From Montreal to Brazil : Minus 36 Hours -- From Argentina To Brazil : Plus 36 Years!

My last blog before this one (13 May) was actually the second of three progressive cameos I had wished to show you in December 2012, when taking a retrospective look at the evolution of live intercontinental television in India around 30-40 years ago.  Due to some mysterious technical problem I couldn't understand, this didn't get posted then.  

And I just restored it a few weeks ago as a sequel to the series of essays on friendship, as it featured my fictional friends who used to figure regularly in my column Delhiberations in the Evening News in New Delhi during the 1970s and '80s.  

To view the whole context in the correct perspective, you must glance through the three sketches in the following order, tracing my increasingly exciting televisual impressions of the Munich and Montreal Olympics (1972/'76) and Wimbledon 1984 :

     India : Infant TV vs. Instant TV    (3 Dec. 2012)

     Delhivision : Magic Of Montreal    (13 May 2014)

     Delhivision : Miracle Of London    (9 Dec. 2012)

Well, as you can see, we have been watching glamorous sports events live on a global scale in India for 30 years now.  But still, for an ultrasenior citizen like me, that amazing old experience of ever-narrowing time-lag in televiewing can never fade from the memory.  

And quite naturally, I can't help recalling those thrills of transition when I stay awake for several hours around midnight in India these days, watching the World Cup football matches being played on the other side of the earth and trying not to get bored.

The difference in time between Montreal and most of the World Cup venues in Brazil is just one hour, but in my perception as a long-time journalist, it's actually 36 hours! 

And in this nostalgic frame of mind, I can't also help recalling the following article I wrote about football and sensational sports-writers in the context of the scandalful World Cup gala in Argentina in 1978, exactly 36 years ago!  

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Glossary & annotation

Goalswami  --  derived from Goswami, which is a very common name in the Eastern state of West Bengal in India, meaning 'Cowgod'  (Go = cow, and Swami = god, in Hindi, Bengali and other North Indian languages).

Red Brigade  --  Related to terrorist threats in military-ruled Argentina hosting World Cup tournament.  

Ezeiza airport  --  international airport, 30 kilometers from Buenos Aires.

MacLeod  --  Ally MacLeod, manager of the Scottish team whichperformed disgracefully.

Connaught Place  --  Historic commercial area in New Delhi, with roots in early 20th-century British regime.

Hindi films  -- Popular Indian cinema used to overflow (as it still does) with extremely naive scenarios.

Vish  -- Short for Raja Vishnu, pen-name I had adopted for my Evening News column, as for my articles in Shankar's Weekly, known as the Punch of India.

Reuters message  --  It wasn't unusual those days for sports writers in India to re-write teleprinted reports filed by international news agencies.  

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Evening News, New Delhi

23 June 1978

Making a scoop

My good friend Goalswami, the sports critic, who covers football and hockey for a Delhi newspaper, is not known to let any sensational news go by without scooping it.  In fact, I've known him to create a lot of news.

So when he left for Buenos Aires to cover the World Cup matches, I started looking for some juicy stories.  

And sure enough, Goalswami sent despatch after despatch with the juiciest stuff.

Red Brigade have landed at Ezeiza airport!  --  Leading players doped!  --  MacLeod has resigned!  --  Italian team pays Austrian team to send wives back home!  --  Scottish World Cup fans face execution!  --  and finally:  Bomb scare in Press Center!

The other day I was dining in a Connaught Place restaurant, when I found a bearded gentleman at the adjoining table.  His face was strangely familiar.  He looked like Goalswami.

I was intrigued and walked up to his table and asked what time it was.

"9-30," he said curtly, and attacked the food on his plate.

"Excuse me, but aren't you Goalswami?"  I asked.

"Never heard the name,"  he said.

But I wouldn't give up.  You can't just grow a beard and expect not to be recognized by an old friend!  That kind of thing is possible only in Hindi films.

"Look, Goalie!"  I said. "Let's call the bluff!  You're supposed to be in Argentina!  What are you doing here?"

Goalswami tried to glare me away, but he couldn't.  Under my steady gaze he wilted.  Then he couldn't suppress a smile. 

"Look, Vish, let's keep this strictly between ourselves, shall we?"  he said.  "I came back from Argentina last week, but of course, I can't let anybody know about it.  That's why I've pasted this bush on!"

"But I read your despatch this morning, man!  How do you explain that?" 

"Oh, I just scrambled the Reuters message and unscrambled it --  nothing to it, you know!"

"But why have you come back?"

"Don't tell anyone, Vish!"  Goalswami confided.  "You know, I started most of the rumours out there, but people got wise to it.  Somebody phoned me and said if I didn't leave the country within 24 hours I would be blown to bits in the Press Center.  So I took the first flight out!"

I could see it all clearly now, and an interesting thought flashed in my mind. 

"And I suppose before you left, you started the bomb scare too?"  I asked. 

"Naturally!"  Goalswami said, fondling his false beard.  "I just couldn't resist it, old man!"

Delhivision : Magic Of Montreal

My column Delhiberations, which used to appear every Friday in the Hindustan Times Evening News in New Delhi during several years in the 1970s and '80s, wasn't stereotyped, and didn't have a uniform mode of presentation.  It was basically a light-hearted commentary on passing events, with an accompanying cartoon drawn by myself;  but sometimes it could also acquire a serious tone and take a critical look at fundamental issues. And once in a while I would deal with a given topic in both styles in successive articles or on different occasions, reinforcing my reflections.   

And there was variety in the humorous approach, too:  sometimes there would be pure satire, and at other times there would be plain statements.  Quite frequently, I liked to put things in the form of a light-hearted chat between five intimate friends living in Delhi  --   one of whom was myself, of course. 

The familiar-sounding but non-existing names I had assigned to these imaginary friends of mine had special significance with reference to the great demographic diversity of India and some historic landmarks of its  capital city.  I shall explain this aspect some other time;  meanwhile, here's a typical conversation between them, on the slow but steady evolution of live television in India:

Evening News, New Delhi
23 Feb. 1977

Delhiberations

20 Eyes For Montreal

"There are times when we can curse TV to our heart's content, but there are times when it's a real blessing," Rajpath Roy said'

"Are you talking about the Olympics?" Kutubullah asked.

"What else?"  Rajpath Roy said.  "Delhivision is doing a wonderful job, rushing the Olympic films to New Delhi within 48 hours."

"I think it would be 36 hours, rather,"  I said.  "Don't forget that Indian Standard Time is 11 hours ahead of Montreal time.  That means when it is Monday evening in Montreal. it's already Tuesday morning in India.  And Delhivision flashes Monday's events on Wednesday evening here!"

"I still remember the Munich Olympics which I saw on Delhivision,"  Safdar Singh said.  "It was a memorable show."

"Of course, it's not the same thing, seeing the Olympics on TV and attending them personally,"  Janapathi said.  "I was in Munich in 1972, and saw the Games.  It was a remarkable experience."

"Nothing is the same seen directly and on TV,"  Rajpath Roy said.  "But it makes a lot of difference seeing the Olympics on TV and not seeing them at all!  Take these gymnastics, for example.  It's one thing  just to read in the papers that Nadia Comaneci got 10 points out of 10 in three different events, and it's quite a different thing to seeing her actually do it, even if only on the TV screen!"

