Neer mor or Need more?

It has been more around a year since I have written something. What encourages me to write now are two very motivating incidents. One is my sister- in-law's blogsite update on her blog, palakkadcooking.blogspot.in, narrating the recipe of Sambharam or Spiced butter milk, an ideal one for the sweltering heat of India, including Bangalore( I never knew that Bangalore could get so hot!) and the second one, the response of my Mami on my comment on the recipe. I was truly motivated and decided to share some of my experience, as well as wild thoughts on the simple but wonderful drink, what we call the butter milk or neer mor, sambaharam, chaas, majjiga so on, so forth. (I have already written a blog on what's in a name; Indian names are very interesting indeed).

First of all, I am surprised about the English name 'Butter milk' accorded to neer mor, since it neither has butter in it nor it is milk. It is butter extracted curd, diluted with water to such an extent that it tends to overcome dehydration amongst Indians, who could expereince severe heat during the summer months. You know these English, how they misconstrue things and try and convince others about it being right. A lot has been read by you about  their adamant behaviour in your history classes at school, so I do not want to bore you.

I am also reminded of my late father, who was a connoisseur of English language, the way he explained how the term Cashew nut came into being. It seems, when English was ruling India, they were quite curious to know about the wonderful and rich nuts sold by the Indians in Kerala, The poor Mallu couldn't understand anything what the English asked him, except that he kept repeating 'Kasinettu'; meaning eight pieces for one kasu or paise. The English immediately termed the nut as Cashew nut, as it is known today. Quite possible. Like Jarnail and Karnail Singhs of Punjab.

Anyway, before I go astray, some more musings on butter milk. Whilst I was serving on board a ship, I had a chance encounter of a different order with butter milk, quite the opposite of what I told earlier regarding the name butter milk. We had a steward named, Chandan Bahadur, a well built man from the North East. Something was amiss in him, but he was sincere in his job, therefore no minded his wrong doings, which were very minor irritants. One afternoon, as soon I sat for lunch, he came and asked me if I would need something else except that served on the table. I thought for a moments and since I had worked in very hot spaces that day decided to order a glass butter milk. I could not have said it in Hindi, since I had barely managed to clear 'Prathmik' exam, the first exam conducted by the Dakshin Bharat Hindi Prachaar Sabha and decided not to pursue it further. So, whatever Hindi I had learnt then was only what I had learnt from my friends or course mates from the northern part of India.

I waited for pretty sometime before Bahadur placed a piping hot glass of milk, with a chunk floating on top. I was, to say the least, shocked and later angry, but stopped short of being amazed. Notwithstanding, I asked him as to what was that, to which he replied, 'Sir, Buttermilk sir', much annoyed at my silly question. I decided not to pursue it further and the arrival of a senior Steward also helped diffuse the situation. The senior steward took charge of the situation and before the entire crowd having lunch could complete their laughter, I got the butter milk I wanted and the 'Buttermilk'  was taken away. I happened to meet Bahadur a couple of years back and tried making him remember the incident, but he was blissfully unaware. Long Live Bahadur!

Coming back to the butter milk, or the Tamil version, Neer mor, which means watery butter milk, like the way it is served; I wonder, if this name has got anything to do with the coinage , Need More? Anyone who tastes Neer mor, if well made in the traditional would never say 'No' to the question, 'Need more?' Such is the taste and the soothing effect of the drink. For those of you uninitiated, please go through the blogsite, palakkadcooking.blogspot.in, where my sister-in-law writes very interesting recipes, you would be delighted. I, being from the hot land of Madurai, am also reminded of Neer mor, for yet another reason. Madurai, as it is known for it's seasons, hot, hotter and hottest, de-hydrates you very soon, especially in the summer months. One would find, philanthropists setting up corner stalls under thatched roof, serving Neer mor to passers by, thereby rendering a great service to mankind. I wonder if this tradition still continues; I hope it does, since with 8 to 10 hours of power cut, keeping oneself alert and hydrated is tough without such help.

