Culinary Tales

 When I came back from my regular evening walk, Milan was standing at the guesthouse entrance, smiling as usual.  ‘Nimbupaani Sir?’, he asked.  I nodded in the affirmative. I had walked long and had no energy yet to climb up the stairs, so plonked on the sofa in the lounge, and waited for Milan to get my lemonade – with both salt and sugar.  

“What do you want for dinner, Sir?”, Milan asked me as he brought my thirst-quencher. I normally say, ‘whatever you’re making is fine’.  But, I didn’t feel like eating ‘whatever’. 

It is over three months since I have arrived in Port Blair, and I have continued to live in guesthouse for want of regular accommodation.  The guesthouse food is passable, and the boys try hard to make it as well as they can.  Even after telling them I do not like potato, eggplant, and chana dal, every once a while, I get them.  Having learnt not to be fussy over my long service of having lived in multiple guesthouses – some good, some bad and some downright atrocious – I haven’t complained about food, except for the occasional salt or spice issues.

This eve though, I had little interest in eating their daily fare, and wanted something that made me feel at home.  Saaambaaaar! It also helped that I had got sambar powder from home just a few days back, when I went to Delhi for the International Conference on Defence Finance and Economics.  My erstwhile colleague, Sahil had obliged me by getting some that was packed by my mom.  

“Make some sambaar”.

“Yes Sir”.

“Do you have vegetables to add?”

“Sir there is cauliflower, pumpkin, drumstick leaves, carrots, and cabbage.  Will add all of that”

I thought if allowed he would even throw in the kitchen sink and the towels.  I had already tasted their version of sambar (served with equally interesting idlis) a couple of times – hadn’t passed the test.  So, I went about teaching him how to make sambar, the ingredients needed, and what combination of vegetables taste good (this is something you will see mainly among Kannada and Tamil speaking households; Telugu and Malayalam households will put anything that they can lay their hands on into their sambar, just like Milan).

The conversation took me back a couple of decades, as I sipped my lemonade.  I reminisced the number of people I had taught how to cook (at least how to cook South Indian food) over time.  I don’t claim to be a gourmet chef.  Not even someone who dishes up something frequently, or experiments greatly wearing an apron.  Even though I eat meat (chicken, prawns, and fish, occasionally), I am squeamish to touch them raw, and need someone else to clean, wash, marinade, and taste them if they are well-cooked, if I am cooking! Nor have I formally learnt how to cook anything.  All that I know have been learnt observing my mom and aunt, while I was a school-going kid.  It came in handy when I had to fend for myself as a student while in college.  Usually, I took the lead in cooking when I lived with friends, and the friends did the cleaning.  

I used to be a fussy eater as a kid (and even well into my adulthood).  But, getting selected into the Civil Services, and being subjected to unknown tastes during probation made me less fastidious, and more accepting.  Plus, I even learnt to eat a bit of meat, as against being an absolute vegetarian.  This possibly would need another essay; else I would be digressing too much. 

One of the first people I taught cooking was my friend, SR, in Vizag.  She – while excellent at making prawn biryani, and pesarattu (pancakes made with greengram batter), she surely wasn’t adept at making rotis/chapatis, and upma.  Her parathas/rotis used to be shapeless, and would need a hammer to soften.  I taught her different kinds of sambar we made back home (including bassaru – made with extract of boiled lentils and vegetables/greens), and she made me learn to appreciate the taste of mangoes (which was NEVER my favourite fruits) and bitter gourd.  Plus I learnt that a Telugu household generally has a large spread everyday for lunch/dinner. However, if you ask her, she would possibly remember me for coffee! 

Similarly, several of my friends in the Netherlands (when I lived there for a year pursuing MA in Public Policy) were taught how to make masala chai among other things. I also had great company to cook in SP, who regularly dished up amazing dum biryani! A Japanese classmate who was pregnant, would drop in regularly, for some chai or Indian curry, as she found it difficult to eat anything bland. 

Every time I moved on transfer into a new town (and a new house), the onus of teaching the cook at home fell on me – be it to Mangala in Mumbai, or Rahul in Jammu, Sarah in Bengaluru, Motilal in Hyderabad, and Sandhya in Kolkata.  It never was easy to make some of them learn.  Mangala had too many things going in her personal life, affecting her mentally, and Motilal was always in a fear that the other boss he worked for would manage to throw him out.  Sandhya – a mother of two adolescents, was a tall, dark, lady who could give the ramp models a complex with how svelte she looked – had difficulty in unlearning her Bengali ways of cooking.  She couldn’t fathom why veggies needn’t be fried! Plus she would have a new story each day why she wouldn’t be on time and why the meal should be made in Bengali style! Regardless, they all learned how to cook to my requirements to a large extent.  

The best person to learn how to cook though was the boy in Bhutan, Saddam Hussein.  Yeah, soak in the name! My Bhutan posting was with the Border Roads, and every officer is entitled to a ‘Sahayak’ at home – paid for by the Project.  Saddam, a Bengali from somewhere near Siliguri, was not wanted by most officers because of religion.  I had no hesitation there, and he came to assist.  When he arrived, I asked him if he knew how to make tea, and he answered in the affirmative.  It was another matter that he didn’t.  So, the lessons started with that.  In no time, he had imbibed every lesson so well that when my parents to stay with me, they were extremely impressed too (that’s saying a lot, knowing how difficult it has been for my mom to cook for my dad).  He could make perfect upma, paranthas (of every kind), biryani, and even obbattu (or holige, a sweet dish made in Karnataka on Ugadi, our New Year, and other special occasions).

