My mother makes the best Gujia in the world!
Having mostly refused any Gujia 'not from home' for the past 20 years, I admit, there could be some bias in this statement. Yet, for every Gujia I have ever tasted, the one from home has always been special.
People in north and west have been making Gujia for centuries, but Gujia is not a run-of-the-mill sweet. It needs to be eaten with eyes closed.
Gujia for Holi
Our mother has tried to follow a tradition of making Gujia every year for Holi. Regardless of where in the world we lived in as an ‘officer family’, mother would make sure that each Holi, we had Gujia at home.
When we were little, mother would settle me and the kid brother near one corner of the dining table and start rolling out small round pancake like covers for Gujia.
The dining table would soon be covered with little white pancakes which would later be stuffed with a sweet mixture and deep fried.
This ritual would take hours, but she would labour on. She would simultaneously talk to us, making us revise our multiplication or sharing anecdotes of festive preparations from her childhood. We listened with half an ear, more focused on digging out as many raisins as possible from the large pot with the sweet jaggery filling.
It would earn us a berating every time.
"Don’t do that, its bad manners!"
"He did it first"
"No, she did it first" kid brother would squeak.
The argument would soon advance to the less dignified stage of yanking each other’s hair.
"Stop it or neither of you will get a single Gujia this Holi"
Mother would shoo us out of the house and continue her preparations.
Why does Holi come only once in a year?
"Mother, why does Holi come only once in a year?" I would ask.
Then she would explain how Holi represented celebrations of good over evil.
"If it is about good over evil, why can’t we have Gujia every time I beat him up?" I would ask, glancing at the kid brother.
We did not understand why mother was laughing.
"This Gujia is for a special day, not for everyday! Today it is the Gujia that makes the day special for you, but a time will come when the day will make the Gujia special"
The argument ran on for years and yet Gujia was made only once in a year, on Holi.
The last piece of Gujia
And then kid brother grew up and went away to college while I remained in the same city to pursue further education. Holi was still nice, but fighting him for the last piece of Gujia was a missing ingredient.
A few more years went by, and it was time for me to leave for post-graduation. So off I went, boarding that customary train with a shiny new suitcase and dreams and apprehensions in equal measure. I was to move to the same university where kid brother was studying. Now that he was much taller, there was no question of indulging in fist fights. Rather, we had been instructed to look out for each other.
Away from home
Months passed by, and I settled down, adjusting to college life, making friends and enemies, working, studying, laughing, living.
Then came the first birthday away from home. The kid brother had been back home for holidays, enjoying maternal royal treatment while I had been planning a ‘friends only’ celebration.
I returned from the party late at night, crashed on the bed and slept like a baby. Kid brother came to visit the next day. He had a box in his hand. A familiar white, plastic box with a red lid. His mouth was full, and I suspect he was trying to wish me a ‘happy birthday’. The box was full of Gujia. Or half full at any rate. Mother had sent it for my birthday, and kid brother had eaten copious amounts on the way.
There was a letter that mother had sent along with the box. Mother’s letters were usually quite mundane. About various things that are happening around their lives. The house, the garden, how our father was overindulging in sweets etc... But somewhere in between, she had remembered to wish me a happy birthday, and mentioned that "yes, Gujia is for celebration".
After that, Gujia was made at our home on three occasions every year - my birthday, kid brother’s birthday and of course - Holi.
Tale No 243
