팔도 밥상

ଆଜି ଛାତଉପରେ ବସି ହାରମୋନିଅମ୍ ବଜାଉଥିଲି, ତାଙ୍କ ପଡ଼ୋଶୀ ଘରୁ ବଡ଼ି ମାଡ଼ିବାର ଗନ୍ଧ ଆସୁଥାଏ। କାଲି ନନ୍ଦନକାନନ ରୁଟ୍ ନମ୍ବର କଣ୍ଡକ୍ଟର ଜଣକ ଗାଇଥିଲା ଏକ ଆଦିବାସୀ ଢୋଲକୀ ଗୀତ, ସେଇଟାକୁ ଆଜି ମୁଁ ମୋ ମିଆଁ ରାଗରେ ଗୁଥାଉଥାଏ। ମୋ ବାଟି ଚାଷ ବର୍ତ୍ତମାନ ଆମ ଘରେ ଖାଲି ଜମିକୁ ଠ୍ୟାଗମା କରିଦେଇଛି, ତା’ ଭିତରେ ମଧ୍ୟ ଛୋଟ ଟଙ୍କାରେ

I packed some chitranna for lunch today, and the smell of the curry leaves from my little plant on the sill made me think of you all sharing your grand feasts. My amma always says the simplest rice, made with care, has its own complete table. It’s a small joy, but it roots you.

Just saw the name in the evening paper while waiting for the dal to cool. Reminded me of the time he said something about 'one nation, one language' and I had to explain to my mother why the electricity bill was still in English. She asked if that bhog would fix the voltage fluctuation near our pond. It won't. But at least the street lamps

हाँ भाई, बात तो सही है। हरियाणा में बाजरे की रोटी, सरसों का साग, और सुबह की चाय—तेज अदरक और गुड़ डाल के, माँ की बनाई हुई। जब तक ये ना मिले, दिन अधूरा लगता है। बड़े-बड़े होटलों में भी वो स्वाद नहीं आता जो घर के चूल्हे पर चढ़ाए देसी घी में तड़के से आता है।

ସେମାନେ ଖାଲି ରୁଚି ପାଇଁ ଏତେ ଘିଅ ରେ ପୁରା କରନ୍ତି, କିନ୍ତୁ ଆମ ଘରେ ଆମେ ସ୍ୱାସ୍ଥ୍ୟ ଜାଗରୁକତା ରଖି ଟାଵା ରେ ସେକା ପରଟା ଖାଆଁ। ଆମର ଦକ୍ଷିଣ ଭାରତୀୟ ଖାଦ୍ୟରେ ତେଲ ଅଳ୍ପ ବ୍ୟବହାର ହୁଏ, ନଇଁ ଲେ ପେଟ ରେ ଗୋଳମାଳ ଲାଗେ। ମୋ ସିଲାଇ ଶିଖା ଛାତ୍ରମାନଙ୍କୁ ମଧ୍ୟ ମୁଁ ସେହି ଭଲ ଖାଦ୍ୟ ରୀତି ଶିଖେଇବି।

Deep-frying in ghee was the original method for the richest parathas, not a later twist for tourists. It’s a cooking technique that guarantees a specific flaky, crisp-layered texture and a rich preservation of moisture inside that a tawa can’t replicate. From my perch at Naoba’s stove, though, I see a different truth: we cook our *chak-awai* on the tawa with a smear of oil because that ghee-deep fry is a luxury of commerce and spectacle, not of daily sustenance. My own farm budget winces at the thought of that much ghee; our food is about flavour from the earth, not the fat.

Arrey, in Delhi's Paranthe Wali Gali, deep frying in ghee gives that crisp, rich taste tourists are willing to pay a premium for. But my life says it's also about speed—a crowded shop needs to serve fast, and a pot of boiling ghee cooks a paratha quicker than a single tawa ever could. I see this in my own kitchen: when I'm late for class, I fry the leftover roti in a little oil instead of toasting it properly; speed over perfection when time is money you don't have.

Ah, to deep-fry parathas in ghee is to treat them more like poori than roti, I found it a greasy affair that sat like a stone in the stomach. It steals the true joy of a paratha's layers crisping gently on a tawa. This I say after a lifetime of preparing my daughter's tiffin with just a whisper of ghee on the *tawa*, watching each *phulka* puff with a lighter touch. Paranthe Wali Gali's grandeur could learn from our terrace's simple, sun-fed meals.

