Short Rein, Long Game
Aloo tikki (crispy potato patties) and two chutneys, with a side of patriarchy
Pati Parmeshwar (which literally translates to ‘husband-god’) is the moniker for a husband in Hindi. There are many festivals in India devoted to the worship and welfare of husbands, and none that I know of for wives. One of the best-known festivals is called Karwa Chauth.
In the wee hours of the morning of this festival, women get up and cook some special foods. They sate their appetite on these and fast for the rest of the day till the moon rises in the night. Some years that could be as late as 11 pm. One is not even allowed to drink water. Married women spend the day relaxing and keeping a low profile, so as not to tire themselves out. They get together in the evening to retell the epic tale of a devoted wife who saved her husband from death by this fast.
Part of the ritual is to dye your hands with henna. Many young girls also do the fast and henna their hands, either to emulate their mothers or to wish a long life to their prospective husbands. I did dye my hands occasionally when I was a young girl. Folklore says that if the hands stain lightly, your mother-in-law will be a mean old witch; if your hands stain rich dark orange, you will get an angel who treats you like her own daughter. My mother’s and my hands never colored well, and we were destined to have mean old ladies for our mothers-in-law.
Fortunately for me, I never had to deal much with my in-laws since I lived in the US. But my mother did, and the legend turned out to be true. My mother did not like my Dadi ji, my paternal grandmother (ji is a respectful appendage to titles). My mother had all kinds of nasty things to say about her. The constant refrain was how Dadi ji kept her dowry. I had seen her temper myself as a small child, when I saw her grab some bills from my aunt (her daughter) and rip them into pieces.
My grandmother lived in their ancestral village, while my grandfather taught school in Simla. Dadi took care of the fields, hiring labor to plant and harvest the crops. My grandfather would come to the village during school holidays. He did not like physical work. He was gregarious man. He preferred to sit with neighbors and chit chat rather than help her manage the work. This would lead to a rift, and off he went back to Simla. He did, however, stay long enough to sire seven children, my father being the oldest, followed by three sisters and then three brothers.
I don’t know how long my mother stayed in my Dadi’s village after getting married. Soon she joined my father in Simla who worked for the government (not foreign service yet). Later, after independence, the capital shifted permanently, and my parents both moved to New Delhi.
We did not visit the village often. There are only three times that I remember. The first was when I was about 5 (perhaps just before we went to Africa). The village was a couple of miles from any road. There was a little stream we had to wade through part way there. Most of the time it was a few inches deep. Occasionally it would be flooded, and I remember being scared to cross it.
Dadi ji did come once to visit us in Delhi, when my youngest brother was born. She brought huge canister of ghee and a big tin of panjiri, an Indian sweet. It is cooked by sautéing whole wheat flour in ghee till well roasted, then adding almonds, raisins, many other tasty tidbits, and of course, sugar. She would secretly treat my middle brother to panjiri without giving me any. I was only five, but I could sense gender discrimination.
The last time I visited the village was when I was sixteen, when we got back from Belgium. My youngest uncle (the only one still alive now) is about six years older than me. I had lots of fun playing cards with my uncles.
My parents left me in Chandigarh when they moved to Nepal. I had done O levels from London University ( studying on my own) while I was in Brussels. We had no idea on what courses I should have taken for Engineering. I enrolled in a college to take the appropriate pre-requisites. Dada ji (paternal grandfather) was my and my sibling’s guardian. He was a misogynist. He did not like the idea of me going to college. One of his favorite proverbs was that women should be kept on a ‘short rein.’ This did not sit well with me.
Then it was time for me to go to engineering college. I was one of five women in my class to enroll in Birla Institute of Technology and Science (“BITS”) in Pilani, Rajasthan. At this time there were very few female students in engineering. (My daughter/editor tells me how groundbreaking this was, but at the time I was just pursuing what I love. Maybe I will tell some college stories later.)
My parents were in Kathmandu, Nepal. I needed tuition fees and an escort to go to Pilani, twelve hours away by bus. (Girls did not travel alone in those days.) My grandfather absolutely refused. But I was already becoming more assertive. I was not going to take no for an answer.
My Nana or maternal grandfather — more stories about him later — lived in a village about an hour away by bus. I had asked my father earlier for a monthly allowance for my petty expenses. So I had some cash. I walked to the bus depot and took a bus to my Nana’s village. Unlike my Dada, my Nana was very progressive. He was all for women’s education and freedom. By the next day, I had the tuition fee and went back to Chandigarh. Now how to get to Pilani?
Dada absolutely refused. Very few people had phones in 1960s India. I sent my father a telegram about the situation. He sent a return telegram to my grandfather, basically ordering him to take me to college. We took the bus together at 6 am. We rode silently, not talking to each other. At 6 pm, we were in Pilani with my suitcase and bedding. We took a rickshaw from the station to the dormitory building. The security guard at the gate unloaded my baggage. Dada ji rode back on the same rickshaw without stopping or uttering a word to me.
That was the last day I ever spent with my Dada ji. My parents took him in after my father retired. They looked after him until he died around 1987. After the epic ride to Pilani, I saw him only once again for a few minutes, on a visit to my parents in 1981 with my one-year-old daughter. Needless to say, I did not talk to him.
