So much hullabaloo over the rasagolla (as it is pronounced and generally spelt in the southern part of India). Who would ever imagine this ball of soft and dripping sweetness would raise such a furore over its lineage? Odisha and Bengal are seemingly at each other’s throats to affirm that they were the original connoisseurs of this melt-in-the-mouth delicacy. They have quoted various sources from the 19th century, including that of an English missionary — who I am sure could neither pronounce it correctly nor spell it. Thank goodness that no one has so far gone back to the ancient scriptures or claimed radio-carbon dating as evidence.
Methinks there is nothing really bizarre about this. At first, homo sapiens fought over procuring food. Then arose the superior airs about who prepares better food, whose style is better, and so on. Remember Gulliver’s travels? A major fight had broken out between two tribes on the issue of which side of a boiled egg should be broken open to consume it. The Woody Allen classic Love and Death has this scene where the hero fights for the Russians and against the French. Soon he is racked by self-doubt, and asks his commander, “What happens if the French win the war?” The commander is nonplussed but manages to blurt out, “Why? Do you want to eat soufflé all your life?”
Then came the religious taboos. There is this anecdote about a Catholic priest and a Jewish rabbi meeting at a luncheon. The priest teases the rabbi, “Try this ham sandwich, it is delicious. Try it just once.” The quick-witted rabbi replied: “Yes. I will do that on your wedding day!”
As for me, life has been one long saga of hits and misses, the latter being more. Throw in a few bitter battles; the Battle of the bulge, keeping up with the Joneses, or at least going through the motions of trying to keep up. Hey, wait a moment. How about the “Karela Wars”. Everyone knows that karela , or bitter gourd, is good for your health, and my parents, bless them, certainly knew their fundas. They were not fooled into thinking that health supplements made you sharper, stronger. They insisted that it was the veggies that young boys needed to have sharp eyesight and sharper wits. So they ladled generous portions of it onto my plate.
Thereafter, the scene shifts to my residential school. Ruskin Bond reminisces that he had over-ripe pumpkin curry and boiled mutton for lunch in his boarding school, and death appeared to have lost some of its sting! I would not go that far. Quite often it was a generous helping of mixed vegetables that had given up the ghost on their journey from the steward’s office to the mess hall, till it all tasted the same. Like it or not, polish up your plates, insisted the prefects and house masters.
Spousal regimen Now nearing sixty, the disease of the prosperous, diabetes, has caught up with me. To add to my woes, my wife found out that gooseberry with breakfast improves one’s glucose tolerance. She is a medico too and watches me like a lynx. Nothing beats gooseberries with breakfast and karela with lunch. Now I am more resigned to my ‘karma’, and the only way out seems to pretend to enjoy every moment of it.
Except that I still hold one ace. I have a tin of rasagollas stashed away. Nothing beats tip-toeing to my secret cache and having the forbidden fruit every now and again. I do not know whether this delight originated in Bengal or in Odisha; nor do I care. All I know is that it tastes divine. I think we can let the matter rest at that.
kuruvila2004@yahoo.com
