Tags:
Journalism of Courage
As part of the small mining community, staying in the godforsaken, coal-bearing regions of interior Vidarbha had a lot of disadvantages. However, we looked forward to the winter months, when the villagers living near by often invited us 8212; the mining families 8212; for what we termed 8216;hurda parties8217;.
8216;Jowari8217; is the main crop of the rural folk in this region. It is made into flour and cooked as 8216;bhakri8217;, a roti eaten with various accompaniments. Hurda is the tender jwari on a cob. These cobs are plucked for the party and form the main dish.
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.