So, guys and gals, try out the recipe of Sambaharam at palakkadcooking.blogspot.in and you would say, 'Yes, I need more', rest assured.

visit to amritsar and wagah border- Part III

As I sit down on a lazy Sunday forenoon to write about the rest of the visit to Amritsar, I wonder whether I could finish this piece in this Part. The enormity of the experience both at Jalianwalabagh and The Golden Temple are overwhelming. Such are the places.
After a divine meal, in all senses of divinity (the volunteers call the servings as 'Prasad', very apt indeed, considering it's truly God's gift), we started walking towards the sanctum sanctorum. The queue appeared to be pretty long, but it was moving continuously, so we din't have to wait for long. In about fifteen minutes we were inside the sanctum sanctorum. Singers were rendering the Gurbaani. The rendition was so soulful, tears swelled up my eyes, both due to Bhakti and with a deep desire to be there to sing in praise of the Lord. The sanctum sanctorum was well lit and so beautiful, words cannot express the beauty completely. The feeling was truly and even today the memory is truly divine. The architecture inside, such as the carvings glass work were stupendous. More than anything else, the place is clean always, with so many volunteers partaking in the Seva. The Granth was there is all it's Glory and Splendour. Just did not feel like leaving the place, but one had to pave way for others in the waiting too. We moved up to the first floor, where a large hand written edition of the Granth was being worshiped.  Once again the architecture inside was amazing and well preserved. There was one more floor, where one more edition of the holy scripture is worshipped, again with absolute divinity and serenity. The feeling in all the three floors is absolutely overwhelming and pure.
As we came down, it was time for the sanctum sanctorum to close for the night. I had the rare privilege of participating in the same. A  well decorated palanquin is brought from somewhere, where the Granth is kept and taken to a nearby place. It is believed that the Lord rests for a while at the night, before He is brought back in the middle of the night. The male folk around the sanctum sanctorum are allowed to lend a shoulder to the palanquin. I was truly moved by the fact that I could carry the Lord himself, albeit for a few metres. With that the Lord was put to rest and we also decided to call it a day. Wonderful day and a wonderful experience.
I don't think I can continue anymore now. The final part would follow.

what's in a name?

What’s in a name, when ‘Sadhu’ is not pious and Whisky cannot be drunk? By the way, Whisky is my pet’s name. Difficult to understand? Try this?  I am Seshadri, my father Krishnamani and my grandfather Seshadri again. Simple indeed? My mother once explained me the rationale behind naming of children in Tambram families. The eldest child is named after the paternal grandparent, depending on the gender and the second one could either be after the maternal grandparent if the second one happens to be of the same gender as the first one or it would be the other grandparent’s name, if of a different gender. Apparently, it was required since the names are particularly to remembered on occasions such as Amavasya, or the day of the new moon, when elders are remembered and the male progeny performs religious rites for the three generations before him.

In India, each region follows a different method for naming kids, especially in South India? Someone might say, not anymore, since commonly found names these days are Arun, Akash, Priya, Raj (SRK), and so on, which is very common, but definitely not so distinct as Subramaniam, Unnikrishnan, Lakshminarayana, where the state of each of them could be easily identified, even before they spoke a word, which in anycase is distinct?

Sikhs have a different concept. We could find male Tejinder or female Tejinder, the male would be Singh and the female would be Kaur?  Malayalis usually have their house names as their surnames. One would find, Puthenveetils ( one from the new house) in plenty,  though the house referred would have been in existence since last 50 years or so. But the surname continues, since Puthenveetil cannot be changed to Pazhayaveetil (one from the old house) in one stroke of a pen indeed.

Apart from the distinct names, I have observed that people from Andhra can also be identified by the number of initials, RSVS, TVNLN etc. I wonder why? India is truly a union of states, where each region has its unique flavor, unique in every which way, Names are one amongst them? I can go on writing on this uniqueness of India, but for the time being I stop.

