to this. Because in each city or state, there is one particular day which is considered unlucky to wash hair. My husband's family do not wash hair on Saturday. My mom would yell at me if I ever washed my hair on Thursday. I use to forget it sometimes and thus the consequences. Even beauty parlors in Aligarh (my home town) are closed on Thursdays because no one goes for a hair cut or anything related to hair to parlors on Thursdays.

How strict it is: Very strict
Mummy's reasoning: Washing hair is unlucky and does not bring wealth and prosperity in the family.
Possible origin: Shampoo originated in India and is the anglicized word for Champi or champoo (Hair massage). Indian women have always been known for long hair and for oiling and cleaning them. I guess people made rules like these to save water which is used to clean long hair, at least, one day in a week. And every region over the period chose their own day.
Do I follow it: Yes, definitely. I don't believe in the reason but I do follow it. Especially after coming to the USA, when no one was there to reprimand for this, I started following rules :D.
Do I force my family to do the same: No, I don't force them for this rule, my son is free to do what he wants, but I sometimes force my husband to follow the rule, just to mess with him ;).

3. "Butter the particular side of roti": Ok, this is something not every Indian can relate to. Roti or Chapati is an unleavened Indian bread that is cooked in a skillet and puffed on direct flame. Roti is not a staple food of all Indians and is mostly eaten in northern and western states of India. The way roti is cooked is; whole wheat dough's small balls are rolled out in thin flat circular bread (like tortillas) and is then transferred to hot skillet. The reason I am mentioning the way of making bread is because in my family the side of bread which touches skillet first is buttered after roti is cooked. One might be wondering how important it can be, then let me tell you it is very important that which side is buttered. In fact, in the family like mine, the cooking skills of a new daughter-in-law can be judged on this basis. While, in my husband's family the roti is buttered on the opposite side, which he claims is the right side.




How strict it is: Very strict
Mummy's reasoning: None! It is just the right way to do it.
Possible origin:  I have no clue. 
Do I follow it: Yes, definitely. I have a big mental block regarding this.
Do I force my family to do the same: Oh yaa, they have to follow this rule too, at least in front of me. And just to spite me, my husband does the opposite :(.

4. "Don't keep shoes upside down": While growing up, we were always told not to keep shoes upside down and, if possible, to not stack them on top of each other. Also, if someone has left their shoes upside down, my mom always encouraged us to make it right.

How strict it is: We were not yelled for this, but were always encouraged to do it.
Mummy's reasoning: None! It is just the right way to do it.
Possible origin:  Shoes kept upside down look really ugly, I think that's why it is practiced. 
Do I follow it: Yes, definitely. I have a big mental block regarding this. I have such a big mental block that if I see some stranger's shoes left upside down in front of a temple, I just go ahead and straighten them hahahhaha, Yes I am a total crazy person.
Do I force my family to do the same: Oh yaa, they have to follow this rule too.

5. "Do not cut nails at night": We were always told not to cut nails at night.

How strict it is: We will not be yelled for this, but were always encouraged to do it.
Mummy's reasoning: Devils cut their nails at night.
Possible origin:  In past people didn't have electricity and if they would cut nails at night, there was a chance of getting hurt while cutting nails and of accidentally stepping on cut nails.
Do I follow it: Nope, I don't care about this rule anymore.
Do I force my family to do the same: None, I am a very relaxed wife and a mom ;).

6. "Do not eat, drink, sleep, or broom at twilight": The twilight time is an inauspicious time of the day and is the time when for positivity lamps are lit in front of god (In Hinduism gods are worshiped in idol form). We were always discouraged from eating, drinking, sleep, or broom at that time.

