Notes from Baijnath

 

By Raul Dias

For a handful of places across India, the celebration of good versus evil, that today’s Dussehra festival espouses, is not as definitively black or white as most would like it to be. But then, nor is the mythology that birthed it and thousands of other festivals—both religious and otherwise—not just in India, but around the world as well. Myriad interpretations abound, each shining light on hidden facets.

Just ask the inhabitants of the sleepy little town of Baijnath in the Northern Indian state of Himachal Pradesh! While this year’s Dussehra festivities might be muted ones across the country due to the pandemic, in Baijnath, Dussehra is an annual no-show.

Unsung hero or wrathful foe?

Perched at an altitude of 4,311 feet on the Himalayan Dhauladhar mountain range, Baijnath is one of those rare places in India where neither Dussehra has ever been celebrated, nor the ensuing drama of the Ramleela ever played out. All this, thanks to an unlikeliest protagonist at the very vortex of it all—Ravana. 

Legend has it that the ‘demon king of Lanka’ was an ardent devotee of Lord Shiva and prayed to him deep in the Himalayas seeking immortality. In return for which Ravana chopped off his own ten heads at the altar. So impressed was Lord Shiva with this act of devotion that he is said to have restored the heads. Only this time, six of the heads for the six Puranas and four for the four Vedas. 

The 12th century Baijnath rock temple constructed in the Nagara style of architecture and the surrounding town of the same name were built upon this myth. And to this day, in honour of Ravana’s dedication to Lord Shiva, neither is Ravana’s effigy burnt by the residents, nor do they buy sweets or light any fireworks. Interestingly, the town is also totally devoid of jewellery shops. This is apparently to mourn Lord Hanuman’s torching of Ravana’s Lanka which was said to be made of gold. 

However, according to some, it is not entirely the respect for Ravana and his devotion to Lord Shiva, but also that all-consuming emotion of fear that prevents any Dussehra celebrations from taking place in Baijnath. As in most small towns across India, myths of destructive wrath and punishment abound here too. Everything from decades of bad luck to more ominous ones in the form of an unnatural death to those who take part in any Dussehra festivities, keep the Baijnath townsfolk away, come Dussehra night.   

Dussehra dodgers

Baijnath, however, is not alone in its shunning of Dussehra festivities. There are other Ravana-sympatico places in India where the shine of Dussehra is a tad diminished, if not fully taken off. While the people of Mandsaur in Madhya Pradesh refer to Ravana as their ‘son-in-law’ as they believe that their town is the paternal home of his wife, Mandodari, Bisrakh in Uttar Pradesh claims him as its own. According to local belief, Ravana, the son of a sage named Vishrava and Kaikeshi, a Daitya princess was born in Bisrakh.

As it is believed that Mandore in Rajasthan is where Ravana married Mandodari, on the day of Dussehra, priests of the local Ravan Ki Chanwari temple perform the shraadh ceremony for his soul. In Maharashtra’s Gadchiroli District, the village of Paraswadi is nothing but a glorified hamlet, home to a handful of people from the Gond tribe. They call themselves Ravanwashis or descendants of Ravana, resolutely refusing to be identified as Hindus. 

Perhaps there is no better place than one actually named after Ravana to seek an answer to the million dollar “was he good or evil?” question. Ravangram in Madhya Pradesh is a village that has a legion of devotees who actually worship a 10-feet-long reclining statue of Ravana in an ancient temple constructed by a sect called the Kanyakubja Brahmins that Ravana was said to be a member of.

Putting it all into perspective, one cannot help but ponder on a rather controversial quote often attributed to Winston Churchill. Is history truly written by the victors?                      

(This column first appeared in the 25th October 2020 issue of The Hindu newspaper's Sunday Magazine section on page 7 https://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/travel/notes-from-baijnath/article32931241.ece)

Hotel Review: The Ritz-Carlton Bahrain, Manama In Bahrain

This article was first published online on 12th October 2020 in Luxury Lifestyle Magazine, UK https://www.luxurylifestylemag.co.uk/travel/hotel-review-the-ritz-carlton-bahrain-manama-in-bahrain/

Puns on a Platter!

From the downright outrageous to the uproariously funny, weirdly named dishes offer an interesting insight into the culinary ethos of several countries around the world.

By Raul Dias

Growing up part Anglo-Indian on my Mum’s side, my initiation into the realm of oddly named dishes was complete the moment I, a preternaturally ravenous two-year-old, had had my first helping of pish-pash. Simply put, the rather onomatopoeic dish is an Anglo rite of passage every toddler must endure. Made with soft rice and some form of protein (mostly chicken), pish-pash as a dish was first spoken of by English writer Augustus Prinsep in the mid-19th century where he called it “a slop of rice-soup with small pieces of meat in it, much used in the Anglo-Indian nursery.”

Over the years, I would encounter more funnily named Anglo-Indian culinary ‘jewels’ like the meat kofta curry doppelganger with a very rude name of ball curry. Also known as the even ruder “spinster’s delight curry”, the Sunday special would always be enjoyed with its supporting acts that took the form of yellow rice and the scary-sounding (but comfortingly mild) devil chutney. 

