From bits@a.cs.uiuc.edu Thu Apr 18 08:19:43 1996
From: ramesh@server.indo.net.id (P Ramesh in Jakarta)
To: Multiple recipients of list
Subject: Perils & Pleasures of a Pilani Illad Vegetarian

Dear BITSians,

Since I wrote first/last, I have received a lot of mail. Thanks a lot. I also got Rajeev Menon's address. Thanks again to those who sent me his address. Many wanted to know more about the good, old days. I was trying to think of a suitable topic when I saw the following mail from Srikanth:

From: sri@cygnus.cs.duke.edu (Srikanth T. Srinivasan)
To: Multiple recipients of list
Subject: News from BITS
Junta,

Maaps

This gave me a lot of food for thought which I want to share with you all. No offence meant to anyone, animals and birds included. It is just for fun. In the ultimate analysis, we have to eat to live. Another disclaimer- there may be some unintentional factual errors. If there is anyone on the net who can spot these, please set the record straight.

THE PERILS & PLEASURES OF A PILANI ILLAD VEGETARIAN

(Un)Like many Illads of Pilani, I could never give up the "pure veg" part of my heritage easily. I was/am allergic to garlic, "garam masala" and anything that was not like grand/mother's (later the better half's) cooking, imagine my plight, despite availability of thoughtful options like "bina mirch ki subji" in the Mess. Transition from the meals-in-the-morning back home to the breakfast-lunch-dinner mode was traumatic. To top it all, they were giving the unique "hullwa and muttri" combo for breakfast. Legend had it that this was specially cooked up to give an (unfair to many of us, aliens) advantage to the natives who always seemed to top the exams. Not that Rajasthani food is bad. "Bajre ki roti" (dripping pure ghee) with "achaar" and "gud" is yummy!

I had always felt sad getting down from GT or TN at New Delhi, knowing that I will not eat real southy food for a long time. I usually had one last fling at it, either at Karol Bagh or the Veg Refreshment Room on the first floor of New Delhi station (yes, they used to serve southy plate meals made for the departing GT), before moving on to Old Delhi station to catch the red-eye to Loharu. Before TN was introduced, GT was the only option (unless you wanted to know the names of all the stations in the Madras - Delhi route by riding the Janata Express) and had a dining car for a long time where they made southy food on the move. With TN came the central kitchen concept and pantry car. Logistics-wise it was great but the food- ayyo. I was lucky. I had to carry a big bag full of tamarind ("imlee") rice, curd rice and gunpowder-covered "idlis" for the journey.

I still remember the Air Wing NCC camp I was forced to attend in Jodhpur in the winter of 1966. For seven straight days, we were given only pooris and aloo subji for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I don't know if the Guinness Book of World Records existed then. We could have seen our names in print. Having thus established my veg credentials, I must tell you now some meaty stories.

Until 1966 or 1967, all efforts to introduce NV in the Mess were successfully thwarted. Was the visible and strong presence of RSS in Pilani responsible? Were the Birlas who were (and presumably still are, despite globalising) staunch vegetarians who didn't want it to happen? We may never know the real reason, but a good starting point is the way NV "junta" went about eating NV in Pilani.

The guys (how did the girls manage, I wonder now?) had to go out to the bus-stand "dhabas" (Nutan was new then) and eat their favourite fish, fowl or meat. This was truly ethnic and earthy stuff, sprinkled liberally with Haryana/Rajasthan Roadways dust. The problem was that, Rajasthan being arid and not strong in agriculture, "chapatis" were costlier than side dishes, or so they claimed. The NV guys used to pick up some 10-20 "chapatis" per mouth, wrap them in newspaper and carry outside. I wonder who was the guy who got this hot idea first?

All good things soon come to an end, and sure enough there was some scandal. I think some outsiders with the connivance of some unscruplous Mess staff started misusing this exclusive facility and there was an uproar, a strike and then the decision was taken to serve NV inside the campus. While it lasted, it was great fun. I used to go out with some of these guys on NV trips. Again the problem was that I couldn't eat anything outside. Most of the "dhabas" served "dal-subji" which was remarkably similar to that in the Mess.

One day, there was this guy in a "dhaba" who took pity on me or maybe just ran out of Veg stuff. He offered to make "tamatar ki subji" (tks) for me. I was sceptical (after all, the only use of "tamatar" for an Illad is in "rasam"), but then people have always been sceptical about great ideas. I ate it and tks became almost a religious experience for me. For long afterwards, during my many travels to unkown and unfamiliar (foodwise, that is) destinations across India, tks kept my body and soul together and stay loyal to vegetarianism.

