Column by Saba Mahjoor | Of gods and potatoes |
On the third day of chillai kalaan (a period of extreme cold weather that starts on December 21 and lasts 40 days), while everything outside lay buried under a heavy blanket of snow, we all sat in Phuphee’s kitchen trying to hold on to the warmth emanating from the daan (a mud oven). It was my first winter in Kashmir after having spent many years in England.
We were sitting in Phuphee’s kitchen talking amongst ourselves about nothing and everything. Though the topics were harmless enough, one could feel a mild irritation in everyone’s tone, which often presents itself in the late afternoon coinciding with a drop in everyone’s blood sugar.
During chillai kalaan, Phuphee never let the fire in the daan go out. She often woke up in the middle of the night to feed wood and kindling into its hungry mouth. Detecting the rise of temperatures in the kitchen, Phuphee got up, rustled up some potatoes and started roasting them in the kangri (a portable heater made of an earthenware pot inside a wicker basket).
She made a hollow in the middle of the kangri, placed the potatoes inside, covered them with the burning embers and ash, and left them to roast until they were done. She then pulled them out with her bare hands, broke them into two, salted them a little and handed them to us. Once everyone was satiated, they all dispersed for prayers. I was still sitting by the daan........