How strict it is: We will not be yelled for this, but were always encouraged to do it.
Mummy's reasoning: Because the time is inauspicious, and also it is associated with the Hindu legend of Narasimha and Prahlad (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narasimha)
Possible origin:  I don't know and can't even guess. May be sleeping at that time, makes it harder to sleep later at night.
Do I follow it: Yes, definitely. I have a big mental block regarding this at least about sleeping at this time. Rest about eating, drinking, or cleaning, I don't care much about doing all those at this time. I don't believe in the legend or twilight being an inauspicious time, but some habits are hard to break.
Do I force my family to do the same: I try suggesting them not to sleep at this time. I am able to stop my husband, but it is difficult to make 2.5 years old not to take a nap when he wants to. When my son will grow old, I will also discourage him to sleep at that time.

7. "Do not sit on chaukhat (The door frames)": We were always told not to do so, and later it became a habit.

How strict it is: It was something we grew up with and it became a habit for us. Also, we never felt like doing it. 
Mummy's reasoning: It is also associated with the Hindu legend of Narasimha and Prahlad.
Possible origin:  I don't know, may be because, sitting on the door frame blocks the passage. Or, may be if one is sitting on the floor right below the door frame, there are chances of frame falling on the head.
Do I follow it: As I said earlier, some habits are hard to break.
Do I force my family to do the same: Yup, I guess I will make my family learn the same thing.

These are the only few rules I can think of right now. Please feel free to correct me and please share some of yours in the comments below. I would love to make them a part of this post. Bye for now, will post something interesting later!

Maan: Part 2

Plain medium-length braid, straight black hair parted in the middle, partition always filled with red sindoor (Vermillion; red color powder used by married women in India) was the all time hair style of my mom. On a few occasions, she would make hair bun out of her braid, but from the front, her hair remained the same style forever. Round face, broad forehead, small stubby  nose, small mouth, thin lips (no lipstick at home and lightly applied magenta lipstick for outings; ranged from visiting someone, going to  market or attend a wedding), round chin with a dimple in the middle, chubby cheeks, double chin, and the world's most beautiful and biggest sized eyes. Her eyes were the most beautiful part of her face. She always wore red slightly big size bindi* in the middle of her eyebrows on her forehead. She used to wear fancy designer bindis while attending weddings or other parties, but after crossing age 40 she stopped doing that and wore a simple red bindi. This is the look of my mom that was never changing. The only thing changed in day to day life was the colors of saree she wore. Her extensive makeup for big parties was also limited to face cream, bindi, and magenta lipstick (same brand, same type, the lipstick appeared green but after application it changed into magenta color). Her only beauty parlor visits may have been once in two years for an occasional facial. With limited makeup, no parlor visits, my mom was still the most beautiful woman in the entire family. We sisters were often told, that none of us (all six of us) look even close to what she looked in her young age. Still with many pounds up in weight due to medicines and no activity because of asthma, she aged gracefully and was pretty in every sense.

Mummy was an exceptionally talented homemaker, she was a skilled seamstress, knitter, embroiderer, dancer and singer (folk singing and dancing in family gatherings), and a marvelous cook. I never got an opportunity to eat anything cooked by her, as she was mostly ill when I was growing up. She was famous in her family for playing dholak (two-headed hand drum). In short she was versatile and had many talents. Some of us sisters have some of her qualities and some have none, but none of us has all the qualities my mom had. Among everything, mummy loved to knit sweaters for us, for factory workers, for pretty much everyone she knew. We grew up wearing her knitted sweaters, but with changing fashions and market sweater charms, we stopped wearing them and mummy stopped making them for us. She would take old sweaters (a year or two years old) and reuse the wool to make sweaters for the domestic help working for us. That way sweaters were not kept unused for years, the wool was used and poor lads get to wear hand knitted warm sweaters for winters. Out of all, Munshi Chacha got the most sweaters from my mom. I am pretty sure he must have at least one left with him even now. She got the charm of making sweaters again when my nieces and nephews were born, but eventually stopped it altogether because of failing health and discomfort from the wool lint. When I came to the USA I missed my mom and her sweaters so much that I asked her to knit one for me in my last visit to India before she passed away. It took her only two days to knit me a sweater and I don't use it anymore because I am scared of damaging it and losing a last thread connected with my mom. 