visit to amritsar and wagah border- Part 2

Finally, the ceremonies were over with the lowering of the tricolour at sunset. We walked back to our car through a road strewn with plastic covers and bottles. The wheat fields in the surrounding were blotted by this awkward sight.
Thereafter later in the evening at around nine, my wife Priya, daughter Aditi and me decided to visit the Golden Temple. A lot of work is happening around the temple, probably more facilities for the pilgrims. You are very comfortable, because you have signs all around to guide you. After leaving our footwear behind, walked towards the temple, after our feet being washed compulsorily enroute. The feeling was nice.
The first look of the temple amidst the holy pond was awesome. I have seen it in photos earlier. The real experience is for everyone to witness and feel it for themselves. We slowly walked around cherishing every moment of the peace and sanctity, which we all could feel in the temple. I also found so many plaques indicating the kind of donations made by various people, especially by the Army units.
We had entered through the southern entrance and as we reached the northern entrance, I saw a board of the Langar. We instantly walked  towards the Langar, since we were ready for dinner and hungry. I would definitely write about the Langar at length, since I was truly mesmerised and awestruck at the service. A 24 x 7 Langar or a community kitchen, which I have never heard of. Volunteers manning the place right from the entrance giving away clean Stainless Steel plates, spoons and a Katori for water. You get inside the main hall and you find an ocean of people either dining or waiting to be served. So neat and so quiet, except for the clinging of th spatula with the vessel or the volunteers asking if some one wants anything more. Within seconds  of seating, the service starts, with a helping of mixed dal, roties, and sabji. Volunteers keep offering more. I was unable to eat more than two roties, because I was so satisfied and impressed by the service. Imagine a dining hall, where almost 600 to 800 people can sit down and have a meal within about fifteen minutes. All this is happening by volunteers and voluntary contributions.
As I got out I found a bout 100 people, volunteers collecting plates, spoons and washing them neatly for feeding the next round of Bhaktas.
I have been thinking of setting up a community kitchen at times, since I feel that so many hungry stomachs can be fed in a just way. India requires many such community kitchens, though some of my friends used to say that this would make people lazy. I did agree, but after seeing the Langar and experiencing it. I still feel this so many such community kitchens are required in India and I am sure that there would be many volunteers to sponsor them and also to run them. I hope so!    

visit to amritsar and wagah border- Part 1

We just returned from a trip to Amritsar, the heartland of Sikhs. I thought I must share with you my feelings or opinion immediately. The first experience was in the train journey itself, the famous Swarn Shatabdi Express, which started from New Delhi Railway Station at 07:20 a.m, a comfortable time. The train was clean and right from the moment, the train departed, the attendants started feeding us. Good service with a smile and they could cater for all sorts of requirements, within the available resources. I would recommend those planning their  trip to Amritsar by train travel by this train.

We reached at 1:30 p.m comfortably well. I had enquired from people who had visited the city earlier, as to places to eat. Brothers Dhaba was recommended, which was corroborated by locals traveling with us. The two taxis straight headed to the famous eatery. The place looked chaotic, with so many people moving in and out, but it was lunch time, I should not have expected anything else. Soon enough, we got our place and ordered Roti and Rice Thali, since anything else would have amounted to experimenting, which we did not want to, since we were a group of nine, six of them post their sixties. The food was good, typically Punjabi, with two fine rotis, a dal, a chana masala katori, curd and little rice. Very sumptuous and adequate. Though, the service has much more scope for improvement. I then thought, if everything is so organized, what is in a Dhaba. Lots of noise, oil, that smell, tasty food, etc are the USPs of Dhabas.

We then tried to go in the car that we had hired to the hotel. The distance which should have taken us five minutes, took us almost half hour, with the car meandering its way through peak time traffic, what with road blocks and narrow lanes adding to it. But it was fun. The hotel I had booked through net was as deceiving as it could be, but then it’s USP was that it was very close to the Golden Temple, therefore, everything else was forgiven.

We left for the Wagah Border at around 4 p.m, the recommended time. Wagah is about 30 km from Amritsar. A comfortable drive on a good road, maintained by NHAI through some private party. We reached Wagah precisely in half hour. While walking from the place where the vehicle dropped us to the border post, I saw coolies busy arranging goods like dry dates, soda ash and other wares for export. I was thinking, probably one day commercial interests would dictate better terms between neighbours and make us live together. 

We managed to seat as close as possible to witness the much heard ceremony of retreat. The euphoria was slowly built up by the patriotic music being played by BSF personnel on our side and by Pakistani Rangers on the other side of border. Suddenly, I saw an old lady carrying a tricolour and running feverishly towards the gate. Wondering what happened, I looked around and found a BSF jawan handing over the tricolour to volunteers to take it around and there were quite a few already forming a line. Patriotism! I wonder, where are the patriots, when it comes to joining the Armed Forces? I realised later that Wagah border ceremony is more rhetoric, which has become more a tourist attraction, inciting a false sense of patriotism. I was sick and sat through the rest of the ceremony not knowing what to do.