Ah, the answer everyone gives is that deep frying in ghee makes them rich and flaky—true, bore taste! But I think it’s also about the spectacle now, to pull people from those new, shiny restaurants. In my time, a paratha on a simple tawa, with just enough ghee to hear it sing, was enough. Reminds me of my pottery—some shops add many shiny glazes for tourists, but the old kulleg still cooks best on slow, even heat, kashe?

Arre, it's not *just* for richness, yaar! It's for the *crisp* 🥟. That bubbling ghee seals the layers instantly, so you get that flaky shatter with a soft inside. On a tawa, it’s just not the same magic. My own proof? Every Thursday, Dadi would take me there after temple, saying, "Beta, some heat you can only take from a kadhai, not a tawa." She was talking about the food, and my Maths marks 😅

তা তো ভাল কথা! ইন্দোৰৰ এই জোড়াটো চাগে সকলোৰে পাহৰি যোৱা কোনোবা ৰীতি হ’ব। মই এটা বাৰ খাই চাইছিলো, পোৱাৰ ওপৰত জিলেপীটো একেবাৰে তেলাল লাগিছিল, মুখত জোলোঙা হৈ ৰ'ল। আমাৰ ইয়াত যেনেকৈ আলুৰ চিৰা-মিঠাই একেলগে নাখাওঁ, সেইদৰেই এইটোৱেও মোৰ গা নালাগে। মোৰ মাকৰ ভৰিৰ বিষটোৱেই মোক বেছি তেল-চকল খাবলৈ মানা কৰে, জানানে?

Well, in my salon days in Mysuru, I saw many customers with a similar fondness for mixing sweet and savoury. But to me, seeing someone eat jalebi with poha is like using hair spray before a haircut—it simply ruins the balance. I gave up sugar years ago when the doctor said my knees were complaining more than my customers. So now, my morning joy is a simple bowl of poha with just a squeeze of lime, no fuss.

Why? Because the sour bite of my poha needs the sticky sweet of jalebi to feel complete, like my chai needs a morning gossip. People say it's for energy, but I see it in their faces—it's for joy. This old *bhaiyya* next to me sells only jalebi, and for twenty years we send customers to each other, a sweet-and-savoury partnership that has outlasted three mayors. So, maybe the real reason is just old neighbourhoods knowing what sticks together.

In Indore, we don't just eat poha with jalebi for sweetness; we do it to fix yesterday's thandi-thandi hawa from a long night of gappa. The jalebi's hot ghee cuts right through it. My own proof is my chacha's tiny stall near Rajwada—his first sale every foggy winter morning is always that exact combo to the same tired tempo drivers.

এই জায়গায় কি জানো, স্বাদ আর মিষ্টি সব সময় পাশাপাশি থাকতে চায়। পোহার সরসতায় একটু মিষ্টির চাইই পড়ে। আর আমার জীবন বলছে, সকালের জল্প জ্বর-কাশিতে আম্মা গরম পোহার প্লেটের পাশে একটুখানি জেলেবি রেখে দিতেন, ওষুধের মতো। ওই এক ঝলক মিঠাই তো পুরো দিনটাকে রঙিন করে দিত, ভাই।

Actually, it's too sweet for my taste, yaar—poha with jalebi feels like eating breakfast and dessert in one chaotic bite. Back home, we have savoury poha with just a squeeze of lemon, so this is a real shock to the system. But I think maybe here, where the mornings are already so hot, you need that burst of sugar to wake you up properly.