"You are perfectly right,"  I said.  "The important thing here is the speed with which the shots are rushed to your TV screen.  I am sure even the best documentary on the Games wouldn't be so thrilling if you saw it a month after the events.  This is where Delhivision has scored another splendid goal."

"You know, actually there's an advantage in seeing the Games on TV rather than in person!"  Kutubullah said.  "So many of the games go on simultaneously,  I am sure you can't see all the highlights if you are physically present in the stadium.  But on TV you don't miss anything important which happens.  It is as if you were present in 10 different spots at the same rime, watching the games with 20 eyes!"

"Naturally!"  Janapathi said.  "There are so many other events too, like the Republic Day parade, which are better seen on TV than in person.  But still, I don't think a TV show is a satisfactory substitute for the real thing."

"Look here, Jani, don't give us a big lecture  just because you are able to go abroad now and then and actually saw the Munich Games,"  Rajpath Roy said.  "If you feel so strongly about it, why don't you fly away to Montreal?"

"I've just been to Europe on vacation." Janapathi said.  "What do you think I am supposed to be doing?  Enjoying a permanent vacation, eh?"

"In that case, don't grumble!"  Rajpath Roy said.  "Just thank Delhivision for letting you have a glimpse of the Games within 48 hours!"

"You mean 36 hours!"  I said.

Concept And Dimensions Of My Column Delhiberations

In the PostScript in the preceding blog (August 27, When Music Critic Subbudu Made A Volte Face.....), I had recalled my close association with Mr. G. Kasturi and Mr. N. Ravi, successive Editors of THE HINDU, during the past 50 years.  And digging into my ancient files in a nostalgic mood, I found a letter I had written to Mr. Kasturi in 1976  --  spelling out my vision and perspective as an amateur journalist bound by the severe restrictions imposed by the civil servants' conduct rules. 

Among other things, some paragraphs of this letter  --  which closely followed a conversation we had during one of his short visits to New Delhi  --  clearly defined the scope of my light-hearted column Delhiberations in the Hindustan Times Evening News in the Capital.   Which, of course, figures so prominently in my ongoing recollections of the progressive scenarios of the good old 20th century!

 By the way, 'Raja Vishnu' was the pen-name under which I was signing my column in the Evening News, as I had done in Shankar's Weekly.

..... ..... ..... .....


Extract

Letter to Mr. G. Kasturi
Editor, THE HINDU
30 June 1976


Dear Sir,

. . . . . . . . .  I don't know whether you chanced to see the Evening News on Friday;  anyway, I am enclosing a cutting from it.  This piece rounds off the earlier ones I had given you  --  depicting the summer exodus of the Delhi wives, which is a natural consequence of the nationally-integrated character of the Capital's population.

I also enclose a couple of earlier articles. What I am trying to highlight in my column for the present is the idea that New Delhi  --  with its self-contained residential sectors and wide-open spaces  --  is a nice, quiet place to live in, and the average citizen should be content with the environment.

There are other major themes like Historic Delhi, urban development, etc., which I hope to take up as I go along.  I have already commented extensively in the column on New Delhi's beautiful looks.  But the constant and underlying theme of Delhiberations is National Integration, which concept is built into the very structure of the column.

In evaluating the merit of my writing, it would be necessary to remember that I have very severe constraints in regard to the subjects I can deal with.  Nearly all important issues are out of bounds for me, and I can't afford to be too prolific in my output either.

It is true that even within their rigid boundaries, Delhiberations have acquired considerable depth.  But the most significant thing about this column is not just that it is good, but that:  (a)  even as a freelancer (burning midnight oil on office work, mostly research of my own innovation), I have been able to achieve a tour de force in popular journalism;  and (b) I have developed a technique of writing which isn't easy to imitate and which can, in the proper milieu, serve as a powerful instrument for moulding public opinion.

Perhaps what makes my portrayal of the pastoral atmosphere of the Capital's residential sectors interesting is the fact that the people who figure in the column are so human.  They have no doubt come to terms with their environment, but they aren't really immune to the attractions of the West or of the affluent lifestyle.  They do feel a constant yearning for the Western world and its material comforts, and a nagging desire for a more dynamic life.

These conflicting pulls of the soul and the simultaneous hankering after peace as well as adventure  --  which characterizes the intelligent person's reconciliation with realities  --  are a universal phenomenon.  There would be ways of dramatizing this aspect in the context of any place in the world;  my own focus is on New Delhi only because I happen to be living in New Delhi for the time being. . . . . . . . . .

With regards, 

Yours sincerely,

M.V. Ramakrishan
  alias Raja Vishnu

How The Maestro Gave Me A Glimpse Of God And Converted Me To Carnatic Music!

In the preceding Articulations (July 21) I had mentioned the legendary Indian musician M.D. Ramanathan, alias MDR.  Here's the story of how I discovered his glorious music, exactly 50 years ago:

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Glossary/Annotations(in same order as in text)

Carnatic music --  Classical music of South India.

Capital  --  New Delhi, in the North.

Madras/Bombay  --  South-East/West coast cities, now named Chennai/Mumbai, but still called Madras/Bombay by hard-core citizens.  Madras is known as the Mecca of Carnatic music.

Sangeet Natak Akademi  --  One of the three National Academies in New Delhi, meant for preserving and promoting Indian music, dance and drama (Sangeet-Natak). fine arts (Lalit Kala) and literature (Sahitya).  When I had mentioned these important custodians of Indian culture in several articles in the 1970s and '80s, I had no idea that eventually I would be a member (and also the secretary) of an important cultural panel which would  review their performance in 1988-90. 

Sapru House  --Prestigious building in New Delhi, Headquarters of Indian Council for World Affairs (ICWA), with a library and conference facilities, and a fine auditorium selectively available for cultural events.  Named after ICWA's first President Tej Bahadur Sapru, an eminent pro-British lawyer in the colonial regime.

Karnataka Sangeetha Sabha  --  One of  the major cultural institutions in New Delhi, disseminating South Indian classical music and dance.  

Tamil Nadu  --  A Southern State.

9 p.m. English news  --  For several decades in British and independent India, All-India Radio (AIR) was broadcasting its evening English news at 9 p.m.  This was the only news broadcast which was heard all over the country (even the Hindi news in the national language not being universally popular) --  and thus, it was  a hallmark of India's amazing 'unity in diversity'.  I've no idea whether AIR still continues this feature or not:  --  it's a long time since I last heard the radio!

 

Bach  --  When I heard MDR for the first time, I was familiar only with Bach's instrumental music, and not his oratorios.  When I heard the St. John Passion on LP records later on, I was certainly impressed by the mystic power of some of the arias and choral spells.

Mridangam  --  Main percussion instrument in Carnatic music, played with the palms and fingers of both hands  --  capable of creating extremely sophisticated patterns of percussive sound.

..... ..... ..... 

 

Evening News, New Delhi
5 December 1975
I travelled 200 miles to hear M.D. Ramanathan

I am really happy that I am living in the Capital, which is a cross-section of India itself.  But there are moments when I regret that I am not living in Madras.