Egg banjo, on the other hand is an Anglo snack that was invented by the military during WWII and sees a sunny-side-up fried egg sandwiched between two slices of bread, all doused in the quintessentially British brown sauce. Though the etymology of ‘banjo’ in its name remains a mystery, the sandwich still lives on here in India in the form of the slightly tweaked (both in name and composition) ‘egg benjo’—an insanely popular snack made famous by Indore’s nightly food paradise of Sarafa Bazar. Here, the runny egg is substituted with a more practical folded masala omelette, the sliced bread with a toasted burger bun and brown sauce with tomato ketchup. 

Blighty bites

As a university student in the UK of the mid-2000s, as I navigated my way around various college and dorm cafeterias, I was hit in the face with even more inappropriately named British dishes. Take spotted dick, for instance. 

Now, before images of some virulent, male appendage-related medical condition begin to swirl in your mind, let me assure you of the name’s rather benign innocuity. This traditional British pudding (as desserts are referred to there) is made with flour, suet (a kind of animal lard), caster sugar, lemon zest and dried currants or raisins making up the ‘spotted’ component. The ‘dick’ part being an old English term for a pudding. Served warm with a thin custard sauce, this steamed pudding has been a mainstay across Britain for centuries. 

I am told that the wildly popular Stinking Bishop cheese from Dymock in South West England’s Gloucestershire county apparently gets its nausea-evoking name for the juice of the Stinking Bishop Pear that it is immersed in for its ripening process. Not for its equally putrid odour that is said to be a cross between that of a wet dog and old socks.

Another such bizarrely named specimen is the rather tasty baked savoury dish called toad-in-the-hole. Eaten as part of a light dinner that the Brits call “tea”, the easy-to-prepare dish is a bunch of fried pork sausages (or to use the more colloquial term—bangers) cooked in what is essentially a buttery Yorkshire pudding. But in America, the unfortunately named dish refers to an egg cooked in the hole cut out of a piece of white, sliced bread. 

Servings across the pond

Speaking of America, the land of the free too has its own posse of quirkily named dishes. Some like the molten cheese-exploding burger called the juicy Lucy and the soppy, meat sauce laden sandwich named sloppy Joe paying homage to particularly messy individuals! While others are in honour of “sleepy critters” like the 1970s cocktail party classic of pigs in a blanket that sees tiny, cocktail pork sausages wrapped in flaky pastry and then baked.

Devils on horseback is another iconic 70s party snack where pitted, dried prunes are wrapped in bacon strips and then baked. Interestingly, this snack has evolved from another strangely named turn-of-the-century one called angels on horseback, where freshly shucked oysters stood instead of the prunes.

Deep fried oysters also find a place for themselves in the New Orleans po’ boy sandwich ensconced within the crusty confines of a sliced mini French baguette. A shortened version of the original ‘poor boy sandwich’, the po’ boy was named after the conductors of the local streetcar company, who in 1929, were given the sandwiches free of charge for their daily lunch by a local restaurant during their four-month long strike for better wages.

South of the US in the Caribbean twin island nation of Trinidad & Tobago, a strangely named iteration of our very own Malabar parotta has been the number one snack for over a century. The buss up shut which is the local vernacular for “busted up shirt” is a flaky paratha that is smashed up by the cook using their hands after frying on a griddle. Thus, leaving the flatbread to resemble a torn-up shirt, pieces of which are dunked into spicy chickpea and potato curry and eaten with Trini-style mango achaar.    

Found in translation

Adidas. Helmet. Walkman. Any guesses as to what this trio could possibly mean in the context of food? Well, in the Philippines they are all nicknames given to popular street food snacks, I discovered on a recent trip to the archipelago nation. So, while Adidas is what barbequed chicken feet are called, helmet is the code word for roasted chicken head and walkman is bite sized bits of grilled pig ears.

Still in the Philippines, Bicol express is a spicy stew made with pork, shrimp paste and coconut milk. It is named in honour of the passenger train service of the same name that plies between the capital Manila and the Bicol region that is well-known for its spicy cuisine.

Imam bayildi, as translated onto the English menu cards in restaurants across Turkey reads “the imam fainted” and is an old Ottoman heirloom dish. Here, whole eggplants are stuffed with a mixture of onions, garlic and tomatoes and simmered in olive oil before being served with rice and a dollop of yogurt. It is said to have got its name when an imam who was so overcome by pleasure after eating the dish, fainted.  

Or maybe, the imam had just gotten a whiff of the stinking bishop…?                 

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Toad-in-the-Hole

INGREDIENTS:

180 gm all-purpose flour

450 gm pork sausages (can be substituted with chicken sausages)

½ tsp salt

Pinch of freshly ground black pepper

3 eggs, beaten

350 ml milk

2 tbsp melted butter

1 tbsp vegetable oil 

METHOD:

1. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour with the salt and a pinch of pepper. Make a well in the center of the flour. Pour in the eggs, milk, and melted butter into the well and whisk into the flour until smooth. Cover and let the batter stand for 30 minutes. 

2. Grease the bottom and sides of a medium-sized, rectangular baking dish with a little vegetable oil. Preheat the oven to 220°C and place the empty dish in it. 

3. Meanwhile, in a frying pan heat remaining oil on medium flame and fry the sausages till golden brown. 

4. Put the sausages in the hot baking dish and pour the batter over the sausages and bake for about 20-30 minutes or until the batter is risen and golden.

5. Cut in wedges and serve warm alongside caramelised onions, brown sauce and buttery mashed potatoes.

(An edited version of this article first appeared in the 10th October 2020 issue of The Hindu Business Line newspaper's BLink section on page 19 https://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/takeaway/foods-with-bizarre-names/article32804928.ece)