(If you want to know how to make tks, read this para, else skip.) Heat some oil/ghee in a frying pan (the more dirtier, blacker and greasier, the better). Sprinkle some "rai" and "jeera" ("kadugu", "jeeragum") over the oil till they sputter. Cut tomatoes (online cutting gives a better flavour) into quarters and cook lightly after adding salt and pepper/chilli powder to taste. When the thing is ready (that is before it starts burning), eat it with hot "foolkas" or toast.

Coming back to the NV saga, in deference to the sentiments of the grass-eaters, NV was served first only two/three nights a week at the Cafe (IC) against coupons. Later, another strike wiped out whatever resistance there was and the Mess was partitioned. It was sad to see the "bartans" and "thalis" being segregated. The work shop guys set up wooden partitions overnight between the two sections. One guy got so senti that he immediately started singing that sad song from the film Bhagapirivinai that Sivaji Ganesan lip-synchs. There were unconfirmed rumours that the puritans insisted on getting holy waters from Ganges, Narmada, Godavari and Kaveri to purify the premises, but had to settle for Shiv Ganga.

Bus-stand "dhabas" were also famous for "teetar", a bird considered to be a great delicacy. Delhites used to go gaga over it and carry dozens of them back home after exams. The bus stank but you had no choice. The driver and conductor, of course, got one each. I have also heard that peacock meat was also very delectable, though it was/is a crime to kill the national bird. Which reminds me of another sub-story. We had an American Prof from MIT in Chem Engg. It was for him the first "modern" house opposite Alumni Home was built. He was a great gliding enthusiast. One evening, as he was landing, a peacock suddenly flew across, broke its neck under the glider's wing and died. There was a nice party that night at his house, we heard, but then yours truly could not partake the delicacy and didn't go.

It was around this time that I started flirting with "eggitarianism", thanks mainly to my increasing disillusionment with "hullwa and muttri" (actually it tastes great the first time) and its equally insipid alternative, bread-butter-jam.

It was winter time and I was heavily (what with a couple of sweaters) into a fitness trip. After a few laps (actually two) around the sports ground early in the morning, I used to feel ravenously hungry and found that a good "dabal amlet" with lots of hot toast, washed down with a glass of coffee was heavenly. My jogging partner was an NV and I became his guest for a few days. Then there was a problem. Some silly bureacratic/accounting step in the Mess billing process made it difficult to be part of Veg Mess and get eggs, even as a guest. So, I did the unthinkable- defected to the NV side, ruffling a lot of feathers (no, not the chickens, but some "well-wishers" of mine who even sent an anonymous letter to my parents) in the bargain.

You would think that I finally got the best of both worlds. The problem soon reversed itself. There was this problem of being in NV Mess but not being able to get Veg dinner when they served meat! I tried sneaking into the Veg side to pick up something and bring it across, but my Veg comrades whom I had ditched were always on Red Alert.

The only solution to this problem was to forego dinner in the Mess on meat nights and go to Connaught and later to Night Canteen (it was not yet All Night and used to function in one Mess on either side of the lawns) for some superb omelettes or the aloo-hot-dogs. There was a chart on my room wall for allocating my share of egg/meat equitably among my friends on these nights.

There was one more incident which an "intellectual" (some called them pseudos) acquaintance of mine explained away later as being another proof of Murphy's or Somebody's Law. My friendly, neighbourhood "dhobi" once happily returned to me the blazer belonging to a Birla Public School boy, several sizes smaller than mine. He was a very quality-oriented guy, this dhobi, with clear ideas about winning back dissatisfied customers. As atonement, he sent through special courier half a lamb that night specially cooked. My NV wing-mates had a great time and also broke the chair in my room. Needless to say, the honour of cleaning up the mess fell upon me. No, I did not get back my blazer. By then, dress code rules had become liberal in BITS and I didn't need one. So I forgave and, more likely, forgot.

For those who yearned for back-home food, the Cafe was also ideal. Old Nair there used to make "idlis", "vadais", "bondas" and "uppuma" with "sambar" in neo-Iyer-style (though the Mallu touch was evident) as per a fixed weekly schedule. We didn't have flexi-class-hours then, so I couldn't make it there in time always. On those terrible days when you had to skip "hulwa-muttri" in Mess and missed Nair's delight-of-the-day in the Cafe because of a test, Nahar's "redi" near Workshop was the nearest refuge for the hungry. His speciality was the "samosa-dahi"+dehydrated-potato-chips combo and thick "lassi". This guy had an online system for receivables which automatically monitored your bank balance and remembered the week of the month. The system was so user-friendly that you couldn't resist another helping when the statement of account was being displayed in real time.