Not because Madras happens to be my home town.  Not just because I miss the beautiful beach.  But because I can't hear all the Carnatic music which is flowing so profusely there, especially the music of the great master, M.D. Ramanathan. 

MDR gives not fewer  than a dozen recitals every year in Madras.  Even in Bombay he sings once in six months.  But New Delhi doesn't invite him even once a year!  His last major performance here was in March, 1974.  He did give a recital for the Sangeet Natak Akademi early this year;  but it was a formal and insubstantial affair, and didn't count as a concert.

I am therefore really glad that MDR will be here for a concert on December 7 at Sapru House.  The Karnataka Sangeetha Sabha are organizing this event.

I don't know why most of the organizers of Carnatic music in the Capital go on resisting M.D. Ramanathan.  Perhaps they are still remembering the furious controversies which used to rage round his music way back in the Sixties, when some music critics in Bombay and Madras condemned his slow tempo, gesticulations and facial expressions.

But it is a long time since music-lovers in Bombay and Madras learnt to ignore unfair criticism and to appreciate MDR's music without any reservations.  It is high time people in the Capital also found out the answer to the question:  "What is so great about MDR ?"

The answer is very simple:  his rich voice an meditative spirit.  Everything else about his music is determined by these twin factors.  Let me tell you about his voice first.

...

I wasn't a lover of Carnatic music to start with.  Till I was nearly 30 I was only fond of Western music.  I loved Beethoven and Brahms, Chopin and Tchaikovsky.  I loved New Orleans jazz, and I admired Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald.  I was thrilled by the powerful voices of Mario Lanza, Benjamino Gigli and Paul Robson.

I never liked Indian music, classical or otherwise, because all voices in Indian music seemed high-pitched and too weak.  Because of this I never heard much of it, and of course I must have been missing a great deal.

I was living in a Tamil Nadu town in 1963.  Late one evening I switched on the radio for the 9 p.m. English news.  There were still a few minutes to go, and someone was singing Carnatic music.  Though I tried not to listen, my attention was compelled, because there was something unusually powerful about the singer's voice.

It was a full, deep-throated bass, something I had never associated with Indian music.  And the music was progressing in a stately, unhurried manner so uncharacteristic of Carnatic music, unmindful of the fact that the English news was only a few minutes away!  I was fascinated, and waited breathlessly for the announcer to tell me the name of the singer:  it was M.D. Ramanathan.

A few weeks later I travelled 200 miles by train to Madras to hear a full-length recital by MDR.  And what I heard taught me something more:  that MDR's music wasn't just Voice, but also Spirit.

I sat transfixed for three hours as he sang in his characteristic slow tempo, meditating rather than entertaining.  Suddenly sound acquired a kind of mystic beauty which I hadn't found even in Bach or Beethoven.  If this was Carnatic music, I thought, then I was already converted!  And since Carnatic music rests wholly on a religious foundation, my agnostic mind at once began to see spiritual light.  My life has never been the same again.

...

Since then I have attended hundreds of Indian music concerts. I have made friends with many great musicians. I have learnt a little bit of Carnatic music myself, and have even become a music critic.  But I can never forget the fact that it is through MDR that I discovered the beauties of Carnatic music  --  and, on a larger plane, the whole mystique of Indian music.

And yet here I am, living in New Delhi all the year round, not being able to hear MDR sing more than once in 18 months at best, unless I travel a thousand miles or more to hear him somewhere in South India! It often occurs to me that at this rate I may not be able to hear many more of his recitals in this lifetime, and it's a shocking idea.

But meanwhile, what a happy thought that MDR will be singing next Sunday evening at Sapru House, accompanied by the mature and dazzling violinist Lalgudi Jayaraman and the subtle, sober mridangam-player Vellore Ramabadran!  I wouldn't just like to praise the Karnataka Sangeetha Sabha for organizing this event:  I would like to thank them for it.

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PostScript, 2013

Volte face!

This article was one of the landmarks in my track record as a journalist, and also marked a dramatic turning point in MDR's New Delhi connection.  The large auditorium overflowed with wildly enthusiastic music-lovers, heralding a period when the maestro's image in the  capital would soar sky-high.  But that was only a repetition of what had happened in Bombay seven years earlier!  Let me tell that story some other time.

 

Marvellous Memory Of Isolated Madras Beach

There was a time long ago, when the Marina in Madras (India) was globally famous as the second most beautiful city-bound beach in the world, after the Copacabana in Rio de Janeiro (Brazil).  I don't remember the exact status of Naples in Italy, which also had a very famous sea-front.

There's another lovely stretch of seashore in Madras, South of the Marina, called Elliot's Beach, just a kilometre away from where I live now.  I had written an article about this place 35 years ago, recalling my impressions obtained a quarter-century earlier when it was a very isolated spot beyond the city's Southern border.  So today I have a marvellous sixty-year-old memory to share with you!

Although my column in the evening paper in New Delhi was called Delhiberations, the Editor had given me unlimited freedom to write about any place on earth or even in space which I found interesting, the only condition being that there should be some connection with Delhi, Old or New  --  which wasn't very difficult to ensure really, as you can see from this sample!

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Glossary

(in same order as in text)

 Madras  --  Metro city on the East coast of India, facing the Bay of Bengal.  Now re-named Chennai, but still remains Madras in conversations.

Elliot's Beach  --  Named after Edward Elliot, Governor of Madras in the British regime.  On the sands here stands a historic monument called 'Kaj Schmidt Memorial', commemorating the sacrifice of a Dutch seaman who saved the life of a young  Englishwoman on this spot in 1930, losing his own life in the process. 

 Rangarajan (alias RJ)  --  My college friend who lives in Virginia, USA now, and who has figured in this blog before (Ochi Chorniye, 31 Oct. 2010, and Teach Yourself French, Italian, Spanish!, 7 Feb. 2013).

Bundle of beedies  --  'Beedi' is a native Indian smoking stick  --  a small dose of tobacco rolled with a dry leaf into a tapering shape.  Relatively inexpensive in comparison with cigarettes, beedies are never sold in packets, but are invariably tied up in cone-like bundles of about 20, in an amazingly uniform rustic tradition prevailing all over India, not only in rural areas but in the cities as well.

Tamil Nadu  --  A State in South India, whose main city is Madras.

Jamuna  --  Although actually it's a long tributary of the river Ganges, flowing down from the Himalayan mountains, we Indians always think of the Jamuna (or Yamuna) as a great river in its own right  -- on whose banks are located India's capital New Delhi, and the world-famous marble monument Taj Mahal in Agra, 200 kilometres further downstream.

Sir Edwin Lutyens  --  Distinguished British architect who made significant contributions to the design and architecture of New Delhi, a vast section of which is still informally known as 'Lutyens' Delhi'.

 

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Evening News, New Delhi
17 April 1978

Delhiberations
Back to the beach!

 

I am not a house-building type of man  --  and being an All-Indian rather than a South Indian , all my life I have neglected the question of getting a house of my own for my old age.

