Sunday, October 08, 2006

From Brunei, with love and an empty stomach

We reached the Bruneian city of Muara on a nice Saturday mid- morning, with stomachs rumbling like thunder. The last meal we had was at about six in the morning and an extremely light breakfast suffices not the famished glutton. We were received cordially by our counterparts who had invited us for cocktails followed by lunch. The cocktails consisted of excellent melon juice (a very mysterious melon at that) and lots of sweet peanuts flavored with what seemed and tasted like dried fish. Not that I particularly care for anything vaguely alcoholic; it seemed strange that liquor was banned in the country and people used their passports discreetly to jump over to neighbouring Malaysia for a peg or two!!

We entered the grand buffet hall with its tapestries and decorations which would have cost a fortune and seemed straight out of some fairy tale. The food was neatly laid out and seemed a feast for hungry eyes and famished stomachs. (The cocktail had served its purpose- as an appetizer, if not anything) It really is tricky being a vegetarian especially if one can’t identify with the food served or speak the local lingo. I served what I prudently considered was to my taste which included rice, something green which resembled greens and spinach to a great extent and a mysterious red sauce that appeared like a sinister tomato sauce. My carnivorous mates seemed much better off piling their plates high with chicken and fish and some rice to fill the non-existent empty spaces.

Seated there in the long table, I realized I wasn’t the only one not to relish my food. Call it what you want but the spinach (?) I had served was quite bland and tasteless whichever way one might imagine. I looked around to find quite a number of my friends looking with consternation at their prey and the other half toying at it with their cutlery in what seemed to be a test of might. (Clearly they hadn’t eaten a morsel) I went about my unfinished business in an executive manner to leave behind only the strange tasting tomato sauce in my plate. That bewildered look of consternation which one presumably gets after tasting raw flesh and hide had very quickly infected almost every familiar face. The best part about the lunch was the dessert (getting our just desserts, were we?) which consisted of sago flavored with coconut milk (sorry, I forget its native name) and tasted rather good.

On our way back we came to some unanimous conclusions that the red sauce was indeed raw prawn sauce, (and that I had mistaken it to be tomatoes) the chicken was raw, the greens were indeed grass from the jungle, (or possibly from the freshly mowed lawn) and that the company food was indeed much better and in fact one of the best.

The story doesn’t end here with many of us achieving much required gastronomical nirvana. A couple of days later some adventurous souls went about trying their hand at the local cuisine. Here’s their condensed account of how they achieved theirs. There is a native dish (also their national dish) that goes by the name of ‘ambuyaat’ that’s made of sago (again) and a dozen other gravies in smaller cups. Somebody with common sense realized that it would be better to place an order for one and maybe later go about binging for more. And so our explorers went about their way armed with chopsticks and an empty stomach. The first mouthful was heavenly with the taste of the gravy lingering for a long time. It was at the second or maybe the third mouthful that many of them realized that the sago globs stuck to their throats like leeches refusing impertinently to be swallowed down. It was also at the same instant when the magical taste of the gravy vanished and nirvana attained. They did what they had to, under the given circumstances; which was to finish off the ambuyaat for it had cost them a dearly sum of 20$. Considering the fact that one plate of idli vada cost 2$, which was incidentally the same as a glass of fresh juice, it was indeed a princely sum

Perhaps a little more explanation is required. Brunei has been built only on oil and some other local produce like rice and some tropical fruits. So, with oil come comfort and nice roads and even silent cushy cars that speed around at 190 odd kmph. But with oil also come a very high cost of living which we Indians and travellers are quite unaccustomed to; resorting to conversion and referring everything with the thirty odd Indian rupees that make up one Brunei dollar.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Reminiscing good old school

The day had nothing unusual for a standard twelve student to offer, the week before had just seen the conclusion of a series of model exams; modeled for breaking hands, torture the brain into submission and waste reams and reams of school stationery as any student’s shrewd educated guess would be

The English teacher, a very kind hearted soul by the name of Mrs. Meenakshi ambled into the classroom with an air of condescension, jaw grimly set and steely eyes that would have hacked through hordes of Persian invaders; if they ever were to make another attempt at this inappropriate moment. The steely eyes seemed to bore through me as if I was Mahmud Ghazni who had already committed the sin. I went back to do what I did best at school, dawdling on the back pages, humming ‘Riders on the Storm’ and alternately thinking about some odd bit of trivia; shrugging off that there just might be so many other Mahmud Ghazni’s and aides lurking in the other seats.