There are a  few other things of hers I have saved; her old mobile phone (the keypad still has her sindoor in it), her wallet, her one pair of slippers, and my countless memories of her. One of my sisters has also saved a little pickle made by her. Things like these and thousands of memories are what keeps her alive among us. If I continue to write about her, it will take me 100s of blogs to cover everything; that's why I am writing the two most important memories here in this blog. Her love was endless is doubtless, but these memories are the reason of what I am today and how I shaped myself. 

I did my schooling from Aligarh Muslim University senior secondary school. The school was part of a big educational wing, which had girls' high school (US 10th grade), secondary school (US high school), and women's college. The whole complex had two entrances on opposite sides of this huge area. On one side was the famous Amir Nisha (that's a topic of entirely new blog ;)) also called as lal diggi wala gate and the other gate opened on Marris Road. On the opposite side of Marris Road gate was the infamous Quality Snack shop, which was a little food junction. The shop was small; therefore, the owner had set a few tables outside of the shop and customers would stand there and eat. The reason it was infamous especially in my family and friend circle is that it was widely known or rumored that boys come to that shop to check out girls coming out of school gates and if a boy and a girl are standing there and eating they must be dating each other. Dating without permission or betrothal in India is a complete no no, especially in small traditional cities like my hometown.  So going to that shop by myself was a big no no and with a friend who is a boy is like bringing shame to my entire family. Once I was very hungry and had very little time to spare between two classes and didn't pack any food with me. So I decided to go to this Quality shop and get some food for me and instead of bringing that food back to college, I ended up eating it by myself at one of the outside tables there at the shop only. I promise I was standing alone. And, obviously, that was the day my brother happened to cross from there and saw me at that infamous food shop. He came home and complained straight to my mom, my sister also got agitated and started fueling the fire. Mummy looked at me and I simply said, "Mom if you trust me, you don't have to ask me anything but if you don't then whatever I say will make no difference, but please trust me I didn't do anything wrong". Mom heard what I said and didn't question or say anything to me (that left my brother and sister infuriated; hahah on their face). That's how much she trusted me, and that's the reason I stopped myself at least 8 out of 10 times from doing something which she would not have approved, and that's what I feel has made me a better person.

The second memory is: As I have mentioned so many times mummy was ill most of the time, and thus one my sisters has always helped mummy in taking care of all household responsibilities. After my older sisters were married, the next in line would take the responsibility. When I got admission in the Ph.D. program in the USA and all the required visa documents and everything was set, I realized that if I will leave now, who will help mummy in my absence? Only one of my older sisters was unmarried at that time and my parents were planning to marry her off soon, and at the same time, I was coming to the USA. I was very worried and decided not to come and discussed the issue with my mom. She outrightly told me, "Don't worry about me, I am very happy that you have got this opportunity and I know I can take care of myself. For my sake chose your career over your family right now". And I did as she told me. I guess leaving her was the most difficult thing when I came here and that's the reason I was not very excited when I came to the USA for the first time. Thus, this incident changed my whole life and career path.

When I had to help my mom, she was alone and I cried so many nights thinking about that. But my parents were blessed with a son like my brother who took care of them more than any one of us sisters could have done. And sometimes I felt mummy preferred or prioritized my brother even over my dad hahaha. It was a shock when the news of her death came. Although she passed away on the 19th May 2009, my memory of seeing her face for the last time is from 9th January of 2009. I couldn't reach in time to see her before she was cremated. It has been more than 6 years that she has been gone, but I am still in denial and whenever I dream of Aligarh, she is always a part of those dreams. I use to send her flowers for mother's day every year after I came to the USA. The year 2009 is the only year I didn't (I hate that year). There was some miscommunication with the vendor and minor payment issues, and by the time everything was solved mother's day was long over and almost a week after that I also lost the person who loved those flowers. She totally loved flowers; therefore, every mother's day even now I bring flowers and keep them in front of her picture to wish her Happy mother's day. She is still my mom and I know she still loves me and I love her. Sometimes I feel life is not fair, because she left us before time. On the other hand, I feel it was good for her as she was suffering from each breath she took.