Some 20/25 years ago, when I was a young man, I used to spend a lot of time on the secluded Elliot's Beach in Madras.  Those days, this was a spot rather insulated from the mainstream of the city's life, and only a few people used to go there for swimming.

A friend of mine called Rangarajan (alias RJ) used to go there sometimes for a swim, and I used to sit on the sands under a blazing sun and make friends with the fishermen.  A bundle of beedies or a packet of cigarettes was the only investment necessary for striking up a conversation with those simple folk.

I used to tell my friend:  "RJ, I don't think I will ever build a house  --  but if I ever do, I would want it to be right here on this spot!"

And now here I am in Madras, 20/25 years later, taking over a lovely apartment built by the Tamil Nadu Housing Board, just a kilometre from Elliot's Beach.  Some more flats are coming up within 200 yards from where I used to chat with the fishermen, and I can have one of them for the asking;  but as a sober middle-aged man, I now prefer to have my home a little farther away.

I can't say I have ever dreamed of owning a house near the sea (or anywhere else, for that matter);  but I have certainly dreamed a great deal about the Madras beach.  Time and population have taken their toll, and the Marina (which is the main sea front of Madras, north of the isolated Elliot's Beach) has lost some of its glorious sand;  and the polluted air has made the sky and the sea more gray than blue.  But even now the sight and sound of the foaming breakers remain more or less the same, and they stretch your imagination to eternity.

I have fully enjoyed the peaceful life I've led during the past six years in my self-contained South Delhi sector, and I've enjoyed the many splendid vistas of the Capital.  But from time to time I have certainly wished New Delhi had a beach too!

A  well-bridged urban river in the centre of a city can compensate to some extent for the absence of a beach.  Haven't you seen lovely photographs of the Seine in Paris or the Danube in Budapest?  But we in Delhi can't boast of our Jamuna as being anything other than a mere borderline.

No doubt it is just an accident of history that Sir Edwin Lutyens wasn't day-dreaming about the Thamescape in London when he went to work on New Delhi! 

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PostScript, 2013

Memories of Marina

 

The above reflections did not describe the Marina in Madras, which has many wonderful memories for me.  Just wait till I fish out some other old articles (or write fresh ones) about some splendid views of sea, sky and sand!

Crunching Groundnuts in Native India, & Homely Erdnussflips In Alien Setting!

After those cameos of mangoes and coconuts (May 19 and 23), here are some fond memories of peanuts  (which are called groundnuts in Indian languages, as also in several European languages).  Do meet those hungry monkeys and thirsty sailors again before taking off for Berlin and Bohemia! 

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Glossary

(in same order as in text)

Mysore  --  City in Karnataka State :  see Midsummer Memories Of Mangoes, etc.  (May 19).

Rajkot, Saurashtra  --  An inland city and a region in Gujarat, a State on the West Coast of India.

Mahatma Gandhi  --  Father of the Nation, famous for his severely austere lifestyle.

Cochin  --  Major port and harbour in Kerala State :  see Cameos Of Coconuts, etc. (May 23).

Paappads  --  Crisp, crunchy discs :  see  Mangoes, etc.  (May 18).

East Berlin, Czechoslovakia  --  Those were the days before several European nations disintegrated but the two Germanies got united.

Pilsner Urquell  --  Call it a sentiment if you like, but I think it's the best beer in the world!

 

 

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Evening News, New Delhi
30 Nov. 1984

Bohemian nuts


MY son Vijay (11) has a great fascination for peanuts (as I do).  Every evening, when the two of us go out a walk, he stops in front of a certain peanut-seller at a bus-stop near my house. 

He buys a handful of unshelled, roasted nuts, cracking the shells open and crunching the core nuts as he walks.  Of course, I ask for and get my share!

Vijay daily revives many pleasant memories of peanuts in my mind, as do the innumerable peanut-sellers who ply their trade on the streets all over the  Capital.

 

*

I AM a tiny tot in Mysore, long ago.  I go with my parents and sisters to the zoo, and we feed peanuts to the monkeys.  The monkeys dexterously snap the shells open and eagerly crunch the nuts, and I watch in fascination. 

Perhaps it was this early childhood impression which gave me an everlasting liking for peanuts!

I live in Rajkot for a while, where the peanuts (like the ice-cream) are fabulous.  I am convinced that the best peanuts in the world are grown in Saurashtra in Gujarat State, though I haven't seen the whole world.  Call it a sentiment if you like, but that's what I honestly think.

And I remember that Mahatma Gandhi had some schooling in Rajkot, and I have an impression that peanuts were part of his staple diet, like orange juice and goat's milk.  I am not surprised really, for in my opinion he must have had the best peanuts in the world to give him a lifelong taste in his childhood!


*

I AM sitting in a bar in Cochin, drinking beer with some Norwegian sailors whose friendship I've picked up on the spot.  We crunch toasted paappads and salted peanuts, which go very well with the beer.  It's a session to remember!

I am on tour somewhere in India (it could be anywhere on this vast sub-continent), and I am starving because of undue pressures on my time.  I miss breakfast, lunch and dinner, and would go to bed terribly hungry, but for the packet of peanuts I always keep in my briefcase.  Around midnight I crunch the packet away and go to sleep peacefully.

I am living in London for a long while, and I am missing all the wayside peanut-sellers of the Indian cities, especially those of the Capital.  I buy nice-looking cellophane packets full of nicely salted peanuts (sometimes probably processed from nuts exported from India), but they don't taste half as good as the unshelled, freshly-roasted peanuts you can buy at any bus-stop back home in India!

*

I AM on a short visit to East Berlin , with the outside temperature at freezing point.  I feel fed up with the smell of meat and eggs, and my soul cries ut for a nice, homely vegetarian meal.

I buy a packet of what look like large popcorns, at a stall near the railway station.  It's called Erdnussflips in German, but is actually imported from Czechoslovakia.  I open the packet with some misgivings, but the contents are very familiar and friendly.

They happen to be exploded peanuts which somehow seem to be fried in pure vegetable oil.  I have no other way to describe them, and they taste like some dish prepared in a purely vegetarian family in India.  An answer to my prayers, certainly!

I buy a dozen packets and go back to my hotel.  I sit down in the bar, order the best Czech beer they have (Pilsner Urquell, of course!), and go to work on the marvellous flips.
A Bohemian meal. to be sure, but the best food I've had in several days  --  something never to be forgotten! 

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PostScript, 2013

A Revelation About Erdnussflips!

As I had mentioned in those Delhiberations almost 30 years ago, the groundnut-puffs I crunched in Berlin had looked like large popcorns.  As a matter of fact, they had even tasted a bit like popcorns.  I didn't know why this was so, but it never occurred to me to find out the actual reason.

After keying in the above text, however, out of sheer curiosity I Googled for relevant information, and I had a remarkable revelation --  that corn flour is the main ingredient of Erdnussflips, though the product is named after groundnuts, which constitute only about 30 per cent of the inputs!

Anyway, this unplanned search has given me some fresh and interesting insights into the whole phenomenon, which I shall share with you in due course! 

Cameos Of Coconut Drinks, Coconut Trees, And Kerala's Coconut Culture

After the midsummer memories of mangoes and monkeys (May 19), here come some more midsummer memories of coconuts and coconauts!! 

