Priya’s story
Gopal and I love sweets. Every time we have a craving, we go to Kaka Halwai and eat to our heart’s content. One time we went to Kaka Halwai and ate one piece of each mithai they had. Imagine a plate full of different mithais!
Right at the start of the pandemic, when we were under strict lockdown and shops were closed, we were craving mithai. There was nowhere to source it from. So I called my mother and asked her “What is the easiest mithai that can be made at home?” She gave me her Besan Laddu recipe. It is deceptively easy! I started making the laddus the same day. I took the very first laddu for Gopal to taste at his WFH desk. When he tasted the laddu, he stopped his work, concentrated on the laddu and its eating, visibly enjoying it. It was a moment of fulfilment. It was heartwarming to witness someone you love enjoy something you made.
It has been 6 months now and this is still my favourite quarantine moment!
My experience making, eating, feeding laadus
- The recipe, written on a page from 1981, with a quote at the bottom felt like a collectible I would fish out and buy at Chor Bazaar. The recipe instructs in Hindi at the beginning and later segues into Marwadi for personal insights. I like to imagine a very young person in 1981, writing these things, hoping to make the best besan ke laddu, adding insights from experience after trial. Did she imagine giving it to a daughter and son-in-law then? It warms my heart that it made a pit stop in my life.
- Making any Indian mithai in my household is a fete. Everyone wants to help (is it still called help if it’s unsolicited and unwanted?) Dadi insisted she makes the laddus and I claim I made it. Mumma offered to make the besan and give me feedback. So I had to find a strategic time in the day when they would both be busy. But they smelt it. Mumma started fussing, telling me I was using the spoon wrong, that the besan wasn’t red enough, there wasn’t enough ghee! Dadi came as soon as I was able to get rid of her (with the help of papa) and told me I needed to make the besan red-er and add more ghee. And just when I thought I was done with the unsolicited fussing, advising, feedback, my kaki came from upstairs. She added the multi-advised ghee and started reddening the besan. The color of the laddus was a family effort. If my life was a tv show, I would call this episode Besan ke Laddu.
- I do not like dry mithai. I cannot make it do down my throat. I would never ever have even thought of making this had it not been for Priya and Via Dil. I had never thought of feeding as a joyous activity, but I found joy in feeding it. Mummy ate 3 laddus while they were still hot, more when she woke up in the middle of the night craving them. These are all the laddus I had left by the time I thought of clicking a photo.
- I always thought of laddus as an esoteric grandma trade. They make it, add some grandma ingredients, feed them, make you have more than you can handle and tell you how good for you it is. You know, the whole shebang? Now that I have made the laddus, I feel like the love child of a dadi and a gangsta biker.
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This story got me thinking of quarantine and some of the heartwarming moments I have had with my family.
R and I were sitting on the kitchen counter and reading our respective novels. That seemed like the only place people would leave us alone. While we sat there, Dadi and babyr played with a tiny kitchen set in the living area. We couldn’t see them, but hearing Dadi is visual enough
Dadi: “I think we should put this in the fridge and this in the dustbin”
Babyr: “Do you want to drink coca-cola with a straw? I made”
As Diana Evans told me about a couple distanced by time and routines, Mumma and Goldie entered the kitchen playing a game that required her to chant “chal mere hathi” and Goldie was an elephant.
