Billu and the Kittens

Ever since I remember, I have loved dogs. Amma used to say that when we were in a small tenement in Aurangabad, there used to be a huge black dog in the compound and I used to ride on him as a toddler and the black dog was extremely protective of me. I have always played with strays, have been clawed at in jest and here and there some tooth marks playfully. Then I had Brownie and Chikku two indies at two different points in my life that helped me cope up with two extremely tough stages of my life.

Now at 42, in an alien city, in a small rented house on the second floor of an old building, one mother cat decides to befriend me and brings her litter of kittens to me. Billu and the kittens are now there for over a month. The kittens are all naughty and exploring in nature tipping down flowering plants and creating mayhem getting into my walking path almost making me trip and getting their tails stamped.

Billu and her kittens – munching dinner

I don’t know how long they are going to be here. Perhaps, once the kittens grow up a bit Billu will take them away. As of now I have got a litter box, a colleague gave me a bag of cat litter, I am giving them dry cat food and diluted milk. If I go away somewhere for a couple of days, what will they do? Will they go find another place. Need to see what happens.

They are a welcome distraction as of now! One more chapter in this journey called life. People have disappointed and broken hearts and backstabbed, but no animal has ever wantonly hurt me!

Six Months in Bengaluru

I was born in Calcutta, lived in Pune, moved to Calcutta, then again was uprooted from the City of Joy and brought to a town called Thiruvallur near Chennai. The town and the city nearby became a part of the identity, seeing me mature into a man way before I should have become one. The responsibilities to care for my mother, giving her a better life, were the only concerns. School, college, multiple jobs, a house for Amma to live, tied to a long loan that still has about 8 more years to go. A bunch of close friends, some beautiful moments, some sad moments, losing my mother, immersing her ashes in the ocean, the city took a part of my soul with it. The house in the village still remains, locked up, books packed tightly in cupboards and boxes. The swami shelf, with portraits and metallic figurines, inevitably will be covered by dust and cobwebs along with the rest of the house. Memories are tied to the house there.

Now having spent six months in this city, life has been a rollercoaster ride of emotions. What do I say? A rented house again. I am married now. Understanding the better half, her mother, navigating the complexities of being responsible for one more person now, they all bring a steep learning curve. I am trying to be a better person, understanding others, being accepting of this city, its people, the language, the weather, the traffic that saps one’s energy out. A job, a good workplace, supportive colleagues and superiors, this city is now ‘home’. How long will I be here? Or will I permanently become a resident here? I don’t know what adventures lie ahead? I just want to lead a happy and purposeful life, here, there, where, no one knows.. Thankful to God, thankful to the spirits of the elders, thankful to friends and family for every lesson taught and learnt.

The journey continues…

2022 – Reflections

Last day of the year. Two hours left, as I look back on this year.

Travelled a fair bit.

Became an uncle again as my cousin was blessed with a little prince.

The moment I held him in my arms, my heart was filled with so many emotions, I am not able to express it here. May little Pancham be blessed with intelligence and good health.

Visited the Taj Mahal in Agra. Completely un-planned, and based on the suggestion of my cousin’s husband Shankar, it was a single-day trip that is extremely memorable. The Gatimaan Express simplifies travel a great deal.

Finding a bride for myself was an important goal for me this year. Multiple trips across the country, looking to find someone, everything collapsed. Finally, I did find someone, and I got married to her as well.

It was my longest desire to have a simple and fuss-free wedding with just the closest of close family members and friends. It was by God’s grace and blessings that we had a simple ceremony – a thaalikettu at Sri Krishnan Temple, Guruvayur.

Fate plays the strangest of games. We live in different cities now. The next year, opens up a whole new world for me, as I bid a fond goodbye to Madras and Thiruvallur after 24 years. I am headed to Bengaluru. I have to find a new job, a new place to live, and set up a house there.

There are a lot of things that are happening – rashi-naathan Shanishwaran is going to create a huge impact in the next two-and-a-half-years. I have always believed in praying and giving my best shot and will continue to do so.

Grateful to my friends and brothers – Bragadeesh, Deepu, Sai, Jothivel, and Ganesh who have been helpful and supportive. Partha sir an active reader of my blog who always supports and wishes me well. Thank you to you too sir. Swamy sir an acquaintance made on Twitter and a well-wisher who has guided me a great deal, thank you sir.

Thankful to my uncle, aunt, my sisters, my brothers-in-law, everyone who has stood by me. We have our arguments, we have our disagreements, we may not see eye-to-eye on everything, but we are family. The bond of blood is stronger.

As the new year approaches, I thank everyone, everything, every lesson, every moment has been fulfilling. Gratitude for everything. Thank you.

The woods are lovely dark and deep,

And I have promises to keep.

Maanga-Oorga {Mango-Pickle}

I started a novel called Rangu – This is an independent short story starring Rangu that will hopefully be a chapter in the novel somewhere in the many chapters in my mind and hopefully will get typed or written in a a notebook.