The answers of the previous week’s model exams were being given back after evaluation for keeps, to be left behind in desks or bags or carried back home dutifully to be shown to parents eager to ascertain of any last split second miracle in their cub’s progress before the much awaited Boards. I continued with what I was doing till I realized that there was a deep hush that followed after I was summoned. The deep hush was due to the sudden change in the disposition of the tutor. The steely eyes steeled even more to rip through the unfortunate solitary Mahmud Ghazni who was standing in front of her. Unaware of my latest folly I went up to see the front page of my answer sheet swathed in red. I was quite sure that I’d used a blue pen and not a crimson red one. I was also quite sure that only I had written my paper and was fully conscious at that point of time. I leaned forward a bit to notice that the handwriting in red was of the tutor and not mine. Before realization chose to hit my brain, a voice ripped through the savage silence in the classroom ‘Is this what you write one week before the Boards?’ My already confused mind never had the chance to think beyond ‘what?’ The question still hung about like the uneasy calm before the proverbial storm.

The proverbial storm lasted for what seemed like an eternity, but when it ended (saved by the siren whose sound still rings through mine ears) I found out that the cause for this catastrophe was a recipe which I had written in the exam, being the inventive genius of a cook that I was, inspired by Sanjeev Kapoor’s ‘Khana Khazana’. A wry smile crossed my face as I went back to my seat with the answer sheet clutched like a trophy after a hunt. The storm abated as Ma’m left the class in a huff. The paper went about the class as if the last Dodo just sprang up from its grave and ended up with the usual reviews and criticisms of friends.

Five years after this incident I managed to track down Ma’m’s number to get in touch with her. She was the first to remember the recipe to the last detail and had a grand laugh about the whole incident, which she claims she’ll never forget for the rest of her life. Here’s hoping that it stays that way.


The infamous recipe for ‘A Witches’ Soup for the Soul’
This recipe has been painstakingly re-constructed after a lot of fruitless search for that masterpiece of an answer paper that was stored carefully for more than three years and finally found its way out of the house.

Ingredients
Dirty muddy water- 01 ltr
Rotten eggs – 04
Dirty muddy socks – 02 pairs
Rotten Tomatoes- 01 dozen finely chopped
Onions – 04 finely chopped
Dead cockroaches- as many as you can catch
Rats’ tails- 04 finely roasted
Lizard’s tails – 03 of fully grown adult
Cobwebs – handful
Dead spiders - 04
Dirty finger nails- two handful
Beans –half kg finely chopped
Carrots – half kg finely chopped
Salt, pepper- to taste
Garam masala- also to taste
Broomstick – 01 to stir
Cauldron – 01 only

Method
Please boil dirty muddy water and add onions, tomatoes, beans, carrots, cockroaches, spiders, rats’ tails, fingernails and spiders. Break the eggs and beat it to a smooth consistency and add to the concoction. Add salt, pepper and garam masala to taste, stir with broomstick to add flavour. Add the socks and cobwebs as garnish. Remove when completely cooked.

Nota Bene
I know after seven years it is not possible to remember the catastrophic recipe in great detail. However this is broadly what the soup had save a few minor missing ingredients.

Meenakshi Ma’m if you ever get to see this recipe (not again!) please tell me if I’ve omitted anything as you remember notorious affairs (and this one at that) more vividly than me.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

A Travelogue in parts.One(,) two many

The road to Port Blair is nonexistent from the mainland for reasons obvious. I being truly and only as I could be took the nefarious sea route fraught with peril, thunderstorms, and cyclones (The only missing ingredients being pirates and sirens and a Homer to catalogue the events and spin a great epic about it) instead of the convenient air route which is quite busy from both Calcutta and Chennai (its merely an hour and forty five minutes or so). We halted at Chatham (what can be best described as a suburb in Port Blair) for quite sometime. For a forced early riser(like me), it was a bit unnerving to see the sun shining bright and beating the daylights out of me at five thirty (which’s early by any standards) in the morning (and setting at 1730ish even before you could say ‘Good Evening’).

