Summer in Mumbai just isn’t the same without the original ‘Spice Girls’—aka. groups of itinerant spice grinding ladies—whose rhythmic pounding of the many spices that go into the famous East Indian bottle masala blend are set to the tune of traditional work songs called ovis.
By Raul Dias
Ever since I can remember, synesthesia has played a particularly important role in my life. Numbers for me have genders. Days of the week have a definite hierarchy, with Sundays leading the pack. And all my months are neatly divvied up to form a rainbow of colours.
May’s colour has always been somewhere on the spectrum between a buttery yellow and an earthy burnt Sienna. No big surprise there. Think bright summer suns, freshly baked lemon chiffon cakes and yes, that indescribable hue of a ripe Alphonso mango.
But there are two more shades in the family that truly define the month and by default, summer for me. The almost-neon tangerine shade of freshly pounded East Indian bottle masala that is always stored in amber coloured beer bottles for a longer shelf-life. Thus, the name—bottle masala.
Spicy Talk
While I am not an East Indian by birth, I have always been a big fan of their culture and most pertinently, their cuisine. Having lived most of my life, here in Dadar West, Mumbai, surrounded by a close-knit, strongly matriarchal community of East Indian families led by genial aunties who made it their mission to indulge the budding foodie in me with their yummy curries and succulent roasts. Almost all jazzed up with the ubiquitous East Indian bottle masala. From the coconut milk enhanced mutton lonvas to a spicy chicken moile, the bottle masala reigns omnipotent.
Just like the 36-ingredient Moroccan ras-el-hanout spice blend or the Ethiopian berbere mix, East Indian bottle masala is made up of a bewildering number and variety of spices from the more obvious Kashmiri chillies to the ‘Google-it-now’ nagkesar. The latter—I just learnt for the purposes of this piece—is also called Indian rose chestnut or cobra saffron, by the way!
Added to this, the complex dry spice blend has as many iterations with varying measurements and ratios of spices. I would not be exaggerating if I said that every East Indian family uses a different recipe for bottle masala—some use 20 spices, some 30, while the most elaborate of the lot use up to 40. But try asking any self-respecting East Indian cook to part with their recipe and they will sooner part with their lives. Such is the almost militant level of secrecy that shrouds the hallowed recipe for the masala.
In fact, I remember an old neighbourhood aunty once telling me that East Indian mothers never teach their daughters how to make their bottle masala for the fear of them taking their prized recipe out of the family after getting married. They have no such compunctions, I was informed, for incoming daughters-in-law. I rest my case.
Thump and Grind
This also leads me to a vital link, not just to the whole bottle masala supply chain, but also to my very synesthetically-heightened month of May—the masalawaali maushis. It is the rhythmic thumping sound that these singing, itinerant spice grinding ladies make while pounding the aromatic, roasted spices for the bottle masala that I associate with summer as well. But not this year. Thanks to the pandemic and the ensuing lockdown, my backyard will not be infiltrated by the pungent fumes and lilting melodies originating from my neighbour’s garden. The maushis will not be coming.
Mainly from the local Maharashtrian Agri community, these women are generally always much in demand and need to be booked months in advance. Always armed with their wooden pounding vessel called an ukli and its cohort the mussal which is a mace-like stick with a metal base to hit the ingredients. These groups of ladies travel from house to house from early March to the end of May to grind the family’s annual supply of bottle masala according to each family’s specifications. Making sure to finish up their important task before the monsoon season sets in.
Interestingly, though they may be experts at first sifting, then roasting and finally pounding the spices, they will never fully know the final recipe for the masala. Not only will the house matriarch weigh each ingredient separately and hand it over to the maushis for pounding, but as per tradition, she will also withhold one vital ingredient that she will pound herself that will later be added to the final mix.
Undoubtedly, one of the most enduring and endearing traditions of the maushis is the singing of ovis (which literally means ‘strung together’) while they pound the spices. More specifically, they sing jatyavarchi ovi that are specialised Marathi language grinding songs that are used as poetic metre for rhythmic prose.