 Most of the culinary expressions explained below had figured in this column earlier --  Archives :  When French Cuisine Turned Totally Vegetarian! (10 Feb. 2013),  and the definitions are repeated here for ready reference. 

 

.............................................................

 

Glossary (In same order as in text)

 Coconut  --  A football-sized (or a little smaller) tropical fruit-like vegetable, growing in clusters on tall palm trees whose huge leaves resemble Venetian blinds.  A hard and hollow spherical kernel, covered by thick green husk, is lined inside with a layer of pure-white meat and contains a pale-gray translucent liquid.  The meat is quite thin and rather pulpy when the nut is very young, and grows much thicker and harder when the nut attains maturity on the tree.  So, tender coconuts are consumed as thirst-quenching drinks, usually at simple roadside stalls, and mature nuts are used for cooking.  Coconut oil is extracted by drying the fully-grown meat and crushing it well in a mill.

Chou En-lai  --  The first Premier of the People's Republic of China, who visited India in 1954 and 1960, pursuing the elusive goal of peaceful co-existence.

Madras  --  Earlier name of Chennai in South India, still very much in vogue, the two names peacefully co-existing in social  (though not legal) terms!

Kerala  --  A coastal state in South West India.

Avial  --  Salty mixture of small boiled pieces of several vegetables (such as pumpkins, potatoes, yams, carrots, green beans, etc.), generously laced with coconut oil.  A highlight of Kerala cuisine.

Olan  --  As defined in the old text below, boiled pumpkin slices served steaming hot, with a sprinkling of coconut oil.  Another speciality of Kerala! 

Pappadaams  --  Crisp wafer-thin discs of salty dried cereal-based dough, to be fried or toasted for eating  --  the Kerala brand of paappad, a generic North Indian expression I had explained in the preceding column (Midsummer Memories of Mangoes, etc., May 19).

Chutney  --  Hot green chillis and shredded coconut, ground together to form a thick, salty paste, standard accompaniment for idlis and several other light refreshments all over India. 

Idlis  --  Small white ultra-soft pancakes, cooked by steaming fermented yeasty batter made from rice and cereal powder  --  a marvel of South Indian cuisine! 

King Kong  --  Actually, the original black-and-white movie was made in 1933.  I have no idea why I thought it was 1940, which was the year in which, as a tiny tot, I saw it for the first and only time.

Cochin  --  Earlier name of Kochi, a major port and harbour in Kerala State, off the Arabian Sea.

Skol!  --  Norwegian expression meaning "Cheers!" in toasting contexts (also Swedish and  Danish).

Carlsberg, Tuborg  --  Well-known beer brands of Denmark.

Falken Lager  --  Actually a Swiss brand, though it sounds so Scandinavian when I tell this story!  

..................................................


Evening News, New Delhi
6 July 1984
Delhiberations
Coconautics!


I HAD concluded  last Friday's Delhiberations with the refreshing movie recollction of Chou En-Lai's tasting tender-coconut water in the open air in India.

Soon after sending my copy to the Editor, I went to Madras for a couple of days;  and on the way I resolved to drink some fresh coconut water there, since one can hardly get any in the Capital these days.

But I had no time in Madras to stop anywhere and have a cool coconut drink.  On the way back to Delhi, I thought regretfully about the omission, and naturally some nostalgic memories of coconuts came flooding into my mind!


*               *               *


MY grandfather's house in a Kerala village --  I've just arrived on a brief visit.  A rustic coconut-feller is sent for early in the morning,  He climbs up a tall tree in the backyard and fells a few tender nuts.

He takes one and dexterously rips away part of the raw green husk on the shell.  He cuts open a large hole at the top, and I lift the nut above my face and, tilting my head backwards, drink up the delightful natural beverage. 

The nut-feller takes the shell back, neatly cleaves it into two halves with a heavy curved cast-iron knife, and hands them to me.  I scoop out the soft white meat inside the kernel and gorge myself greedily.

I ask for another nut, and the exercise is repeated.  And once more!

My grandfather advises me to have an oil-bath.  I soak my skin all over in coconut oil.  We send for a village masseur, and he gives me a vigorous rub-down.  I bathe in steaming hot water in the backyard.  A kind of sauna it is, and I feel ten years younger.

My grandmother prepares a delightful mid-day meal.  Among other things she makes avial (a mixed vegetable dish) and olan (boiled pumpkin slices served steaming hot).  She sprinkles generous quantities of coconut oil into the pots.

She fries pappadaams in coconut oil, and a delicate aroma fills the whole house.  And there's coconut chutney to go with idlis in the evening.  I go for a walk in the green fields, and note the cool shade provided by the dried coconut-leaf roofs on the farmers' huts. 

Down there in Kerala on the West Coast, it's coconut culture all the way!


*               *               *


I AM a schoolboy in a small port town called Cuddalore on the East Coast.  I specialize in climbing trees of all kinds.

But coconut trees somehow elude all my skills.  I go to the beach often and try to climb the shorter ones lining the sands, but can't make it.

I try to work up some inspiration by thinking of King Kong clambering up the Empire State Building in New York (1940 version, naturally).  But even that doesn't help.  Climbing the pillar-like palm trees calls for an intricate technique, and I give up the whole enterprise.

As a young college student I see a Hollywood film called Island In The Sun.  Harry Belafonte sings the title song, a delightful Calypso number.  Lolling about on the golden sands of a Caribbean beach, the dark hero wins the affections of snow-white Joan Fontaine.

But what captures my interest more than the lovely romance or the lilting music is the sight of the coconut trees swaying gently in the sea breeze against a deep-blue sky, with the sound track going 'swish, swish', which is another kind of music to my ears.

I see the movie once more, not for the romantic couple or the rhythmic Calypso, but for the sea and the sky and the rustling coconut leaves.


*               *               *


I AM spending a short holiday in Cochin, twenty years ago.  In a beer shop one evening I make friends with some jolly Norwegian sailors.

I invite them to a coconut party next day, and under the hot afternoon sun we trek on sandy tracks to a coconut grove.  We cut open dozens of tender green coconuts and gulp down the divine liquid.

The seamen keep saying Skol! as they drink and drink, and they declare it's a wonderful treat, something they will never forget.  Later on in the evening, they drag me into their ship anchored in the harbour, and we follow up with liberal doses of Carlsberg, Tuborg and Falken Lager.

Perhaps by now my Nordic friends would have forgotten many of their on-shore adventures all over the world.  But I like to imagine that they still remember, as I do, their coconautic fling in Cochin port!

Midsummer Memories Of Mangoes, Monkeys And Mysore

It's the middle of May, and the mango season has just started in India.  It will be in full swing within a couple of months.  So here's an article I wrote about mangoes nearly 30 years ago --  and it looks and sounds so fresh and true, as if I wrote it just this morning!

..................................................

Glossary(In same order as in text)

British days  --  When India was just a colony of the British Empire, before it became independent in 1947.

Bungalow  --  In the British regime, the usual residence of senior officers  --   a mini-mansion with very spacious rooms and a vast surrounding compound where there were luxurious lawns and an amazing variety of trees (originally built for Englishmen, but later on accommodating Indians also) .