There was another great place inside the campus, the Post Office canteen. In winters, you sat on the lawn between the post office and the telephone exchange and enjoyed hot "jilebis", "pakodas" and "adhrak/ilaichi chai". If you were one of the "special" Pilanians, your mail was personally handed over to you by the postman who wanted only a "chai" for this special service.

Then there was Connaught. The classiest joint was Volga with a cosy ambience (history buffs may be interested to know that BITS even had a Russian Prof, with an alleged KGB interpreter, who built an NC Lathe that should have been moved to the museum by now). When you wanted to give a special treat to your friend/ bet-winner/ classmate/ wingmate/ visiting-relative-checking-you-out/ girl/boy-friend-you-wannabe etc, you took them to Volga. During daytime, it had the usual "samosa", cutlet, cheese "pakoda" menu, but the special dinner menu was the best. You had to book in advance and were allowed to customise the menu as long as it was "mutter pulav", "maava mutter", semi-fried "aloo" lumps and "pooris" with "gulab jamun", "gajar ka hullwa" or "rasagolla" for dessert. It used to cost a princely sum of four rupees. The ultimate was being given the Family Room which had just two tables. The knowledgeable always cased the joint beforehand to ensure that your Prof was not dining out with family there when you wanted to treat your dream girl or boy as the case may be. The enterprising ones took care of the waiter to know in advance if an MB gang had booked a table.

While the rich and the famous were inside air-cooled Volga, the high thinking, simple living souls divided their time and custom between Madanji and Kapurji outside. The process was entirely scientific; you decided where to go depending on the number of line items in their account books as on that day. Usually, you checked out Jain Book Shop for magazines. Depending on your leanings, you read Blitz, Current or Link (even TIME or Newsweek once in a while, which helped to write impressive assignment reports for the International Affairs course) with your "chai" and passionately debated real-world issues, quoting knowledgeably but unattributably from the rags you had just read.

The lingua franca was "Hinglish", though extreme fringe elements deliberately asserted their fundamental right to free speech in Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, Kannada, Bengali and Assamese and there were traces of Gujarati and Marathi too. Occasionally you heard Malay from a few Malaysians and Singaporeans who were football fiends. Once there was a Palestian studying on a govt scholarship and a wandering American Jew who didn't find nirvana in Nepal and settled instead for a low-cost degree from BITS. These two guys avoided each other (remember that was the decade of Arab-Israeli conflict) and were never seen on the same side of the street. Of course, they stayed in different hostels. I never heard them speak their lingo. Then came the Cook-from-Renukoot (can't recall his name now, Shanmugam?). He was transferred from Hindalco to BITS with the specific mission of satisfying the needs of people like me. We formed a fan club to "patao" him and soon exciting dishes started appearing on the Mess tables.

The imminent arrival of a relative (and more so his/her baggage) from back home was keenly looked forward to. Records were continously set and broken for the time taken to polish off all those "murukkus", "mysore paks" and other goodies.

We used to have an event called the Fun Fete which was held sometime in winter on the lawns next to the mandir. The southy food stall was always popular and we didn't mind paying exorbitant rates for some simple pleasures of life.

When all of the above became boring, you went crazy and took the next available bus to Loharu or Khetri. I can still remember the adventurous trip to Khetri to see Raj Kapoor's Bobby which was a rage then. It was screened in a touring talkies and there was a God-sent "dhaba" just outside serving delicious "shudh" veg food. We went back there many times.

No account of tireless quests for palatable food can be complete without a mention of the bus-stand tea shops. It was chic to go there for "aamrus" in summer and "jilebi-milk" in winter. You rounded it off with "paan" that just melted in your mouth from a special guy there. He is still there, with a more comfortable perch.

My own favourite time to visit bus-stand for tea was between 4 and 6 am in the mornings, especially before exams. When the first Delhi bus of the day left at 6 am, there was sometimes a lump in your throat and you wished you were on it. Reality caught up fast with the rising sun and you went back to your room determined to get through with the exam as quickly as possible, after breakfast in the Mess, of course. If you didn't like it, you could always go to the Cafe.

I have to sign off now, but just one question: why do the wifes of Pilanians always get bugged when we ask them to make aloo parathas and Sunday Special lunches "just like Pilani" ???

Regards,

Ramesh