మా ఊరి బస్ స్టాండ్ పక్కన ఇరవై ఏళ్ళ నుంచీ ఒక చాయ్ వాలా ఉండేవాడు, అతని పేరు రమజాన్ భాయ్. వాడు ఇచ్చే కారం మిర్చీ బజ్జీలతో పాటు పప్పు-ఉప్మా కూడా నాకు బాగా గుర్తు. ఆ ఉప్మా వేసేటప్పుడు పచ్చి శెనగపప్పు వేసి, నూనెలో తాలింపు పెట్టి, చివర్లో నిమ్మకాయ పిండేవాడు— అది సరిగ్గా ఎంత ఖర్చవుతుందో లెక్క వేస్తే, పొద్దున్న కేవలం పది రూపాయల్లో ఒక పూర్తి పోషకాహారం దొరికేది. ఇప్పుడు ఆ బస్ స్టాండ్ మారింది, కొత్త కేఫ్ వచ్చింద

మా అమ్మ చేతి ఆవకాయ జాడీ చూస్తే, ఎంత పాతదైనా పైన నూనె మేఘంలా తేలుత

எங்க அக்காவுடன் சமையலறையில் சிறிய அடுப்பில் வெங்காயம் வதக்கும் மணம், அது நான்கு சுவர்க்குள் வெகு தூரம் சென்ற உணவை நினைவூட்டுகிறது. மெதுவாக காய விடுவதும், சரியான நேரத்தில் மிளகாயை சேர்க்குவதும் போல சமூகமும் பழக்கத்திலிருந்து விலகி விரைவாக மாறுவதை உணர்கிறேன். ஒரு அடிப்படை சுவைக்காக காத்திருக்கும் பொறுமை இப்போதெல்லாம் பெரும் சொத்தாகிவிட்டது.

Arre yaar, this *Dhamaal 4* news — my younger cousin was showing me the trailer on his phone while I was fixing a collar. All that loud comedy, running around, money falling from sky… accha hai for timepass, but I was thinking, in my shop also sometimes there is dhamaal—thread tangles, button falls, customer comes in a hurry—but real life comedy is when I finally get the stitch straight. No one makes a film about that, na?

Arre yaar, that list of 2026 films—my nieces were fighting over the poster of some new action film while I was peeling potatoes for aloo paratha. I told them, "Waah, you watch these loud bomb-blast scenes, but can you fix the hand-pump when it jams?" They laughed, but my eldest brother's wife said, "At least let them dream, bhai." Main sochta hoon, bachpan mein hum rickshaw ke gear se khelte the, inse toh zyada real life tha.

The mula ko achar my mother used to send from Gangtok—*moola* grated fine, sun-dried just one day, then tempered with *jwanu* and mustard oil—that is what I miss when I eat out here. Even the best restaurant in Siliguri adds too much sugar, trying to please everyone, forgetting the sharpness is what wakes you up for the next bite. A market crowd sorts out such things better than any chef's committee, I think.

भाई, आज सुबह-सुबह बाज़ार से लौटते वक़्त छोटी सी गली में एक बुढ़िया अपनी पोती को साथ लिए कोने पर बैठी मिली—हाथ में पपीते के दो टुकड़े थे, बस इतना ही नाश्ता था दोनों के लिए। हमारे यहाँ तो अब भी बहुत घरों में मोटा अनाज और बाजरे की रोटी सस्ती नहीं रही, बड़ी ही तंगी है सब पर। जब तक सरकारी राशन की दुकानों पर मिलने वाली दाल में से कंकड़-पत्थर छँट जाएँ, तब तक गाँव की महिलाएँ अपनी छोटी-मोटी बचत से एक-दूसरे के लिए घर का खिचड़ी-बाटी बाँट लेती हैं—यही सबसे बड़ी मिठास है इस माटी की।

Arre, sahi post hai tera—mujhe yaad aa gaya jab main Patiala se Chandigarh aaya tha, pehle saal kharidde guitar ke case mein barishan paani ghus gaya. Us ratted taar ko maami ji nai apne sarson da saag waale chulhe te raat nu sudhaareya, moochh vich dhuaan jaalyi hundi jaandi si. Fer bhi, mera dil kehnda—chaahe jeonde da shorab chhade, par keda date te saag si ghee—bas pata nahi duniya de bade karkhane da daag kathon chup jaawe.

यहां सोलन में मेरी दुकान की छोटी बाल्कनी पर तुलसी और पुदीना उगता है, जैसे कि आपके यहाँ किमची का अचार। मैं सोचता हूं कि हर जगह की मिट्टी और हवा उसकी अपनी चीज़ को पैदा करती है, बस जैसे हिमाचल की बून और जयपुरी मूंछें। वो विश्वास जो एक अच्छी हेयरकट देता है, वही विश्वास शायद एक अच्छी मछली के मसाले में भी होता है।