The summer would start in its intensity in early March itself. If we were lucky, the rain-gods would shower a bit of their bounty in the end of February, a gentle calm before the intense summer-wave that would envelop us for the next four months. Once those showers in February would cool the earth; we would set out to the ‘maan-thoppu’ – the mango orchard. The zamindar’s property stretched across the length and breadth of the seven villages to the east of the River Bhadra. The mango orchard was strategically placed right at the end of the boundaries of our little village. Meena and I would go to the orchard. Shambu thatha was the caretaker at the orchard, he would break into a smile on seeing us and say “Rangu Swami, Meena yaejamani vaango’ {Come Rangu Sir and Princess Meena}.

The rains on the gentle earth, the fragrance that linguists now call ‘petrichor’ would permeate the air. There were flowering shrubs of hibiscus, jasmine and some wild forest-flowers as well. We had the permission to pick all the fruits that had fallen down in the overnight rains. I had a sack that I would stuff with the green mangoes, some would have ripened and the sweetness of the fruits as we bit into them and talked and walked back home.

Once Meena would be left at her house, I would walk down to our humble hovel.  Amma would wash all the green mangoes in luke warm water. Then I would wipe them clean in an old white veshti that belonged to Appa; a memory of which I had no proper recollection. The mangoes would be wiped dry and then Amma would hand me the ‘aruvamanai’ a slicer set in a wooden frame. You need to slice the mangoes in a specific way and ensure that the seed did not get into the way of the sliced mangoes. It takes practice and having observed Amma slicing them for so many years, I naturally set about assisting Amma in the kitchen. Studies did not work out, the fees, the situation, the need to cross the river to reach the town; were all too many troubles for a young widow and her son. By Mama’s grace we were allowed to set up a tiffin stall outside the temple and I would help Amma there and also assist in cleaning the temple premises, ringing the bell, washing the temple vessels and other such stuff that kept the fire running in our kitchen. Every day and night Amma would tell me – “Rangu, you are destined for bigger things; keep working hard, Eashwaran will show us the way!”

The mangoes would be sliced and then be placed in a huge jar of salt and chilli powder. The jar would be sealed tight with a white cloth and for five days the sun in all its intensity would bestow goodness to the jar of sliced mangoes. On the sixth morning, Amma would get a huge cast-iron cheenchatti (heavy-bottomed cauldron). The sesame oil would take its time to heat on the wood-fired oven. Amma would then add mustard, as it would crackle, then she would add freshly ground red chillies, fenugreek seeds, turmeric and asafotedia and stir the potent mixture and then would come the moment of glory when the sliced mangoes would be added. Then my next task of gently stirring the mixture with a wooden stirrer would start. The smoke would be cumbersome but the fragrance of the spices and the green mangoes would be enough to bear all the smoke and water that would seep out of my eyes. Amma would know the exact time when the mangoes would have been cooked sufficiently and she would supervise the stirring at intervals and tell me when to stop and ask me to extinguish the fire. After a while the cauldron would be removed from the oven and kept to cool, covered with the banana leaves. The steam kissing the banana leaves and then again returning to the mangoes in the cauldron would impart a distinct flavor to the pickles. They would then be packed in glass jars. As per custom, the first three bottles would go to Zamindar Ayya’s house and Amma would give the first bottle to Meena. Then the remaining bottles would be sent to the houses from which the orders would have come for Annaporani’s pickles. Amma was fondly known as Annapoorani. It was a matter of pride and common knowledge that no one had ever left hungry from our house, in even the most desperate of times.

FAST FORWARD TWENTY YEARS

Zamindar Ayya had sent us an invitation and I was happy to know that I would be able to meet Meena after all these years. The little pony-tailed girl has grown into a beautiful princess, college-educated and a doctor. A matter of great pride for all of us! The first person from our village to have become a doctor. The wedding is in Madrasapattanam, people say the city is called Chennai; but for old-timers like me it will always remain Madrasapattanam. The blue coloured-nool-pattu saree with the mango pattern was ready to be gifted with the sacred kumkumam from the Devi-Sannidhi. What else? What else could I gift her??

I looked at Amma’s portrait in the swami-room. I kept the invitation next to the portrait and spoke –“Amma, Meena’s getting married! I could almost sense her presence and all of a sudden I could smell mangoes cooking in spices! Yes, that’s it, I would give her a bottle of pickles as well. Let me see, if she remembers me!!