Jaamun  --  a delicious native Indian fruit  --   somewhat resembling grapes, but violet in color and having an unusual tongue-tingling taste.  Thought to be very close to the hearts of tree-bound monkeys in wild woodlands.

Rakesh Sharma  --  The first Indian spaceman, who has figured earlier in this column  please see Spaceviews And Skyviews (14 Nov. 2012), and India Looks Lovely (15 Nov. 2012).

Aam-paappad  --  In Hindi, 'aam' means mango, and 'paappad' is a paper-thin disk of dried salty paste made of soaked and ground cereals --  always plain in South India, often with shredded pepper and/or spices added in the North.  Meant to be toasted or fried for eating.  Aam-paappad is a dried sheet of mango pulp, usually just one or two millimeteres thick, and cut out as small rectangles.  Sometimes it's much thicker, and looks almost like a thin pocket book. To be eaten as it is, not processed further.

Aavakkaai  -- 'aava' is mustard, and 'kaai' is unripe fruit, in Telugu, which is the native language of Andhra Pradesh.

Andhra Pradesh  --  A State in South India, where the midsummer temperature is extremely high : not an ideal weather for gobbling up red-hot red-chillis!

* 

Evening News, New Delhi
18 May 1984

Delhiberations
Mango, mango!

OFFICIALLY the mango season has arrived all over India along with the midsummer  heat waves, but one hardly sees any juicy mangoes in the Capital's markets.

And what one takes home for the kids in the evening is only a handful of the fruit, never a basketful or even a big bagful, with the mango price competing with the mercury level to beat all previous records.

I'm ever so fond of telling you about the day-dreams I used to indulge in when I was a child or a young man, but I don't recall dreaming about mangoes in my childhood.  I just used to eat them by the dozen every day during the season!

They say the forbidden fruit tastes the best.  I don't know anything about that, because I never had to steal any fruit.

My father was an Executive Engineer in the British days, and we always lived in a big bungalow in some district town or other, with not less than 15 or 20 acres of fruit-laden woodlands surrounding it.

There were always huge baskets of mangoes in the house, but I never cared for their luscious contents.  I preferred to collect a few chosen friends from the school and directly raid by father's gardens.

We would dexterously climb up the mango,  jaamun and other trees like monkeys and, sitting on the highest branches, bite into the fruit.

We would imagine that we were members of the Swiss Family Robinson, and fruit never tasted better than on a tree-top, I can tell you!

Talking of mango trees, have you noticed that they are the shadiest ones in India?

Travelling across the vast plains of our country in long-distance trains, I've often wished I could get down at some small wayside station and just relax in the cool shade of the lush mango groves!

*               *               *

I WAS delighted to hear cosmonaut Rakesh Sharma tell a vast TV audience from the Salyut space station recently that the flat mango cakes (aam paappad) specially prepared for this mission by the food research institute in Mysore, was very much liked by his Russian friends on board.

I don't really know what special research efforts are required to make aam-paappad consumable in space.  But down here on terra firma, my grandmother, who was no research scholar, used to prepare the tastiest variety you could wish for.

Long before the flat succulent cakes she would spread on a piece of cloth on the terrace had dried under the hot sun, they were all gone, with we children hovering around like hungry monkeys!

*               *               *

I SUPPOSE nobody in the world would possibly like sour grapes, but we Indians do love sour mangoes, duly pickled. 

What I like best by way of pickled mango is a very special recipe of the South called aavakkaai.  It's not a product of the food experts in Mysore, but that of the whole culture of Andhra Pradesh. 

It's a genuine gastronomic explosive which foreigners and even most Indians would be well advised to approach with caution  --  green, sour mangoes cut in large pieces along with the kernel, and preserved in a vitriolic lotion made of powdered mustard, salt and the hottest roasted red chillies you can imagine! 

Even seasoned native connoisseurs of aavakkaai in Andhra Pradesh consume huge quantities of distilled butter to off-set the convulsive effects of this particular brand of TNT.

I wonder how our Russian friends in space would react if next time their Indian colleague produced a jar of hot-'n'-sour aavakkaai  instead of soft-'n'-sweet aam-paappad!   Do you hear me, Rakesh?

-------------------------------- 

PostScript, 2013

My Mysore Connections

The food research institution mentioned by me in this article was the Central Food Technological Research Institute in Mysore, which is a nice and hilly South Indian city where I had grown up during the first five years of my life.  And CFTRI is a constituent unit of CSIR (Council of Scientific and Industrial Research, New Delhi), of which I was the Financial  Adviser for five years from 1983 to '88.  As a tough and highly inquisitive fundmaster, I wasn't exactly a bosom-friend of the Institute's aggressive Director, Dr. Amla;  but after I wrote this article in my column in the evening paper in New Delhi, his attitude towards Finance did turn far more friendly!

Incidentally, amla happens to be the Hindi name for a sour fruit-like Indian vegetable, usually consumed only in the form of hot pickle --  and, like the jaamun fruit, it has also a tongue-tingling taste!

Indians' World View : So Broad Subconsciously, So Narrow Self-consciously!

A few days ago I had recalled a Shankar's Weekly article of mine dated Jan. 1973, which had ended with an imaginary South Indian wedding invitation (March 28 -- Kicked Upstairs : Field Marshal Manekshaw....).  When I was rustling through my old files looking for that article, I came across an Evening News article dated June 1977, in which I had quoted a real-life South Indian wedding invitation.  

I would like to share this piece of writing also with you, because it concerns a significant psychological aspect of the average Indian's outlook towards foreign lands and foreigners, especially the Western world and Westerners.  This has been a theme I've explored endlessly during the past half-century, and I shall be fishing for many more essays, articles and reviews containing my consistent reflections in this regard.  

..................................................

 Glossary

(in same order as in text)

 Udipi restaurant  --  Udipi is a small town in Karnataka State, famous for certain traditional South Indian light refreshments (such as idli, dosa, vada, upma, etc.) which are beginning to be well-known in many parts of the world now, thanks to the ever-expanding Indian diaspora at the global level.  'Udipi restaurant' is a genetic expression to indicate any joint in any place where these dishes are cooked and served.

Saree  --  An approximately 5.5 metre-long (or longer) and 1.2 metre-wide piece of fabric (made of silk, cotton, polyester or blends thereof), draped gracefully around the body from shoulders to feet, which is the traditional dress of Indian women, who naturally consider it to be the most beautiful dress in the whole world (as I do).    

 ..................................................

Evening News, New Delhi
25 June 1977
Delhiberations

Indian vision

I received a surprising and intriguing invitation from a friend of mine recently:- 

"Mrs. and Mr. S.V. Subramanian request the pleasure of your company with family and friends on the occasion of the marriage of their daughter Bhagirathi with Balakrishnan on Monday, July 4, 1977 at the Hindu Temple, Flushing, New York-11355."

There was no reason why I should have been surprised, because I had already read in the newspapers about the construction of the Hindu Temple in New York.  But newspaper reports are impersonal, and wedding invitations are personal things which make a far more definite impact on you.