One such ovi by Bahinabai who was an unlettered 19th century peasant poet from the Khandesh region of Maharashtra comes to mind and seems a perfect way to sum it all up in times like these. It says:
Get up at midnight, neatly set out the grain
begin working the grinding stone
be patient, don’t talk back, hold your tongue
let the memories of your old life comfort you!
SUNDAY RECIPE
Bottle Masala
(Recipe courtesy Ann Dias)
INGREDIENTS:
1 kg dried red Kashmiri chilies
250 gm dried red Madras chilies
25 gm whole wheat grain
80 gm powdered turmeric
5 gm dagdaphool also called stone flower
200 gm cumin seeds
15 gm fenugreek seeds
500 gm coriander seeds
150 gm mustard seeds
250 gm poppy seeds
50 gm peppercorns
15 gm cloves
250 gm white sesame seeds
15 gm caraway seeds
14-15 green cardamoms
7-8 black cardamoms
10 gm cinnamon stick
10 gm asofoetida
25 gm bay leaves
1 nutmeg
5 gm tirphal also called Japanese pepper
5 gm star anise
5 gm nagkesar also called Indian rose chestnut
15 gm fennel seed
5 gm mace
50 gm whole Bengal gram
5 gm allspice
METHOD:
1. Precisely measure and dry out all the ingredients under hot sun for two days, making sure no moisture remains in them.
2. Over low heat, dry roast the Kashmiri chillies and the Madras chillies for 8-10 mins in a wide bottom pan making sure to not burn them.
3. Similarly roast the rest of ingredients for 7-8 mins on low heat or until they are aromatic.
4. Dry grind the roasted ingredients in several batches until fine, either in a large ukli or in a spice blender. You could also take the mix to a local mill to get it pounded.
5. To stick with tradition, tightly pack the bottle masala into amber- or green-tinted, sterilised beer bottles, sealing the top off with butter paper and hot wax. Otherwise, one can also store it in an airtight container or any other lidded glass container.
(This makes for an approximately 2.5 kg yield of bottle masala, so adjust according to desired quantity)
(An edited version of this article first appeared in the 17th May 2020 issue of The Hindu newspaper's Sunday Magazine section on page 8 https://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/food/mays-missing-maushis-a-mumbai-summer-without-the-itinerant-east-indian-masala-makers/article31589988.ece)
By Raul Dias
Ever since I can remember, synesthesia has played a particularly important role in my life. Numbers for me have genders. Days of the week have a definite hierarchy, with Sundays leading the pack. And all my months are neatly divvied up to form a rainbow of colours.
May’s colour has always been somewhere on the spectrum between a buttery yellow and an earthy burnt Sienna. No big surprise there. Think bright summer suns, freshly baked lemon chiffon cakes and yes, that indescribable hue of a ripe Alphonso mango.
But there are two more shades in the family that truly define the month and by default, summer for me. The almost-neon tangerine shade of freshly pounded East Indian bottle masala that is always stored in amber coloured beer bottles for a longer shelf-life. Thus, the name—bottle masala.
Spicy Talk
While I am not an East Indian by birth, I have always been a big fan of their culture and most pertinently, their cuisine. Having lived most of my life, here in Dadar West, Mumbai, surrounded by a close-knit, strongly matriarchal community of East Indian families led by genial aunties who made it their mission to indulge the budding foodie in me with their yummy curries and succulent roasts. Almost all jazzed up with the ubiquitous East Indian bottle masala. From the coconut milk enhanced mutton lonvas to a spicy chicken moile, the bottle masala reigns omnipotent.
Just like the 36-ingredient Moroccan ras-el-hanout spice blend or the Ethiopian berbere mix, East Indian bottle masala is made up of a bewildering number and variety of spices from the more obvious Kashmiri chillies to the ‘Google-it-now’ nagkesar. The latter—I just learnt for the purposes of this piece—is also called Indian rose chestnut or cobra saffron, by the way!
Added to this, the complex dry spice blend has as many iterations with varying measurements and ratios of spices. I would not be exaggerating if I said that every East Indian family uses a different recipe for bottle masala—some use 20 spices, some 30, while the most elaborate of the lot use up to 40. But try asking any self-respecting East Indian cook to part with their recipe and they will sooner part with their lives. Such is the almost militant level of secrecy that shrouds the hallowed recipe for the masala.
