On Jhal Muri

 

That’s Muri, murmura, bhel or puffed rice. I have had some of the best conversations over Jhal Muri and Lebur cha (Spicy puffed rice with lemon tea), where most of the banter lingered around family gossip. This invariably happened in the evenings, after dad got back home.

Usually he tossed the Jhal Muri, with onions, mustard oil, green chilies and chanachur, while ma made the cha. I would be the one on the bed, waiting for the tray to arrive. There is something very heart warming about having cha in your bed room, on your bed.  The mustard oil and the fiery bits of green chilies always added more energy to the heated conversation about who was right and who was wrong in generating the family gossip in question. The Muri bowl was unusually large, like a big salad bowl, and we all took big helpings of the pungent, heady concoction. There is such an evocative quality to this Jhal Muri – cha scene that, it brings in more images of heartening times had over the modest Muri.

 

The best ever jhal muri I have had was onboard  East Coast, Falaknama and Konark Express, on our annual visits to Cuttack and Howrah. I waited for the train to enter Orissa which happened early in the morning. I always about woke up first and feasted my eyes on the sudden change of scene from Andhra’s paddy fields to Orissa’s coconut ,Tal trees and a myriad Lilly  Pokhuri (ponds) and perennial rivers.  And soon enough Behrampur station rolls in and I wake dad up to get Cha in Tapris.  Ma would be the next to wake up, with an entirely new disposition, which came only with the anticipation of visiting her Baaper-bari.

As we got closer to Cuttack, the Jhal Muri, Shosha (cucumber), Pijuli (Guava), and cha walas boarded the train. That’s just what dad and I wait for. (Of course the day before, we had already gorged on the South Central Railway pantry’s Bhajjis and tomato soup – oh, yes we were amongst those who didn't give much thought to hygiene, while on a train journey). I knew it the minute the jhal muri wala  entered our compartment- the vendor’s nasal jhal muri jhal muri jhal muri call to attract lesser mortals like us, made me sit up with big bright eyes looking at dad and hoping as hell that he bought one full cone for me and did not expect me to share it with ma. (Dada is usually blissfully unaware, sleeping on the upper berth) .

I used to be in awe of the jhal muri wala – the way he carried that huge contraption around his shoulder, the big muri basket surrounded by tiny tins of different ingredients that go into the muri. I used to be utterly mesmerized, at his deft, sure strokes of sprinkling mustard oil from an old bottle with a hole in the cap, and then the swirl he gave in an old tin with a metal spoon and finally distributed exact portions  into paper  thungas or cones. Most often he filled them to the brim, so much so that some even fell out.  One handful of that invigorating mixture into my mouth- ahhhhh, pure, unadulterated joy!

 

A sleeper class train journey is a must for all children. There is so much to learn on these journeys, so much to see, consume and record for posterity.

Next time, on my India visit, I will most certainly, take a journey in a Howrah bound train, to experience the sights, sounds and smells of a train journey that are so dear to me.

 

(On a completely separate note, Lalu did his bit, I’d say for the railways, let’s see what Didi has in store. )