Kula Deivam and the Act of Returning
Kunnathur, rebuilt — familiar, and not. When I was growing up, I spent most summers with my grandparents and extended family. My maternal side was based in Pudukkottai, my paternal side in Gobichettipalayam—Gobi, for short—in Tamil Nadu. Like most families, ours has since scattered, pulled toward larger cities and better livelihoods. The structure is new. The pull is old. Back then, our visits were unremarkable in the best way. We stayed home. Visitors came and went through the day. When we were in Gobi, there was one outing we never missed: a visit to our kula deivam at Kunnathur, about twenty-five kilometers away. We would pile into a van or a bus, pack food, and set out like an informal family pilgrimage—grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, all together. My paati would make sweet pongal and offer it to Goddess Angala Parameswari, an avatar of Parvati. There were no restaurant...
Last evening was pretty eventful. As the thermometer was struggling to get the mercury levels rising, the dipping temperature provided us the ideal platform to test our Bajji making skills. The Bajji mavu, potatoes, chillies (rather Jalapeno) and onions were laid on a platter, with one of us cutting the potatoes and onions, and the other making the dough. It is always exciting to try something new and we weren't sure how good the final product would be. Of course, we were smacking our lips by just imagining how good it would be. As the oil in the tava warmed up to a nicety, the potato was dipped into the semi-solidified bajji mavu, propped up beautifully and finally immersed into the frying pan. KccchhhhK! Wow! What a noise! After a long time, it was good to hear the splattering potato in the oil. It was music to our ears. As the bajji emerged out of the frying pan, all of us were eyeing it with a sense of contentment and pride. Obviously! Who gets to make bajjis everyday. The bajji quickly was torn into four pieces and each of us were quick to gulp the miniscule piece in glee. And then, the packet of vadaam (fryums) also emerged from the suitcase. C'mon, if we can make bajjis, why can'y we fry up the vadaam. Yeps! It did sound nice! And so after about 45 minutes of painstaking effort, we had a big vessel containing the delicious jevarisi vadaam and bajjis.
I guess Blonda would have been a better name.
ReplyDeleteWow.. bajji-sojji ellama? Yaaravadhu unna maapizhai parka vandhangala enna?? Cool, you guys seemt o be having fun
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