It was at an art exhibition that I realized what hunger could mean. The walls were a pale ivory, the lights were sufficient and diffused, and the art panels were all in innumerable hues of black and grey. There was no one around when I entered and coming in after driving through the colour dense streets of Delhi, the blacks and greys in a large hall where silence reigned struck me as the right antidote for thirst. My parched throat felt relieved. I praised the magic of single tones and wished them a great life and was happy.
This didn’t last long. In less than twenty minutes my mind was back to hankering for that dash of colour and that swipe of sound… yes, overdoses were welcome. I was literally hungry to hear someone speak and to see get back into the chaotic world of vibgyor.
On a single day in the span of less than thirty minutes both hunger and thirst had reached out to me with their own surreal definitions. It was obvious to me that priceless moments unveil themselves when they know that they will be valued most. I remember we were on a route march years back and at one point were both exhausted and a bit lost in the off-the main-road forested hilly terrain somewhere between Dehradun and Mussorie. This was when I was a Gentleman Cadet at the Indian Military Academy. A friend in our platoon stopped and said, ‘I hear a stream somewhere near.’ Our water bottles were empty and we thought we’d first fill them up and then relocate ourselves on the map.
We walked in the direction of that soft gurgle of water flowing and once there, another friend said, ‘Let us stop for a while. I have an idea.’ He opened his backpack and took out a can of condensed milk and a small bottle with something red filled. He waved the two containers and announced, ‘The magic elixir is here gentlemen. Take out your trusty enamel mugs.’ Soon we were all sipping a concoction of condensed milk and rooh-afza mixed in the super cool mineralized water of that mountain stream and each sip tasted like amrit. Totally refreshing. ‘A dream drink,’ said one. We all agreed. Unforgettable. The entire experience got embedded in my memory.
If someone were to ask me about the most memorable drink ever had, I’d talk about condensed milk and rooh-afza in a mugful of the cool water of a mountain stream after a long and exhausting trek! Thirst redefined, I’d say. Imagine walking on a hot summer afternoon on a treeless barren path and then sighting a tree in the distance. A few minutes spent under that tree are bound to remain etched in our memory and all the hours spent in air-conditioned rooms will appear mundane compared to these few minutes.
Ask a marooned farmer in a flooded village what it means to be air-lifted away from the constant swirl of rising water levels and you’ll know everything that has the power to stay in memory forever. Another incident that I remember is one where we had just spent a few hours shopping for sanitary accessories for our home on a terribly sultry day. We were hungry and searched for a reasonably good restaurant around. There was none and as we trudged ahead, Specky, my wife, pointed to a vendor selling kulcha-matar from a large round container on his parked bicycle.
I asked, ‘Are you sure?’ But then even I could see that we had no alternative. We waited as the fellow prepared our meal. The aroma with its mixture of kulcha being heated and red chilli and other masalas being sprinkled on matar was tantalizingly mesmerizing. As we stood waiting I distinctly remember swallowing my drool a couple of times. All I remember now is that whenever anyone talks about kulcha-matar we look at each other, smile, and are transported to that magical moment decades back.
And yes, before I forget to mention, that pattal (plate made from large leaves) with matar-kulcha outruns the memory of a lot of simply fabulous fine-dining moments just as that mugful of condensed milk and rooh-afza in water from a mountain stream stands up to the hundreds of other expensive concoctions, cocktails, and mocktails I may have had.
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Arvind Passey
25 July 2019
