THE SECRET BLEND OF ALL THINGS NICE

SO SECRET, Shhhhhsh

Of people, pandan leaf, prayers and prophets

Part One

In a bygone era, my clandestine agnostic mother once lectured me, the two subjects never to discuss at dinner parties were politics and religion for fear that I would never be invited again.   How times have changed.  

And years later, after she’s long dead and gone, I will break the silence of my thoughts on the very supportive upbringing of my Islamic teachers and friends. In fact my devout Buddhist father entrusted me to grow up in the spiritual binding of my adopted friend’s faith and country, while he served for the Kingdom of Thailand there.

They taught me that to succeed is to blend.  So my first lesson in understanding was how to mix and make a successful curry feast, by the blending of spices to every dish.  Each spice combination makes a definitive taste on a tomato base, coconut base, cashew nut base or yogurt and cream base.  Just as it is interesting to define the differences between a Gujarati to a Bengali or spot a Parsi from a Punjabi and find the heart and soul of the Indian man that belongs in all of them.

The first part of the The Secret Blend is my Southern destination to Ootacamund or Ooty near the highlands of the Nilgiri Hills of tea and coffee estates.

An over night stay in Chennai with an early morning flight on the local airline to Coimbatore was  a heart thumping, knuckle ride event that led me to recite all the prayers I knew since childhood.  From Maha Mrityunjaya to Allahu Akbar, The Lord’s Prayer to Namo Tassa.  To me, for in that moment, my faith was to all those powerful Gods.   If they couldn’t safeguard me, nothing will.   Little did I know what else was awaiting….

From Coimbatore, we took a private car with Shuni, our driver, who was crisscrossing, overtaking, and speeding as if he was Schumacher, racing up the Nilgiris hills.  It was an amazing feat that I did not leave my soul on those very treacherous dusty pathways, euphemistically speaking. Shumi the Schumacher had his thumb on the horn the whole time, his right foot never leaving the accelerator.   Every corner, and there was one every two minutes, on a two and a half hour long ride, was fraught with bumps, huge dips with either herds of goats, or a careening bus jam packed full of people.  Leaving little room between them and the ravine of infinite drop.

Arriving at Devashola tea estate in one piece minus my heart,  the scenery was spectacular.   From the porch of the Mango Tree bungalow, the panoramic view of a picturesque valley, mountainous terrain, of a bygone era, so beautifully serene and quiet, it was then when my heart caught up with me just under 2,000 meters above sea level.  The afternoon sunlight was shadowing the orchard behind, a glimpse of peach trees, plums trees and apples trees dotted around the place, leaving me to gawk at nature’s bewildering abundance.  I never wanted to leave.

Mango Tree Bungalow

Our butler, Ashoka, tall dark and willowy with yellowing teeth ushered us into the living room and introduced the staff in their livery.  This scene had the makings of upstairs downstairs of Downtown Abbey, very hierarchical and done with all seriousness.  I kept my cool and behaved as Memsahibs should,  as the butler presented us with tonight’s menu, South Indian cuisine.

We reconvened in the evening  at seven thirty with  a tray of  drinks, served by our white gloved Ashoka.  A little chitchat and gossip on the ancient toilet facilities, we eagerly awaited the gong for dinner at precisely  8pm.  I won't go into the raptures of dinner but just to say, every taste bud was captivated by the tingling sensation of herbs and spices dancing on my tongue, teasing for more.

 

Vegetable Samosa with herbal dip

This was our first course.   Crispy and stuffed with carrots onions garlic and other root vegetables.   The dip was a mixture of mint, chillies, vinegar.

Lemon Rice with Peanuts

Lemon Rice with Peanuts 

so aromatic cooked with saffron and cinnamon topped alongside

dried chillies added that piquant flavour

Dosa stuffed with spiced potatoes

Potato Dosa

Hot and crispy, magical when I dipped this in a chutney sauce
accompanied with sliced onions and cucumber.

The vegetable curry made predominently of bitter gourd was delicate and aromatic - abundant of tumeric and fenugreek.

Fresh fish caught from the lakes of Ooty done in tomato based masala curry was incredibly fiery yet subtle in flavours.   Garam Masala (a blend of spices) plus ginger and turmeric. 

South Indian Kerala Fish curr

Satiated, satisfied and  having overindulged,  my olfactory sense plus my taste buds have now totally overloaded.  It's almost as if I was over stimulated in every area of my being.   The power of spices!

Assorted Sweet Tray

Curd Rice

I was told there was more to come.   All the sweetmeats and coconut concoctions beautifully presented on a tray but the 

piece de resistance that got to me, was my 

childhood comfort, Curd Rice.   It is rice with yogurt, cardamoms, cashew nuts and raisins. An Indian version of my very English Rice Pudding.

It has been only two days since I flew into Chennai and already my heart and soul breathes India. The three things that makes an Indian soul is Vedas, Brahmin, and Reincarnation. I plead ignorance of the Vedas, the ancient Hindu scriptures  but along the way, my Buddhist faith is entertwined with Brahmins, (Hindu priests) and Reincarnation.  Perhaps my mortality on the trechorous road to Ooty was in the balance, with Visnu and Shiva arguing over my reincarnation.   As Hindus say about religion: "Truth is one, Sages call it by different names"

The next few days involved  tea picking, tea tasting , tea blends, and the future of organic tea.  I was duly reprimanded by the officious no-nonsense Mr. Mahindra, the dark Tamil Nadu Planation Manger, that it is in poor taste to drink tea, if you so much as pour milk or adulterate it with sugar.  As taught by my parents, to blend is to succeed,  very naturally I adhere to the philosophy of  "when in India, do as the Indians do".... So my penchant for milky, well-stewed truck driver's tea, will be drunk on another occassion not to be shared with Mr. Mahindra.

Courage and bravery with Ganesh in my pocket, I should survive the road back to Coimbatore, await my next journey to  Mumbai and beyond.