Aloo tikki (crispy potato patties)
This is a very popular appetizer in India. It is served commonly with one or both chutneys detailed below in recipes A and B. I chose this recipe because my Nana used to grow potatoes as a crop (more about him in another story). Nandini is right: take my serving estimations with a grain of salt. I tend to be off by 100%. That is, I always cook twice as much as needed. [Editor here: it has taken my mother at least four decades to arrive at this conclusion, and not for a lack of trying on the part of the people she feeds. Whether she’ll actually take this recognition into account when cooking in the future remains to be seen.]
Ingredients (serves 6?)
2 pounds potatoes, boiled and peeled (NB: I use a pressure cooker to boil the potatoes for 10 minutes. You could also use an Instapot. I find it easier to peel the potatoes while still warm.)
1 large onion, diced into small pieces
3–4 tablespoons of breadcrumbs
more breadcrumbs for coating
one and a half teaspoons salt
2-3 hot green peppers (optional)
2 teaspoons amchoor powder (dried mango powder, available at Indian stores; if I don’t have it, I substitute a teaspoon of lemon juice instead)
1 teaspoon dried pomegranate seeds (optional) (available at Indian stores)
2 teaspoons roasted powdered cumin seeds (jump down to recipe C for instructions on making this if you can’t find it)
a bunch of cilantro leaves, cleaned, washed, and chopped
vegetable oil for shallow frying
Method
Mash the potatoes. I use the slotted gadget pictured to the left; this works well while the potatoes are still warm. Don’t overmash them. Tiny lumps give a nice texture.
Add the powdered cumin seeds, salt, amchoor powder, hot peppers, pomegranate seeds, onions, and half the cilantro. Use your hands to mix.
Add enough breadcrumbs, mixing them in by hand, so that the mix becomes just dry enough to make patties without sticking to your hands. Sample it at this point and add more spices according to your taste. (You can make the mix a day or two ahead of time. Refrigerate if not using right away.)
Make patties about 2–3 inches in diameter and 1/2 to 3/4 inch thick. Pre-warm a nonstick griddle (I use an electric griddle) to 300 degrees.
Add some breadcrumbs to a dish. Coat the patties with the breadcrumbs on both side by dipping them and patting them in this dish.
Oil the griddle. Cook the patties on both side till golden brown. Add enough oil so that the patties don’t stick.
Transfer to a serving platter. Garish with the remaining fresh cilantro at serving time.
Serve with mint chutney, sweet and sour tamarind chutney, or both.
A. Mint chutney
Ingredients
1 cup cleaned, washed fresh mint leaves
1 medium-sized onion
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoon sweet and sour tamarind chutney (recipe below; if you don’t have it, use 1 tablespoon of lemon juice + 2 heaped teaspoons of sugar)
2–3 hot green peppers
1-2 teaspoons ground roasted cumin powder
Method
Blend all the above ingredients for 1 minute at high speed in a blender, with just enough water to get the blender going. Taste for seasoning. Add more salt and pepper, if needed, according to your taste. Will keep in the fridge for up to a week.
B. Sweet and sour tamarind chutney
Ingredients
1/4 pounds of tamarind pulp (NB: From an Indian store, buy the cleaned soft pulp brick tamarind wrapped in clear plastic, usually sold as one pound. Don’t buy the hard kind, which takes forever to work with. Don’t buy the processed goop in a plastic jar. It has too many starches added and is hardly sour at all.)
3 teaspoons roasted cumin powder
6 large pitted dates or 10 smaller ones
3 teaspoons salt
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoons hot red chili powder
optionally, 1 teaspoon black salt (available at Indian stores)
Method
Boil tamarind, dates, and brown sugar with 2 cups of water for 20 minutes in a two-quart pot. (First bring to a boil at high heat, then simmer partially covered for 15 minutes.)
Blend this mixture in a blender for 1 to 2 minutes till smooth.
Put the blended mash back in the pot. Rinse the blender with one cup of water and put that in the pot too. Repeat with another cup of water. (This way, you waste no pulp.)
Bring to a boil again. Add the spices, reserving one teaspoon of salt, one teaspoon of cumin, and 1/2 teaspoon of chili powder. Taste and adjust by adding some of the reserved spices if needed, according to your taste. (I use the exact amount called in the recipe.)
The chutney should now resemble a thick syrup. If it’s too thick, add 1/2 cup water and boil again; if it’s too thin, keep cooking it down.
Cool. Store in a bottle in the fridge. (I use empty instant coffee bottles.) It will keep for many months.
C. Roasted cumin powder
Heat a heavy-bottomed 6-inch pan on the stove at medium heat. Dry roast 1/4 cup cumin seeds in the pan, stirring the seeds with a wooden spoon, till the cumin seeds turn a dark caramel color that is slightly lighter than milk chocolate in color. Cool. Grind in a small spice blender. (I have a small $10 coffee blender dedicated to blending spices.) Store in an airtight container in your spice cabinet.
Kulwant Pandey is a retired computer hardware engineer who enjoys gardening, cooking, knitting, sewing, and reading. She lives outside Poughkeepsie, NY and is the mother of Vidhu and Nandini (who edits these posts). Please check out the rest of her blog and leave comments and requests — they always make her day!
