I was playing hide and seek with a Musk Deer disappearing fast into the wilderness in Pahalgam. Although on horseback and quite sure I was hot on its heels, I simply wasn’t speedy enough for the swift-footed one. And there, in that unusually wintry summer in the hill station, I was getting colder by the minute.
Why I had chosen to break away from the group in pursuit of this deer is a mystery I am yet to solve. I probably thought I'd go in search of the Golden Deer myself instead of having my prince do it for me. I had, after all, grown up reading the legend of Prince Rama chasing a Deer for his Princess Sita when she spotted the shiny, springy thing in the forest they were exiled into and was keen to have it as a pet. But my desired dear (incidentally, a deer) was seemingly out of reach and would soon, I was almost certain, be out of sight.
Anyhow, I was having trouble keeping up and my horse and I were getting hungry. Hungry enough to eat him but not willing to, I resolved to keep with the chase for no longer than 3 more minutes and then I'd give in, give up and retreat. In this stalking game, within the spectrum of hot-and-cold, I was frigid (and not just so on the spectrum).
Somewhere in those wintry three minutes, I heard a rustle, a shift and a couple of crackles. Dead certain it was my muse, I let my horse silently trot to a clearing beyond the foliage that rustled.
To my surprise, this search for the Musk led me to a maiden sitting beside a small fire. She was all curled up, trying hard to keep warm, breaking some bread every time her hand had thawed just enough to slip out of her shawl.
I realized then, how the pause from my pursuit had begun to make my limbs go numb.
She smiled warmly - wondrously for the weather. And invited me to join in her little feast. Naan bread and a vegetable preparation that looked like eggplant cooked and covered in a paste but I couldn't have been sure.
Before either of us could ask one another what we were doing there, in the middle of nowhere, I gave into my hunger and curiosity. I needed a bite of anything and my ride needed a drink, which he found in a spring close by. Tearing a piece of Naan she wasn’t eating, I scooped up some vegetable and stuffed my hungry and willing face.
It was tangy. It was definitely eggplant. And it was also definitely an eggplant prepared like one I’d never eaten before. I wondered why she would ever have cared to share something so delicious with anybody but I was also very keen on another bite.
And so, I set my curiosity aside and gave into my greed instead.
Hot food after a cold, in-the-cold, chase. I was both revived and awed by her food.
She loved that I loved her preparation. And she asked if I’d like to hear how it was made. I said I’d love to, only after she’d told me a little about herself!
Bareen was born and raised in Pahalgam. She had barely studied up to middle school when her mother insisted she began helping in the fields to make ends meet. It’s hard up here in the hills.
The weather is wearisome and worrisome. And in order to yield anything from their little pockets of farmland, they had to make the best of the worst weather, work fast, work smart, labouring with not too many others for company or help.
I was there on vacation. Charmed by the beauty of its mustard fields. Had I not met Bareen, hunched over her little meal, warmed by a little fire beside her, I couldn’t have seen the harshness hidden by the charm. She was about the same age as I was. She should’ve been at school instead of breaking for lunch from fieldwork.
But she was happy where she was. It might have hurt her more had she not pitched in to help her mother back then, all those years ago.
I noticed her perfect features – soft and sharp, her face blooming as much as the blossoms that surrounded us, her deeply genuine demeanour and hoped for a better, more just future for her.
Bringing myself back to the moment, I looked at the last few scraps of Naan and Baingan in her tiffin boxes.
The bread was soothingly warm. I decided to ask about it first.
Bareen, the beauty before me spoke to me of its constituents and preparation.
Her Naan was made with all-purpose flour.
The dough is fairly easy to make.
A quarter of a cup of fresh curd or yogurt is dropped into a mixing bowl.
A teaspoon of sugar, a teaspoon of baking powder and a pinch of baking soda are added.
The contents are mixed until the sugar dissolves.
Two cups of all-purpose flour and a teaspoon of salt are thrown in.
Once again, it is mixed until the salt is evenly distributed across the mix.
In a small gap built into the centre of the mix, 2 tablespoons of oil are poured in.
(Bareen sometimes used butter even).
A quarter to a third of a cup of water are also poured in.
The contents are then mixed and kneaded to a smooth and soft dough.
More water or flour may need to be added if the dough seems too dry or too sticky respectively.
The process of kneading is typically complete when the dough has graduated to a soft and stretchy substance.
The dough may be flattened and a moist kitchen towel or napkin is placed over it in the bowl.
A lid is placed over the bowl and the dough is left alone for two hours to be precise.
When uncovered after the wait, the dough has leavened.
Medium sized balls are made from rolling pieces torn off the dough.
They are then flattened with sesame seeds (black or white) sprinkled onto them.
The thick, fat, flattened balls are then rolled into thinner, flatter versions, in the shape of one’s choice (circular, rectangular, triangular, etc.)
Bareen then cooked her naan in a Tandoor outside her home.
Cooking it over a steaming hot Tawa or skillet is an alternative.
When the Naan had been explained,
She advanced to her vegetable concoction, fittingly naming it “Khatte Baingan”.
They were pretty pungent indeed.
She had deep fried her lengthwise cut eggplants until they had turned golden brown.
In a shallow pan, she had heated 3 teaspoons of oil, added 2 teaspoons of turmeric powder, 2 teaspoons of red chilli powder and then placed the fried eggplant over the simmering powders.
When it had cooked for about 5 minutes, she added in 4 teaspoons of tamarind paste (that had been soaked in about half a cup of water), half a cup of water just so the preparation didn’t go too dry, a teaspoon of dry ginger powder, 2 teaspoons of aniseed powder and some salt to taste.
She placed a lid on the pan, allowing the eggplant to cook on medium heat for about 15 minutes.
When it had cooked well enough, she sprinkled some coriander leaves over it because they were gifts from her field.
Speaking of gifts, the deer couldn’t be mine that day but it certainly led me to many others – Bareen, baingan and bread.
And a lot of warmth in wintry Pahalgam.
