Our Mindset Episode 22
Every morning and evening, every woman faces the same dilemma—what to cook? Chapati or Bhakri? And what vegetable to make? Little children always ask their mother first for what they want.
That day, there were no vegetables at home. I made chapatis and crushed them into sugar water for the kids. My husband had just returned from delivering milk in the village. I asked him, “There must be a market in the village at five o’clock. Could you bring some vegetables? I’ve only made chapatis. What will you eat?”
He replied nonchalantly, “I already had my meal. There was leftover mutton curry at my aunt’s house.” He didn’t even hesitate to say it.
Since morning, he had eaten mutton twice, yet he hadn’t thought to bring even an egg for the children. Instead, he said, “Don’t burden me with household worries. My aunt is coming tomorrow. The buffalo still needs a wash, and I have to clear the grass in the garden. I need to finish that today. You take the goats to the field. They’ll graze while you help me gather grass.”
He washed the buffalo and set off toward the garden after releasing the goats. The children had eaten, but how could I leave the goats hungry? So, I took the kids and followed him.
It was my first time in the garden, and I looked around curiously. In the distance, I noticed a small hut. It took me a moment to realize—it was my friend Maya’s hut! I had forgotten about her since she last visited. She had once told me, “If you ever need vegetables, just come and take some.”
I turned to my husband and said, “You’ve wasted three days on other people’s work since your aunt left. So today, you handle both the goats and the grass. I’m taking the kids to visit my friend.”
He knew her well. Her brother-in-law was a good friend of his. When we had first moved here, he had even visited us.
I took the children and walked toward the hut. Maya was alone, clearing grass in the field. Seeing me, she smiled and said, “Finally remembered me, huh? I wait for you every day. I’m glad you brought the kids too.”
There was a swing tied to a tamarind tree. The children were overjoyed. There was something special about our bond—I couldn’t quite explain it.
She washed her hands and said, “Come on, let’s eat first.” How did she know I hadn’t eaten since morning? I was truly hungry.
She served methi (fenugreek) sabzi, chapatis, sabudana khichdi, and basundi. “Are you fasting today?” I asked.
She laughed. “It’s my husband’s Monday fast. I made extra for his lunchbox, so I brought the leftovers.”
Maya had a habit—she squeezed lemon juice over everything she ate. “I can’t eat without lemon,” she would say. Her husband brought home two fresh lemons every day. She even squeezed lemon into the sabudana khichdi.
Basundi—I had never seen or tasted it before. At my mother’s house, we had a buffalo, yet she never made basundi. Instead, she would boil milk, crush some biscuits into it, and call it basundi. Even now, she makes it the same way, and we still eat it with joy.
The children and I ate to our heart’s content. I loved the basundi so much that Maya showed me how to make it.
It has been fifteen years since I left that village, but whenever I prepare basundi, I remember her. I recall those days spent in her company, and my eyes well up with tears. Since then, I, too, have developed the habit of squeezing lemon over my food.
I never liked aamras (mango pulp). I used to only eat mangoes by sucking the pulp directly. But one day, Maya made me eat aamras forcefully. And just like that, I started liking it. Ever since, I enjoy aamras with a generous drizzle of ghee.