As the
coal driven train chugged into the Kharagpur railway station, on a moist summer
morning, four sleepy eyes opened to the vendors’ call outside the window. One
particular call, each time, during their annual travel to Kolkata, pushed them
up from sleep and urged them to look out eagerly.
“Mihidaana…mihidaanaa..”.
The
vendors walking up and down the platform, selling Mihidaanaa is one of the best
train travel memories, for them. Packed in neat white packets, the Mihidana
would find their way into the two little laps and some packets went inside the
bags for the little cousin who waited in Kolkata.
This
memory is older than forty years but the taste is as fresh as this morning’s.
We remember our travels from the magic they did to our palate. Memory has a
taste, memories live in our salivary glands and as I write this note, I can
almost taste the sweet mihidana, savored during our travels.
Our
annual travel in the Hatia-Howrah express to Kolkata was an overnight one. The
train would leave Hatia in the late evening, cross the beautiful Chhota Nagpur
Plateau and reach the Big Daddy of Stations, Tata at night. By early morning, the train would touch West
Bengal and the taste buds were lavishly treated. Starting from the Mihidana in
Kharagpur, we would be treated to vegetable chop, deem sheddho, jhaal muri even
as our heads almost stuck out of the window, marveling at the drifting away
green fields, small and big ponds and the slanting palm trees.
In
between, we kids enjoyed the long Kolaghat bridge where the mighty river would
always be in a swollen state. We would return to our vegetable chops and at
times take a break to request mother to help us get rid of the small coal
particles which would invariably fly into the curious eyes.
The
Kolkata water itself was very different for us. It was but too salty and we,
used to the sweet plateau water, had to drink several glasses from the copper
pitcher to quench our thirst.
At some
point in life, we were introduced to the railway pantry food. During our
journeys to New Alipurduar, parents bought food from the pantry. Those days,
food was served in steel thalis with built in bowls for the dal, vegetable,
fish with a big roasted papad sitting on top of the mound of food. We were so
fascinated by this arrangement, which we named Baati Thaalaa, that back
home we forced our parents to buy such plates for us. The water was served in
big glass bottles, those days.
The
suburban local trains once again offered innumerable treats to the palate. I
enjoyed the onion-beet root salad more than the accompanying vegetable chop and
especially loved the way the paper packet looked when it got all wet with the
salad. It was actually fun removing bits of torn wet paper from the salad and
chops before popping them into the mouth. The vendor cucumber always came with
neatly placed cucumbers in the cane basket. How swiftly the vendors could peel
and slice the green juicy cucumbers and smear some salt and red chilli before
offering them to the eager hands and watering mouths.
The bus
journeys had their own charm when we usually had peanuts with rock salt or an
entire bunch of green gram was placed on our laps. What a fun it was to find
out the gram pods from the thick bunch, bursting them, popping and feeling the
bliss in the mouth, all the tile the bus meandered in the hilly roads.
During
college days, I got opportunities to travel to farther lands of the country. I
spent about a month in Wardha where the first flavours of Maharastrian cuisine
touched my palate and soul. After a long day of hard work during the summer
months, the cool dining spaces in the small villages and towns around Warda
satisfied our soul. The simple but healthy meal served in large plates with
separate bowls for each vegetable and a spoonful of home made mango pickles
were topped with the smiling faces of the caring ladies who made it a point
that we should not miss our home.
Some of
my recent food memories include the small shack in Amarkantak which had about
four wooden bunches and served fresh breakfast and lunch, cooked just in your
presence. Then there were the small eateries on Ratnagiri and Ganapatipule
roadsides serving the best fish meals I ever had.
As life
meandered on various landscapes, I picked up such memories and stored them in
the palate, in the eyes and in the soul.
My
Mantra for these journeys has always been, ‘Eat Local’ in smaller eateries.
Those foods not only complement the adventure of the new journey, those are
fresh as the eateries are not big enough to store much and keep preparing fresh
food.
So
enjoy your holidays friends and treat your palate.
Happy
Holidays and happy eating.