As for the intriguing quality of the invitation, we Indians are invariably thrilled whenever we see anything Indian flourishing abroad -- whether it's an Udipi restaurant, a saree or handicrafts shop, an Indian temple, or Indian music.  We have our sights so firmly fixed outside our country that we never pause to think that there are many foreign things right in our midst here! 

Indeed, we never realize that churches and mosques must once have been alien things in this land of ours called India.  We even take our synagogues for granted.  They are all so much part of our lives that it never occurs to us that they have a foreign origin!

And we read, write and speak English --  with our alien styles and accents, no doubt --  as if it were our native language.  When we fill up forms asking us what foreign languages we know, we usually forget to mention English!

Would any Frenchman or Russian find it intriguing that French, Russian and other European-language classes are held regularly in many Indian cities?  But let some white-skinned foreigner just speak two sentences in Hindi or Tamil, and we would make a big fuss about it!

Imagine a European or American citizen being unduly excited by the fact that there are symphony orchestras in Bombay and New Delhi, or that there's a brisk sale of jazz and pop records in Indian shops!  But let an Indian musician go on a concert tour in Europe or America, and we would confer a demi-god status on the person!

Do we Indians have a broad vision?  Our subconscious assimilation of foreign things on our soil seems to show that we do have it.  But our self-conscious obsession with Indian things abroad seems to show that we lack it absolutely!

..................................................


PostScript,  2013
Teach Yourself Indlish -- Lesson 1

The remarkable similarity in the wording of the imaginary and real-life wedding invitation cards wasn't just a coincidence, because both of them had the same source  --  the standard English version of the conventional bilingual invitation form prevailing in middle-class South Indian society during the past several decades.  Please note that in Indian languages we don't have separate words for 'wedding' and 'marriage';  and so a 'marriage invitation' is a perfectly valid concept and popular expression in Indlish!

By the way, 'Udipi restaurant' (defined in the Glossary above) is a term used by me.  The popular generic expression is 'Udipi hotel', because we don't have a separate word for 'restaurant' in Indian languages.   So we do sometimes talk about the Udipi hotels we've visited in London or Paris, New York or San Francisco! 

What did you say?  You'd like to learn Indlish?  Fine, let's start here and now!  

Filemaster-General & Ali Babu Go Away On Furlough!

ALI BABU and the Filemaster-General were two characters who figured occasionally in my Shankar's Weekly articles in the early 1970s, and also in my column Delhiberations in the Hindustan Times Evening News in the 1970/80s.  I had meant them to embody the crusty layers of the bureaucracy at the lower levels and the topmost level respectively.  But actually I found it difficult to project them in a negative light, because I belonged to the civil service myself, and systematically making fun of them carried the twin risks of violating the official conduct rules and also appearing to adopt an arrogant attitude towards my colleagues, for many of whom I had great respect. 

In the event, I thought I would wait till the end of my service period before developing this potentially explosive idea properly.  But when I actually retired from civil service, I began writing a serious column in THE HINDU about Govt. audit reports, and couldn't get a focus on the funny side of the filemasters' work.  Meanwhile, in the infrequent articles in which they did figure, Ali Babu and the FMG had actually emerged as harmless and rather charming characters.  And here's one of those cameos, which I hope can still raise a good laugh after all these years!   

By the way, 'Babu' is a Hindi word which roughly means 'clerk' in official circles.  Ali Babu, obviously, has a hilarious root in the classic Arabian Nights tale Ali Baba And The Forty Thieves.  Actually I coined this expression because I thought Ali  Babu And The Forty Winks would be a fine title for a humorous sketch about the office zombie.  But of course --  you guessed it! --  I never did come round to writing that story!

.......................................

 Glossary 

(In same order as in text)

British Raj  --  British Regime ('Raj' in Hindi means 'Rule' in the sense  of 'regime').  'British Raj' is a popular expression in India, where we have a highly evolved culture of both written and spoken Indlish, which has survived across seven decades of postcolonial history.

Furlough  --  Oxford Dictionary:  leave of absence, especially from military duty (origin Dutch verlof).  Roget's Thesaurus :  Vacation  --  a regularly scheduled period spent away from work or duty, often in recreation:  teachers enjoying their long summer vacation.
 
Central Government  --  Govt. of India, which is the Federal Govt., conversationally called 'Central Govt.'

LTC  --  Leave Travel Concession, which meant partial refund of the cost of travelling to and from the employee's home town, which had to be declared on joining the service, and couldn't be changed till retirement.  Employees in offices located in their own home towns got no benefit out of this rule, of course.

 

15-5-84, etc.  --  In India, it's a traditional and universal practice to write down dates as Day-Month-Year, which seems (to us) to be more logical than any other way it's done anywhere else in the world.

 ..................................................

Evening News, New Delhi
15 June 1984

Delhiberations

Home leave

In the leisurely old days of the British Raj, senior civil servants were periodically entitled to long spells of what was known as 'furlough', for visiting their overseas homes  or just relaxing elsewhere.

Even the seniormost civil servants in India today naturally do not have such a luxurious perquisite, but all Central Government employees do enjoy the privilege of a Leave Travel Concession (LTC) once  two years for visiting their home towns with their families.

In most places this may mot have a substantial impact on the work in Government offices.  But since the Capital is a cross-section of India and employees hailing from all over the country are working here, during the school summer vacation the LTC does lead to a summer exodus from New Delhi.

The following papers in the Filemaster-General's office will illustrate the point.  Perhaps they constitute an extreme case, but they will give you a broad idea of the problem.

*

1

From ALI BABU
Upper Division Clerk
Section B-14


To the Assistant Filemaster-General (Admn)

15-5-84


Sir,

I enclose an application for 15 days' earned leave from 4-6-84 to 23-6-84, with permission tyo prefix 3-6-84 and 24-6-84 (Sundays), in order to enable me to visit my home town with my family, availing of leave travel concession.

Most of my colleagues in the Section have already proceeded on LTC, including the Section Officer.  I, therefore, submit this application directly to you, for your kind and favourable consideration.

Thanking you,
          
Yours faithfully, 
    ALI BABU

*

2

To the Deputy Filemaster-General (Admn)

24-5-84


Sir,

I enclose a copy of my application dated 15-5-84 for home leave, addressed to the Asst. FMG (Admn). 

I now understand that the AFMG is also on home leave, so I venture to put up this application directly to you, and shall be extremely grateful if you are kind enough to sanction the aforementioned leave.

Thanking you,

Yours faithfully,
    ALI BABU

*

3

To the Filemaster-General

31-5-84

Respected Sir,

I enclose copies of my letters dated 15-5-84 and 25-5-84 addressed to the AFMG and DFMG (Admn) respectively, regarding my home leave, for your kind consideration.

As the DFMG is also on leave, I take the liberty of putting up these papers directly to your good self.

Under the circumstances, Sir, I humbly request you to kindly sanction the leave I have applied for.

Thanking you, and hoping to be excused for the inconvenience caused, 

Yours faithfully,
    ALI BABU

*

4

To the Filemaster-General

2-6-1984

Respected Sir,

In continuation of my letter dated 31-5-84 addressed to you (copy enclosed for ready reference), I came to know that your good self are also on home leave at present.