The city is a trader’s paradise with most of the commodities exported from the mainland. Fisheries, handicrafts, coconuts (sized like pumpkins) and some minor art crafts are the industries native to the island. The city is a cosmopolitan with majority of Tambis (1), Bongs (2) with a couple of Mallus (3), Gultis (4) and Biharis (5) thrown in to add more flavour to the main town centre and its quaint shops selling cheap imported electronic goods, flowers for the offering and a dozen restaurants that specialize in serving brightly hued fish, salty squids and other delectable denizens of the deep in their flesh or well cooked. Our business agenda included roaming about the city in the late evenings running or walking for hours at a stretch; devouring as many Pani Puris (6) to the heart’s content and giant narial paanis (elaneer) (7), also to the heart’s content. There are a lot of islands that dot Andaman and Nicobar which are well connected by ferries with their splendid beaches that make it a peaceful getaway. One of the nearest beaches is that of Corbyn’s Cove, a nice little place tucked away in remoteness. It offers what a beach has to; endless waves, some silence for the patient soul, a refreshing shower after a nice long swim under the sun and one of the amazing black teas ever tasted at a disguised tuck shop. There’s the usual dal muri (8), ice cream and a strange aquaria restaurant with an equally strange aquarian name.

The imposing structure of ‘The Cellular Jail’ (9) forms the centre of the city. It’s a pity that only three of the original seven arms have stood the ravages of time. A haunted air about the well preserved ramparts, a deep sickening feeling in the pit of the stomach and nausea take over as history and time unfold their story in bits and pieces. The Japanese during the WWII persevered with, what the British had begun. The jail’s history is also well documented and preserved for posterity, to be looked up as meaningless statistics for a figure hungry statistician. There’s the next door Ross Island that houses deer like domestic fowl and sheep and the barracks of the erstwhile British Army. A must go are the Havelock Island and Jolly Buoy with its supposedly pretty beaches (supposedly because I haven’t been there personally) and scuba diving at supposedly reasonable rates. Up north is the ‘Barren Island’, the only place in the whole of India to spew forth lava, ash and such other raging hot things that can be expected from an active volcano

Some more facts –for the uninitiated
The A&N first came up on the Radar screen in the Ramayana when Hanuman and Rama chose to sidestep it on their way to Lanka. Translated from Sanskrit, the name Andaman roughly translates to abode of beauty and peace. The second notable instant when the island lime lighted was when the Dutch East India Company chose to land here (sometime during early 1600s. They had to beat a very hasty retreat because of the mosquitoes and malaria. Even now malaria is rampant in the deep jungles and other interior islands. Many places still go by the names of Wasp Bay, Spiteful Bay near the Kamorta islands(where people still close doors after sunset as a feeble attempt to ward off finger sized mosquitoes and wasps).

(9) The Cellular Jail - The work on the Cellular Jail started in 1896 and finished in 1905/04 as the first three storied penitentiary that could house almost 700 native prisoners. Veer Savarkar, Shaheed Bhagat Singh and many other notable freedom fighters have been a part of this notorious jail or have succumbed to the ruthless acts of the infamous jailor David Barry. Barry died a sorry death onboard a steamer bound for Calcutta en route to his dear and beloved England where he could never belong to. A&N were for a brief time under the Japanese during the Great War (approx 1943-46).History has it that the Netaji was conned about the appalling and squalid situation of the prisoners and governance in the islands. Japanese bunkers still exist today as a memoir of the past and finds utility as public dustbins to a greater majority.

…..of some help

(1) Tambi- slang for Tamilian ( Native: Tamil Nadu- a very old, once civilized region; inventors of idli, dosa now facing peril due to many incumbent politicians clothed in shades of white)

(2) Mallu – slang for Malayalee ( Native: Kerala- where literacy is the highest in India that makes people overqualified for a job of any kind; where each family has to have its representation in Dubai and Mumbai; home for as many coconut trees as politicians in the whole of India.)

(3) Gulti – slang for Andhraite( Native: Andhra Pradesh- place of long names and longer surnames which can trace the family tree till Chiranjeevi(worldu famousu superstaru from Andhra) and Asoka ( not a worldu famousu superstaru) ; place of fiery pickles and edible material(!) inspired by Barren Island.

(4) Bongs – slang for Bengali (Native: Bengal (West/East) – place where fish has been a flourishing religion since time immemorial; of rosogollas and people with tongues that never cease to wag about the rosogollas, mishti doi.

(5) Bihari – slang for Bihari (Native: Bihar- !&%# ?)

(6) Pani Puri, (7) Elaneer – a.k.a Golgappa, Puchka and Narial Paani, Tender Coconut Water (really great edible stuff to eat and end up with ‘Delhi Belly’ (not to be confused with ‘Delhi Belle’) and drink(certainly not a proven pesticide that dissolves teeth in ten days and/or gives one embarrassing burps or belchs after dissolving teeth in ten days); one of my favourite pastimes)

(8) Dal Muri – a really Bengali stuff to eat. Made with petrol (or castor oil or castrol super TT), puffed rice (pori), onions, groundnuts; ingenious Bengali invention to keep insects, people and bad fish breath away.