brooding over chai

For a Bengali, winter is synonymous with Motorshutir Kochuri (Peas Kachauri), Choto (Baby potatoes) Alur Dom and Gur. Out of all these, Gur is the one that is getting increasingly difficult to procure. So, every winter we set out to explore the countryside, scouting for unadulterated Gur! COUNTRYSIDE DOTTED WITH PALM TREES Khejur Gur , or Jaggery made from Khejur Rosh, the extract of the date palm is a seasonal delicacy. The Gur-making season lasts for a very short span, mostly throughout the peak of winter. It lasts till the temperature rises gradually and the warm winds from the south flow in. In my mother-in-law’s words, ‘dokhiner haowa’, or the breeze from the south heralds the end of the season. Prices of Khejur Gur rises every year and can go up to Rs 300-400 per kg. Such is the demand! But good quality Gur is hard to get. I fail to understand the logic behind this. On our numerous trips, we have seen a large number of date palm trees lining the countryside.   Then why can’

  A pensive Rishi sat looking at his sleeping son. An exact replica of him , he smiled. The cute dimples, the mop of curly hair, the mole on his upper lip – the child was a beauty. Happily married to his childhood sweetheart, a secure job, a nicely furnished flat in a posh locality; his life was straight out of a fairytale. But all of a sudden one day, disaster struck them. His son fell sick. A battery of tests and expert opinions diagnosed a rare blood disorder which involved an expenditure of a few crores. The fairy tale became a nightmare. The flat was mortgaged. Huge loans were waiting to be paid off. His beautiful wife looked much older than her age. Stress and strain had taken a toll on her. Rishi’s parents were supportive. Aged and infirm, they lived in the village. In a bid to save their grandchild, Baba - Rishi’s father had sold off most of their agricultural plots to raise money. He was willing to sell off their ancestral house. But Rishi had objected. He knew how much it

  Radha sat with a small mirror in her hand. She slathered on a generous portion of the new fairness cream and massaged her limbs gently. But she was yet to notice any significant change resulting out of this expensive regimen. It was almost six months of her marriage to Naresh. ~~~ A daily wage earner, it had been impossible for her father to marry her off. Everyone knew her as Kaali-Kalmoohi and not Radha. Harsh words, caustic comments, fake sympathy – she had seen it all.  Every proposal that came rejected her. Finally, the local priest found her a groom. Their eyes met over the flickering light of a hurricane. He was completely wasted and passed out on her. A hushed conversation ensued between her father and the groom’s mother. The deal was struck. A low-key wedding was scheduled next week. The wedding rituals were almost over when the groom’s mother kicked up a rumpus. She screamed at Radha’s father, “Ten lakhs was the deal. Where’s the rest?” “I couldn’t manage it, Didi.