Nature146;s repast

Hurda parties are day-time affairs. The hospitable villagers used to send 8216;belmundis8217;, or bullock-carts, to transport us to their homes. A procession of six or seven 8216;belmundis8217; packed with us city folk, made their leisurely way to the fields. Once in a while we had to cross a river, which was negotiated expertly both by the bullock and driver. The host would make elaborate arrangements on the sides of his field. We were welcomed with oranges, ber, guavas and bananas, along with steaming cups of tea.

We, the children, were encouraged to explore the fields. The bushy green plants of chillies vied with the bright red 8216;gavrani8217; tomatoes. The small pearly rows of cauliflower were indeed a sight to watch. The big trees of custard apple were constantly surrounded by kids in search of ripe fruit.

At noon, the lip-smacking spread prepared by the local women were on offer. The food, made on an earthen chulla, was served on spotless brass thalis. The main attraction, of course, was the hurda. The cobs were roasted on open fires and the tender seed separated from the cobs. The roasted grain was served with sweetened fresh thick curd and brinjal bharta. However, even as we dug into the delicious stuff, we would be cautioned against over-indulgence, because more was to follow! The feast never concluded without liberal servings of chicken curry, bhakri and rice.

Satiated from the hospitality and affection of the simple rural folk, we used to sway in the carts back to our homes, mesmerised by this extraordinary way of savouring nature at its best.