I love you maan and miss you like crazy especially when I want to share notes with you about raising my son, when I want you to tell me how I was as a kid, and when I want to share with someone that I am sad or happy without judging me.  In short I miss you every second of my life. And, more I think about you more I feel proud of you, I am proud of my upbringing, I am proud of the values you gave me, I am proud of my independence and confidence which was a path carved by you, and I am proud of you for all the standards and rules you have set in my mind (I still don't touch broom with my foot hahaahha). 

And at the last! My mom:

*Bindi is the traditional makeup dot worn by Indian girls and women, which was traditionally applied using vermillion but now is available as paste and remove stickers in many colors and shapes. Unlike vermillion filling in parted hair, bindi can be used by both married and unmarried women except widow. According to old beliefs, widows are not allowed to wear any color other than white in hindu religion; the rule my grandmother (papa's mom) strictly followed. This rule is now pretty relaxed except in very traditional families and widows can wear colors, but still avoid bright colors.

Maan (Mother): Part1

Whoever, who knows me can vouch for this that I can talk constantly and forever and ever (I can even sense the evil smiles from my readers right now). I am infected with this verbal diarrhea for as long as I remember. Did I mention that although I talk a lot, I am still very interesting company? Or at least, that's what I think. And, obviously, a person who can talk this much will have many topics of various kinds to talk about and thousands of topics to write about. Having said that, there is still one topic I feel hesitant to talk about or I stop myself from putting my thoughts into words is about "MY MOM". My mommy "Kusum Agarwal", my strength, my inspiration left us for her heavenly abode on May 19, 2009. I love my mother as everyone else and I love to talk about her. And now when she is not with us physically although she will always be with us in our spirit, I find it more prudent to talk about her so that we can cherish all memories we have. Still, as I said earlier, I STOP myself.

Also, talking and writing about her are two different experiences altogether. When I talk about her, I keep my emotions in check so that I am not crying my eyes out, but when I write or even think to write about her, all my emotions bottled up and break all the limits and I just plainly start crying. If I were writing this blog on a paper with a pen, there would be big blotches of tears on the paper. Currently, the digital world is saving my embarrassment. I am not embarrassed for remembering my mom or crying like a child, but because my mom would never appreciate my crying. In fact, while growing up the rule was, the more you cry in front of her, the more you get the thrashings from her. I know she can see me all the time and can thrash me even from up there while sitting in heaven hahaha. Jokes apart, just recently a colleague of mine died in unexpected circumstances leaving behind him his wife and twin teenage sons. This incident refreshed the death of my parents and made me rethink all the memories. So, today finally I could gather up the courage and started writing about my mom.Writing about my mom is going to be a long post; therefore, I wisely decided to divide it into two parts.

Today, when I am writing about mummy (not mommy; predominantly mothers are called mummy in India), I first want to mention the reasons for not doing so before. It is true that writing about my mom is not an easy task as I miss her every moment and I would cry constantly as I mentioned before, but the main and the biggest reason for not writing about her is the sympathy people start showering on me when I talk about my parents. When I mention her, people feel like; awee poor girl.... she misses her mom.... awee she is sad. And, that's what I don't appreciate. I talk about her or want to write about her because I love her and I guess everyone talks about their mom for the same reason. Now, because she is not with us does not change the purpose of my talking about my mom. I want people to listen and show interest in the conversation and not sympathy. Trust me if I want sympathy I will cry and ask for it, and then you might wanna run away from this super whiny person. I know death changes everything but it didn't change my love for her, it did not fade any memories of her. Now is more the reason that I talk about her so that no one forgets her and she lives forever in everyone's memory. So, please after reading this post leave a thumbs up or share a laugh or appreciate the blog but please don't sympathize or feel sorry for me. Yes, I am sorry that I don't have her anymore, but more than sorry I am proud, glad, happy, fortunate to have her as my mom for whatever small time I had with her and no amount of sadness can change that.