The officers met pretty regularly in the evenings to play cards, at different officer’s house each time.  The dinner was potluck and would take place there itself as the officer’s family too would join in to play (kids of course weren’t allowed; they would have their own games and pastimes).  Soon, Saddam’s dishes were part of the conversation over cards.  “He makes the best upma I have tasted’, “I like his akki roti better”, and so on.  I couldn’t be prouder.  Both of him and my own ability to teach someone.  When I was leaving Bhutan, I learnt that Saddam, with the money he was saving from his days in Bhutan, had planned to start his own small-time eatery in Siliguri.  I hope he is doing well.

The reverie ended with the thought about how many Bengalis have cooked for me so far, including Milan, who does now.  As I sat for dinner, sambar arrived.  But for the level of spice – which could be dialed down the next time – it was well-made.  The next dish for him to learn will be mixed vegetable curry done in south Indian style.  I already am warming up to the idea of teaching another one! 

 

 

To Cooperate Or Not to…

 There’s a big debate going on in social media regarding the entry of Amul in Karnataka. There’s a fear that it is a ploy to finish off the existence of Nandini, the local milk cooperative - and the second largest in the country - and merge whatever left thereafter with Amul, the biggest cooperative. 

Not too long back, Shri Amit shah, the HM, had suggested something on the lines that Amul should take over Nandini and one single cooperative must be formed. Then too there were protests, and then there were clarifications that no such plans were afoot. 

Cooperative movements are what have saved the dairy industry in India - and Amul obviously is the first, best, and biggest success story. The National Dairy Development Board was established after the visit of Shri Shastri, the then PM to Amul premises, who was immensely impressed. 

The success story of Amul has been replicated across the country through state promoted cooperatives. Nandini is one such replication of success. So, what is making the people of Karnataka (and its politicians) jittery about Amul’s entry into the State. 

Already cooperatives sell their products in areas beyond their borders. But these products are usually longer lasting ones, usually. Or because the catchment area (area from where milk is primarily sourced and packaged) is close to other states and thus they get access. Like Nandini sells its fresh milk and curd (packaged plastic covers; and with much shorter shelf life) in the border areas of AP, and TN. Similarly, the cooperatives of AP and TN sell their products here too, if similar nature. 

The unwritten rule by which these cooperatives operate is that there is no poaching into catchment areas - no sourcing of milk from neighbouring states, through any means, right or ulterior. And, no selling of fresh produce at large in the areas of other cooperatives. Even though you’ll see Amul products in Bengaluru or Bhubaneswar, and nandini’s in Hyderabad or Kolkata, you don’t have Amul dairies in Karnataka or Nandini’s in Gujarat to source milk from the dairy farmers. 

What changes now in the instance of Amul entering Karnataka is that it start selling its fresh milk and other milk products in Bengaluru and other areas, in direct competition to Nandini’s. 85% of Nandini’s sales come from Karnataka - even though Nandini’s presence has become robust in other states - especially in the tetra pack segment. 

In all the war of words, what is lost is the clarity of why there is opposition to the entry of Amul and why it is bad for Nandini. It has become an issue of imposition of the hegemony of Gujarat over the entire country, and Karnataka. 

Two issues take prominence in one finding fault with the entry of Amul. And, these are serious issues. Not just based on identity of Karnataka or Kannada. Or mere opposition to what the central government desires. 

One, the number of dairy farmers in the state has almost reached saturation. Any increase in the numbers would only incremental. Milk production today can only increase through better methods of milk production, and by increasing the number of cattle owned by farmers. The only way Amul can procure fresh milk and milk products and sell in the market would be through poaching farmers supplying milk either to Nandini or small private players. This would increase procurement costs of milk. 

Two, competition among cooperatives will not benefit dairy farmers or the cooperatives. It only results in price wars, and detrimentally affect milk production and supply. Consumers may see an increase in price as a result. 

Three, Amul has deeper pockets than all other cooperatives, thanks to being the oldest and the leading player. Amul has a turn over of 72,000 crores as against 21,000 crores of Nandini, the second largest player - over three times. Aavin, the Tamil Nadu dairy farmers cooperative has a turnover of 5800 crores. Most other cooperatives would not be able to withstand competition from Amul and may either perish or get merged with it/another cooperative, resulting in creating a monopolistic situation. 

Also, it is not known if the governments are allowing other cooperatives too to set up similar facilities elsewhere. Like allowing Nandini or Aavin in Gujarat and elsewhere. Even if allowed, the cooperatives may not be ready to enter other markets, from investment perspective. 

Pitting one cooperative against another is a bad idea, in my opinion, for the cooperative movement itself. We are already struggling with loss of pasture and agricultural lands, as urbanisation expands ever so fast. The size of arable land per capita is already less; add to that the size of land holdings getting smaller as population grows unabated. 

It is time to think of cooperatives of small farmers so they get more income from their fields, and move away from hand-to-mouth existence and forget being dependent on either doles or employment guarantee schemes. 

Governments must promote farmer cooperatives across the states. That is the need of the hour. Let the dairy cooperatives exist and function as they do right now. How these cooperatives are run and how politicians have taken them over is another matter for discussion. That can wait.