Pudina Chutney

Pudina Chutney

 

Pop flew the lunch box lids as the Std 8^th group of four calling themselves the Qourageous Quad sat opening their lunch just above the basketball grounds. The mouthwatering delicacies sent their fragrance to the tip of the tall pine trees and the wind around them felt happy to be laden with the delectable aroma.  Aloo ka paratha with Pudina ki chutney, Makki ki roti with Sarsoon ka saag, Rajma Chawal and peas pulao with paneer butter masala…Umm quite a treat!

Spoons dipped from one box to the other as each scooped mouthful of the goodies. The chummy sounds of lip-smacking, finger-licking, and munching were the sheer profits of a mother’s toil in the wee hours of the morning.

‘My mom makes such delicious pudina ki chutney, no one can make it like her.’ Alok said these words as he fastidiously licked the small box that contained the last residual green stains of the chutney.

‘Stop bragging Alok, my mom makes it better. I am not saying your moms aren’t good, but there’s something better in my mom’s chutney. In fact, every food my mom makes turns out just wonderful!’

‘Hey, who’s the bragger now? My mom makes it a lot better, Kinchu, there’s simply no comparison!’

‘Wanna bet? Let’s have a competition between your mom and mine.’

‘Hey, you guys would you stop betting. This is crazy. Both your mom’s cook well.’

‘No way Arvind, my mom cooks way better and there’s really no comparison.’

‘Uff Jassi, drill some sense in them.’

The bell rang and brought an end to the argument temporarily.

The last three periods dragged as slow as an afternoon siesta would. The last period was PT and the kids felt relieved to rush out of the class away into the basketball field.

The class was divided into two teams and Alok and Kinshuk or Kinju as the class preferred to call him fell in the same team.

The two were now on unilateral terms and refused to support the other. Not passing the ball, trying to basket all by oneself. Their devilish disposition toward each other helped the opposition to a walkover defeating them by 5 baskets to 20.

The way back home was filled with equal animosity and one could hardly miss the hostility among them. They hardly spoke to the other, a complete reversal from other days when they returned home hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder. They lived in the same housing society and their fathers worked in the same offices.

But now the bone of contention was whose mom made better Pudina ki chutney!

As the kids got back home the Pudina ki chutney incident was disclosed and soon every mother in the community laughed and shared jokes on the common WhatsApp group.

‘So, Mrs. Chaddha why don’t you both, you and Mrs. Sharma have a contest. Let us judge whose chutney is better?’

‘Come on, you people are turning just like our kids right Mrs. Sharma?’

‘No, actually, Mrs. Chaddha, my son is right. I do make better Pudina ki chutney than anyone else. My mother’s special recipe you see. It is quite out of the world.’

‘I am sure it is Mrs. Sharma, but there’s really no greatness in making pudina ki chutney. I am sure every lady in our society churns and blends the ingredients just as well.’

The conversation was never ending, and all ladies pitched in to make the discussion reach to no conclusion at all. And finally, it was agreed that a contest was the only way to resolve the discord on who had an edge over the other when it came to the making of Pudina ki chutney.

So it was decided that on the coming Saturday afternoon, when the husbands would be in office and kids will have  a holiday all the ladies in the community would meet in the community hall to decide if Mrs. Chaddha’s Pudina ki chutney could oust Mrs. Sharma’s.

Mrs. Sharma had a rumbling pot in her balcony where she grew her fresh, green juicy pudinas. She was absolutely sure that this was her sheer secret of clinching the trophy from Mrs. Chaddha. 

Meanwhile, next day at school things were okay and quite forgotten between Alok and Kinju. The boys got into their usual jocund mood and played with all their heart.

The week seemed to be closing quickly and the chats in the WhatsApp group grew more intense. ‘Just chutney, what else with it?’

‘Exactly, on such a day one just needed an excuse to plan a grand lunch. Let’s all pitch in with whatever goodies we can make or bake.’

The undercurrent of dissent between the two ladies surfaced at the mildest provocation and was savoured by all.

‘I was thinking of making some samosas with the Pudina ki chutney. I can’t make you all have the chutney alone.’

‘That’s so thoughtful Mrs. Sharma.’

‘Oh! And I had already decided on making aloo ke paratha for all of us and our kids.’

‘That settles it. You people make paratha and samosas with pudina ki chutney while some of us will make some rice, paneer and sweet dish.’

‘What are we going to wear?’

Something in Green, was the natural response.

Saturday arrived. Mrs. Sharma’s Pudina pot was fresh with the juiciest large leaves. She plucked them adorably in the morning.

While Mrs. Chaddha told her husband several times to bring four bundles of Pudina leaves from the market. He must not forget and bring them for sure.

However, upon his return, it was found that Pudina leaves weren’t available that day. Surely, she couldn’t allow Mrs. Sharma to have a walkover.

But under the circumstances what else could she do?

After her husband left for the office, she wrote in the WhatsApp group. No pudina leaves were available in the market, how do I prepare the chutney?

Responses came pouring in, are you backing out? Some volunteered to give their pudina leaves to her, but it wasn’t ripe and fresh.

She replied that ripe leaves would bring the right taste. She will go to the nearby market and check if she didn’t find them then would have to use theirs.

All this while Mrs. Sharma read the messages shared in the group. She kept silent. Thinking of what to do. Finally, she decided, come on, this is all in fun. There was enough pudina leaf in her balcony for the two of them.

‘Why do you need to go to the market?’ She began writing. ‘There are enough leaves in my pot for the two of us. Send Alok to fetch them.’

The response was met with restrain. Okay. Thank you came a short answer.

The rest of the members clapped for Mrs. Sharma. Patted her for her sporting spirit and everyone agreed that she had the right essence of competition in her.

Mrs. Chaddha sent Alok to Mrs. Sharma’s house to fetch the leaves. Mrs. Sharma had already plucked a bowlful and kept them for Mrs. Chaddha.

Alok was more interested in playing with Kinju than taking the leaves back home, but Mrs. Sharma sent him back telling him that they could play all afternoon.

Finally, it was time to meet.

The chutneys were ready and so was the samosa, aloo ka paratha, pulao, paneer, gulab jamun, dahi vada. The ladies were dressed in their greens. Some wore saris, some shalwar kameez, some western frocks, some green tops with jeans or pants and some made a greater attempt to fuse styles and add enigma to the accord.

The community hall was also decorated with fresh white linen on two separate tables for each contestant to display their culinary expertise.

Before the contest began a short speech came from the group admin who appreciated each for their effort and assured that this is all in zest and ladies should just savour the moment in the right spirit.

The kids in the backdrop were least interested in what their mothers were doing and were more concerned about the food.

But waiting wasn’t easy, and they began to play while the mothers finished the formalities. Complications set afoot by them were so easily forgotten by their uncomplicated minds but were carried to great lengths by their mothers.

Engrossed in cricket, Alok hit the ball hard that landed in Mrs. Sharma’s pot full of pudina chutney. The green paste went flying out of the glass container on the white tablecloth and the samosas kept beside the once delicious chutney.

The whole room looked aghast and Mrs. Sharma looked her worst. She really had put in great efforts to stand out with full marks.

When Mrs. Chaddha noticed that it was her own son’s doing, she got terribly upset and poured all her anger on her son.

 Mrs. Sharma immediately came to Alok’s rescue.’ It was an accident. Let it be.’

And on that good note everyone enjoyed Mrs Chaddha’s Pudina ki chutney while Mrs Sharma deep inside, still felt that the little of whatever chutney stuck on the samosas tasted much better than Mrs. Chadda’s chutney.