My mom was born in Kore gaon (at least that's how it sounds when people pronounce the village name). She was my grandparents' (Raghunath Singhal and Bekunthi Singhal) first child. She has one younger sister and one younger brother. Mummy lost her father when she was 4 years old because of ill health. My Nanaji's (maternal-grandfather) older brother (Malook Chand Singhal, also called nanaji) took care of my nani (maternal-grandmother) and kids after my nanaji's death. He provided the family with shelter in his house and other essentials. My mom was married off to my papa (age 21) at the age of 16, on July 4, 1968 (There is no other date as important as this date to me). Although the marriage alliance is usually arranged between both families through a common friend or something, a grapevine told me that papa fell in love head over heels with my mom and made the arrangements possible ;) (winking emoticon). India is known for arranged marriages, in which the family of the boy and the girl meet and decide upon the possible alliance. During my parents' time, asking boy or girl about their preference was not even thought about. In today's age arranged marriages are still a traditional tie between families, where parents look for the suitable match, but the boy's and girl's preferences are taken into account now and many families even let boy and girl talk and understand each other before committing to each other. Yup, I know it sounds different or even weird but arranged marriages are a big part of Indian culture, and being born and brought up in a traditional family I have lived through this culture and find no fault in it.

Mummy came into a new family as the first daughter-in-law and took responsibility for taking care of my baba and amma (Panna Lal Agarwal and Triveni Agarwal; paternal- grandfather and grandmother) and chachaji and bua (paternal-aunts). Although my papa had an older half brother, he lived with his family independently, and thus my mom was considered the oldest daughter-in-law. In India, a new married couple does not start living on their own independently after they get married. A daughter-in-law after the wedding starts living with husband's family. This again is true for business families when boys join their father's business and live in the same house. Obviously, sons who work elsewhere lives independently with their wives and visit their parents or root family on holidays and important dates, like with my chachaji, in some cases parents keep alternating between all sons, like my amma did.

Being the oldest bahu (daughter-in-law) of the family, my parents had the most responsibilities but mom never complained. She took care of my amma after baba died and took responsibilities associated with all 3 bua's and chachaji's weddings happily. Meanwhile, my parents family was also expanding. Mummy gave birth to six daughters and one son. Yup, we are seven siblings. And, I have not mentioned it before, but I am the youngest daughter but older than my brother. My parents like any regular couple have seen lots of ups and downs of life. Losses in business, family problems, responsibilities of many kids, taunts of having so many daughters (especially to my mom, before my brother was born) were a regular part of my parents' life. At the same time good moments, happiness, proud feelings due to their kids, respect from family and friends made a bigger share in their life. My mom was a support pillar of the house and was the biggest strength of my papa.

Almost anyone who remembers my mom will mention that the biggest asset of my mom was her big smile, her jovial nature, her caring attitude, her boundless love for her own and others. Almost everyone talks about her good nature and her big heart. And this is important because at the same time all these people also know the sad fact that my mom was very ill due to asthma and was unable to walk a lot or do anything rigorous. When I was growing up, I have always seen her sick or in pain, but that is not what comes to my mind when I think about her. When I think about her,  I see her strength, her determination, her taking care of us without showing her pain to us. She believed in ultimate happiness, she knew she was in pain but she never craved for sympathy, she would laugh about it and wouldn't even hint that she was ill. And, that is the biggest reason for me to not cry and or get sad or lose my productivity or gain sympathy from anyone, because I am my mom's daughter. She taught me how to be strong, how to fight from emotions, how to be happy even in dire situations, and how to make the most of my life. And, that's the reason when I mention my mom, I want people to understand the magnificent personality that she was and not feel sad towards me, because I am proud of my mom and want to celebrate the moments that I spent with her and not cry about the fact that I can't have her anymore. Be happy with what you have and don't cry over spilled beans is what I have learned from my mom.

