If there is one vegetable that can divide the world into equal camps of lovers and haters, it is the bottle gourd. Fondly known as Lauki, this light green unassuming summer vegetable is capable of stirring feelings up equally on both sides of the table.  

Comfort Food 

I love Lauki. Served steaming hot as a soupy curry, it is a favourite comfort food. Yet when we were young, the word "Lauki" dredged up every excuse possible to avoid dinner. Lauki would be cooked at-least twice a week and our mother would try in vain to extoll its virtues. It could help us grow taller, stronger, faster and could, in general help us achieve everything from inner peace to the pot of gold at the other end of the rainbow.

Somehow, it worked the other way round too. Poor grades and cranky behaviour would be met with remarks about a younger generation which appreciate neither vegetables nor the efforts of their parents. Yet, the diced lauki cooked in fresh tomatoes would receive a groan of despair every time.  

In many Indian homes, wasting food is considered sacrilege and ours was no different. Wastefulness was unacceptable and what was served on the plate needed to be finished. It so transpired that that instead of chewing, we had learned to swallow Lauki down with water and I and my sibling had managed to avoid tasting lauki till late into our teens.  

Then came a day when we left for Lucknow for our summer vacations.  

Lucknow

Lucknow was the home of my mother's sister - the eldest of that lot of siblings. Eighteen years older than my mother, she had been known as the beauty of that generation. By the time we met, she had transformed into a gentle faced woman with stripes of silver near her temples. She was mild mannered, soft spoken and homely in her traditional saree. 

Street Food

Anyone who has been to Lucknow will have heard of its unmatched street food. From mouth-watering gol-gappas to sinful raj-kachori to sour and hot Chana Jor garam wrapped in triangular strips of old newspaper and sold outside all public parks.

Mausi would drag all of us to Hazrat Gunj, Chowk and many other nooks in the city to discover its unique and sumptuous offerings. She introduced us to the concept of Daalmoth sandwiches which was basically sliced bread with butter, sprinkled with Aloo Bhujia or any other dalmoth, corners sliced off and eaten while sipping sweet, Indian chai. This was a standard serving during evening tea, and we looked forward to it every day.  

Then one day, she announced that she would be cooking ‘Lauki’.  

We nearly groaned in despair. Lunch at home and lunch at someone else’s house was not the same thing. If we complained about food at home, there would be rebukes and some coaxing. But if it was done outside, a long drawn battle would be inevitable.  

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Kitchen aromas

Morning chugged slowly into afternoon that day and we could hear mausi in the kitchen while she and my mother hummed while preparing a home cooked feast. Various aromas wafted into the hall and many times I was tempted to put down my book, skip off from my perch on the balcony and peep into the kitchen.  

Finally, the food was ready and we were called to help ferry the dishes to the table. We obediently went about the task, always peeping under the lids to get a preview of each dish. But at the end of several casseroles, there was still no sign of lauki. I smiled inwardly assuming we had been spared.  

A starter soup

That is when my aunt opened one of the pans and started serving Lauki-tamatar Shorba. She told us that she had decided to make the soup on impulse and it was a watery, spicy version of the vegetable, but the vegetables were still diced and intact under the soup. She poured generous ladleful’s into my bowl, and I had to admit, the rich orange colour with dices of yellow lauki and green coriander were looking rather pretty.  

An explosion of senses

I tentatively sipped a spoonful and was instantly drowned in an explosion of senses. Fresh coriander was lending a teasing aroma to the soup. Fresh garlic, onions and ginger cooked to perfection were insistently drawing out my taste buds and the squishy texture transported me to a place that I had never known before. I finished the first spoonful and my mouth opened in an 'O' of surprise. Mother, it seemed was waiting for this reaction and had her eyebrow raised. I looked back at my bowl and continued to eat with a straight face.  

Slow cooking

We now regularly cook lauki at home. It is the one vegetable that anyone can safely eat huge quantities of without the worry of gaining pounds. But the best part of Lauki, I realized later, was actually cooking it. I learned from other family members to cook it slowly and on low heat. To let all the onions, tomatoes, lauki, coriander, ginger and all the freshly ground dry spices melt together and become a single entity.  

The aroma that then fills the house transforms it from being a regular apartment in a regular block in a regular city into a home that invites you to sniff your way in and remember what childhood used to be.  

Vintage-Tales.com

Tale No 316