In fact, I remember an old neighbourhood aunty once telling me that East Indian mothers never teach their daughters how to make their bottle masala for the fear of them taking their prized recipe out of the family after getting married. They have no such compunctions, I was informed, for incoming daughters-in-law. I rest my case.
Thump and Grind
This also leads me to a vital link, not just to the whole bottle masala supply chain, but also to my very synesthetically-heightened month of May—the masalawaali maushis. It is the rhythmic thumping sound that these singing, itinerant spice grinding ladies make while pounding the aromatic, roasted spices for the bottle masala that I associate with summer as well. But not this year. Thanks to the pandemic and the ensuing lockdown, my backyard will not be infiltrated by the pungent fumes and lilting melodies originating from my neighbour’s garden. The maushis will not be coming.
Mainly from the local Maharashtrian Agri community, these women are generally always much in demand and need to be booked months in advance. Always armed with their wooden pounding vessel called an ukli and its cohort the mussal which is a mace-like stick with a metal base to hit the ingredients. These groups of ladies travel from house to house from early March to the end of May to grind the family’s annual supply of bottle masala according to each family’s specifications. Making sure to finish up their important task before the monsoon season sets in.
Interestingly, though they may be experts at first sifting, then roasting and finally pounding the spices, they will never fully know the final recipe for the masala. Not only will the house matriarch weigh each ingredient separately and hand it over to the maushis for pounding, but as per tradition, she will also withhold one vital ingredient that she will pound herself that will later be added to the final mix.
Undoubtedly, one of the most enduring and endearing traditions of the maushis is the singing of ovis (which literally means ‘strung together’) while they pound the spices. More specifically, they sing jatyavarchi ovi that are specialised Marathi language grinding songs that are used as poetic metre for rhythmic prose.
One such ovi by Bahinabai who was an unlettered 19th century peasant poet from the Khandesh region of Maharashtra comes to mind and seems a perfect way to sum it all up in times like these. It says:
Get up at midnight, neatly set out the grain
begin working the grinding stone
be patient, don’t talk back, hold your tongue
let the memories of your old life comfort you!
SUNDAY RECIPE
Bottle Masala
(Recipe courtesy Ann Dias)
INGREDIENTS:
1 kg dried red Kashmiri chilies
250 gm dried red Madras chilies
25 gm whole wheat grain
80 gm powdered turmeric
5 gm dagdaphool also called stone flower
200 gm cumin seeds
15 gm fenugreek seeds
500 gm coriander seeds
150 gm mustard seeds
250 gm poppy seeds
50 gm peppercorns
15 gm cloves
250 gm white sesame seeds
15 gm caraway seeds
14-15 green cardamoms
7-8 black cardamoms
10 gm cinnamon stick
10 gm asofoetida
25 gm bay leaves
1 nutmeg
5 gm tirphal also called Japanese pepper
5 gm star anise
5 gm nagkesar also called Indian rose chestnut
15 gm fennel seed
5 gm mace
50 gm whole Bengal gram
5 gm allspice
METHOD:
1. Precisely measure and dry out all the ingredients under hot sun for two days, making sure no moisture remains in them.
2. Over low heat, dry roast the Kashmiri chillies and the Madras chillies for 8-10 mins in a wide bottom pan making sure to not burn them.
3. Similarly roast the rest of ingredients for 7-8 mins on low heat or until they are aromatic.
4. Dry grind the roasted ingredients in several batches until fine, either in a large ukli or in a spice blender. You could also take the mix to a local mill to get it pounded.
5. To stick with tradition, tightly pack the bottle masala into amber- or green-tinted, sterilised beer bottles, sealing the top off with butter paper and hot wax. Otherwise, one can also store it in an airtight container or any other lidded glass container.
(This makes for an approximately 2.5 kg yield of bottle masala, so adjust according to desired quantity)
(An edited version of this article first appeared in the 17th May 2020 issue of The Hindu newspaper's Sunday Magazine section on page 8 https://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/food/mays-missing-maushis-a-mumbai-summer-without-the-itinerant-east-indian-masala-makers/article31589988.ece)
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