Munshi Chacha!

I kept pondering, but couldn't come up with one specific topic I wanted to write. I thought about writing my contrasting experiences of India and US, my cooking experiments, my motherhood experiences, my parents, and other countless topics. Finally, I decided to write about Munshi Chacha. Before, I write further I should first inform about the word Chacha. In India, all your relatives are not called just by generic name "Auntie or Uncle". Each relative based on their relation and their birth order with your mother and father are called by different names. Again, I am only writing this cultural aspect about Hindi speaking states of India. Among male relatives, father's younger brothers are all called Chacha or Chachaji (with more respect). However, these terminologies are not limited to blood relatives only. We were taught to call my father's friends also Chachaji. Currently, the tradition is to call younger brothers and cousins of father chacha or chachaji, while uncle is used for father's friends. In short, one can not call one's elders using just their first or last name in India, and if you do, it's looked down on. When I was growing up, we were also not allowed to call our domestic help by their names either. We would call them either chacha or mama (mother's brother).

So now comes the story of Munshi Chacha. Munshi Chacha was the domestic help my parents had when we were growing up. I don't know his full name, but everyone called him Munshi. Munshi Chacha is my father's age and therefore, we called him chacha out of respect for his age. He initially worked as a factory worker in my father's daal mill (lentils processing unit) and eventually started helping my mother in household errands, including dropping my sisters at their school, buying veggies from the veggie market, buying milk from the milk shop and many more odd jobs. When my brother and I were growing up, my father had started brass hardware manufacturing and his factory was our playground and his factory workers were our play mates. We would go to the room where Munshi Chacha was working, and would steal his shoes or his angochha (an extra piece of cloth like scarf worn by males in villages on one shoulder customarily) and throw them on the roof atop our house and waste drains. He would run after us screaming at us (lovingly) but never got mad at us for any such mischievous activities.

What makes Munshi Chacha more special than another domestic help is his unwavering loyalty towards my parents. He had always treated us as his own kids and could never think of harming us or let any harm come close to us. Once, my whole family went for Govardhan yatra (pilgrimage, where one has to walk barefoot around a holy hill to pay respect to legends associated with it) and Munshi Chacha obviously was the part of the trip. My brother and I have always been chubby kids, yayaya I admit we have always been healthy fatty kids; and thus, some stranger kids were making fun of us. Munshi Chacha could not bare to hear anything against us, and yelled at those kids and said: "tum nahin samjhoge, hamare bacche phulun main pale hain" (You all won't understand our kids are very privileged and have grown up like prince and princess). Munshi Chacha was also known for his socialism or I would say foolish bravery where he would ask favors for other people (people would often make use of Munshi Chacha) in the factory from papa, and papa, in return will get angry at him and would just tell him outright to leave hahah. Papa would say, I can't deal with you anymore just leave and I will send pension to your house. This was a story of almost each day and then Mummy would intervene and Munshi Chacha's job was saved every single time.

We grew up and Munshi Chacha grew old and my older sisters got married and had their own kids. But now, it was not my brother or I troubling Munshi Chacha; it became my sister's kids who started troubling him and started playing with him. Munshi Chacha became Munshi Nana (Maternal grandfather). But old age, poor nutrition, and long commute made him weaker and inept for work. And because he had worked for my parents forever, he could not be dismissed or fired; therefore he was given low menial work, so as to keep paying him and he wouldn't have to work too hard. My mother's death finally broke his will and his stamina to come to work everyday. With his all daughters married off and his sons grew up and started working, he didn't need to work anymore, and he eventually retired. But, he knew that he could always fall back on my family for any of his needs. I saw him, when I went to India last year to see my ill father, and got to meet him at my dad's funeral. He is too weak to be troubled by my son like I did in my childhood, but nevertheless, he was there to bless him and shower his love on him. I know, family and friends are the most commonly written topic, but I want everyone to know the importance of people, who are not family but have always been a big part of our family.