Under the circumstances, Sir, I am proceeding on home leave as stated in my original application dated 15-5-84, in anticipation of your kind ex-post-facto sanction, for which I shall be extremely grateful.

Thanking you, Sir, in anticipation of your favourable orders,

Yours faithfully,
    ALI BABU 

When French Cuisine Turned Totally Vegetarian !

Chef Stephane Mathonneau of Le Bistro du Parc in Paris is currently on a hectic tour of India, giving demonstrations of French cuisine in five-star hotels, as part of the second wave of Bonjour India  --  a festival of French art, culture and lifestyles spanning 15 cities and going on from January to April, 2013. 

He's accompanied by Ms. Naïna de Bois-Juzan, also from Le Bistro du Parc, who will be organizing a bistro project in the Defence Colony in New Delhi soon, and who's taking the initiative on the gastronomic side of Bonjour India.

Today is the last day of their visit to a city called Thiruvananthapuram on the south-west coast of  India.  A few days ago, their instant initiative there was greeted with the following report in THE HINDU, under the glowing headline A culinary invasion with French flavours:

"[The visitors] wasted no time on arrival here late on Monday evening. They scheduled a meeting with a chef at Taj Vivanta and explored the kitchen, their senses tuned to the sights and smells of local ingredients and traditional cooking styles that can possibly be incorporated into the dishes they have in mind. . . ."

Which strongly reminded me of an article I had written 35 years ago in New Delhi, in the context of  the French Gastronomic Fete, which had clashed spectacularly with the World Vegetarian Conference.  Unlike Chefs Antoine and Udipi Krishna Iyer, who were imaginary characters, Chef George Aubriet who figured in the article was a real-life master cook from Paris, who was taking part in the food festival and had expressed great admiration for Indian cuisine.

Evening News, New Delhi
2 December 1977

Delhiberations

Veg. 1989 !

I have a feeling that the World Vegetarian Conference in New Delhi, coinciding as it did with the French Gastronomic Fete organized by Oberoi Intercontinental and Air France, is destined to lead ultimately to a global culinary revolution.

Since India is the paramount vegetarian Power, world-wide gastronomic glossaries in future will be derived mainly from Indian sources.

So when I went to Paris in 1989, I wasn't very surprised to find, in the menu card at Maxim's, the following and other similar items:

Les Idlis a la Tchutney de Coconut  --  Dossa au Massala Udipi  --   Samossas Speciales a la Pantchquinne Marg  --  Paratta aux Galies de Tchandni Tchaouc......

I got talking to the waiter Henri, who said the Chef  de Cuisine was the world-famous Antoine.  After a memorable all-vegetarian meal, I went round to the kitchen and congratulated the great man.

"Felicitations, Maestro!"  I said.  "How did you learn our Indian recipes so perfectly?  Who is your master?"

Antoine's eyes became moist, and they rolled like Maaurice Chevalier's.  "Ah, M'sieu, my Master he callz'imslf Udipi Krishna Iyer.  He'z one of ze most amazing cooks in ze world!  And he has come to Maxim's in 1978."

"Oh, really?"  I exclaimed.  I know U.K. Iyer very well!  I used to eat regularly in his idli-dosa joint in New Delhi in the Seventies!  Is he here now, Antoine?  Can I see him?"

"No, M'sieu!  My Master he has now left Maxim's and has joined Air France."

U.K. Iyer was supervising the mass-production of idlis in the Air France kitchen when I called on him.

"Oh, it is Raja Vishnu Sir, is it not?"  he asked happily.  "How nice it is to see you again!  It is a long time after we saw each other, is it not?"

"More than ten years, Iyer!"  I said.  "I was wondering what on earth had happened to you!  I am glad to see you're doing so well!"

 "God is great, Sir!  When Air France went vegetarian, I had a big break."

"Tell me something, Iyer!  I've been wondering what exactly happened to make the French people turn completely vegetarian.  Do you know anything about it?"

"Do I know anything, ha ha!"  Iyer laughed.  "Why, Sir, I had a big hand in it myself !  There was this World Vegetarian Conference in Delhi in 1977  --  you do not remember, do you?"

"Oh yes, I remember!  What happened there?"

"I had the catering contract for that conference, Sir.  By a strange coincidence, Master Cook Georges Aubriet had come to Delhi from Paris just then for the French Gastronomic Gala at the Oberoi Hotel.  The French delegates to the Vegetarian Conference invited him to taste my masala dosa, and it changed the whole philosophy of French cooking!....

"But all that is an old story, Raja Vishnu Sir!"  Udipi Krishna Iyer said.  "Now please tell me what you will have  --  Les Idlis a la Molagappodi de Madras, or Pongalle  avec de l'Avialle Keralaise?"

........................................

Glossary

(In same order as in article)

 

Idli :  Small white ultra-soft pancake, cooked by steaming (and not frying) fermented batter made from rice and cereal powders

 

Dosa:  Slim and soft pancake, made by spreading rice-cereal batter thinly on metal pan, sprinkling edible oil around it and heating till it becomes crisp and brownish.  I had spelt it 'dossa' in the French menu, to avoid sounding 'doza'.  Idlis and dosas are staple South Indian dishes for breakfast or light evening snacks.

 

Tchutney :  French for Chutney  --  hot green chillis and shredded coconut, ground together to form a thick, salty paste.  Standard accompaniment for idlis and dosas. 

 

Masala/Massala:  Hot and salty side-dish, with potatoes and onions as main ingredients, often stuffed inside a folded dosa, which is then called 'masala dosa' 

 

Udipi:  Town in south-western State Karnataka, famous for classic restaurants serving legendary light dishes 

 

Samosa/Samossa:  Staple North Indian light dish, with potatoes, onions, peas and hot green chillis and spices, all stuffed inside pear-shaped covering of wheat batter, fried in edible oil till skin becomes crisp and crunchy   

 

Pantchquinne Marg:  Busy street in a business sector in New Delhi, with roadside shops selling samossas, among other things

 

Paratta:  Staple North Indian pancake, made from wheat dough 

 

Gali/Galie: Lane, in Hindi

 

Tchandi Tchaouc (Chandni Chowk):  Ancient and famous street in Old Delhi and adjacent lanes, lined with shops selling various goods, including sweets and savouries made on the spot

 

Raja Vishnu:  Pen-name I used when writing my Delhiberations column

 

Molagappodi :  Hot, spicy powder with a fine grainy texture, made by frying red chillis and cereals and grinding them together  --  usually made into a thick paste with a teaspoonful of edible oil, when serving with idlis.  A standard alternative to Chutney

 

Pongalle  (Pongal):  Salty dish of boiled rice, with a sprinkling of spices

 

Avialle (Avial):  Salty mixture of small boiled pieces of several vegetables (such as pumpkins, potatoes, yams, carrots, green beans, etc.), generously laced with coconut oil

Keralaise:  French for 'of Kerala'

Kerala:  A State on the south-west coast of India, whose capital city is Thiruvananthapuram.   (By the way, can you pronounce that?  If you have a problem, try Thiru-Vanantha-Puram.... there you are!)