The wedding was conducted at a massive mandapam, there were over 4,000 guests and it was a busy affair with all the big city-people talking on their mobile phones and clicking selfies. When I reached the mandapam, the rituals were already underway and at the appointed auspicious moment the thaali was tied. Meena looked resplendent the bride all attired in the ceremonial yellow silk saree and gold jewellery. The groom was a doctor as well and the couple looked lovely together. The big city folks and the family-members handed over their gifts to the newly wedded couple. Zamindar Ayya spotted me in the crowd and beckoned me to come up on stage. I felt a bit embarrassed; the country-bumpkin with his yellow cloth bag and khadi shirt and kaavi veshti. Ayya asked Meena – “Do you remember him?” Meena stared at me befuddled. I took out the mango-pickle bottle and a rush of memories flooded through Meena’s eyes and her eyes turned moist as she said – “Rangu!!!  Maanga Oorga”

Freedom – A Short Story Set in the Pandemic

Kamaraj Nagar – A locality in Avadi – April 14, 2020

Murugan looked at his wife and two children. It was the Tamil New Year. The corona lockdown had forced him to shut his small barber shop. There had been no income for about a month now. From all his savings, he was down to the last Rs 500 he had. He cursed himself for having hastily installed the air conditioner in his saloon based on the feedback of his customers. The AC had taken out Rs 30,000 and within a month of it being installed the government had enforced its god-forsaken lockdown. Valli his wife had managed to make a simple yet delicious meal. There was payasam and vadai with rice, sambar, and vegetable curry. The two children – twins – Haripriya and Harpit were ten years old. Excellent at studies and extra-curricular activities, their small flat in the housing board colony was adorned with certificates and trophies that the twins had won at school. The situation was problematic for most occupants of the run-down flats in the colony. He could not borrow money from anyone either. The people lending money during this crisis would extract their Shylockian pound of flesh from him. He wondered how he would overcome this crisis.

Gumudipoondi a town adjoining the Andhra border – May 1, 2020

Biswajit was walking along with a group of 15 other construction workers. They were tired of the false promises being made. They had not received wages nor had work resumed. Their contractor had tried his best to support them, but he too was caught in his problems and facing a monetary crisis. Originally from Midnapore in West Bengal, Biswajit had come to Chennai, three years ago. He loved this city and its long beach. He had worked in a small restaurant as a cleaner and then found a better-paying job as a construction-worker.  This city gave him dignity instead of life as a low-caste indentured labourer in his native village. The Communists had destroyed the fabric of his beloved state. Despite changes under Mamata didi’s Trinamool – a life of comfort was still a distant dream. The group had started walking from their tenements near Royapuram two days ago. They did not know how they were going to reach their destination or when they would reach it either. They trudged along because they knew their dream had ended here. They tried to use the side-roads instead of the main highway to avoid the police. En-route some volunteers from NGOs and good-natured folks had provided them with water and food-packets. How long would this journey run? Would they make it in one piece to their native lands?

Kodambakkam – a posh apartment complex – May 10, 2020

Rhea was having a heated exchange with her husband Dev. “What do you mean – kitchen is only for women? You better come here and help me wash the dishes.” Dev chose to ignore her and this only infuriated Rhea further. Something snapped that moment in Rhea’s mind. Five years of a marriage that was filled with arguments and disagreements. They had been neighbours since their childhood and their parents had conducted the marriage wishing the best for both of them. Somehow the joviality of friendship did not translate into a successful marriage and it had been a constant struggle for both of them after the initial honeymoon period ended. As Dev continued to flip the channels on the television, Rhea walked in to the living room and stood between Dev and the TV set and said – “OK, Dev, we need to talk, now!”

Kamaraj Nagar – May 15, 2020

The police-officers had cordoned the flat where Murugan lived with his family. All four members of the family had died. Murugan hung from the ceiling fan. His wife and children lay in the bed with their mouths frothing with a foul-smelling liquid. Murugan had poisoned them and then hung himself. His letter that was kept on the alcove with the photos of several gods was clear. He no longer had any money. He could not open his barber shop, he could not pay rent, and the money that he had borrowed with great difficulty was also over. Neither could he help himself or his family-members. This was the only way out.

Midnapore – May 22, 2020

The Amphan cyclone hit with a ferocious impact destroying everything in its way. Poor Biswajit who had reached home after an NGO had helped arrange transport for them in Andhra Pradesh discovered the wrath of nature a few days after reaching his village. The winds and the rains had lashed and blown away the tin and asbestos sheets that worked as roofs. He was thankful that he was alive. His aged mother and widowed sister were safe. They salvaged some of their belongings and walked to the local government school, where a relief camp had been set up. A promise of a hot meal of khichuri and some vegetables prompted them to walk to the school where some more villagers had assembled. They were down, but they believed they could rebuild their lives.

Kodambakkam – May 23, 2020

“Amma, enough is enough. I have thought through this clearly. I am not going to endure any of Dev’s nonsense. Five years of my life I have given to him, and my role is that of a dignified maidservant. That’s all, and a trophy-wife for parties.  I am seeking a divorce from him. I need to live my own life.”  Rhea’s mother looked at her and nodded her head. “Appa and I are sorry for having foisted this marriage upon you. Let’s plan a new beginning for you.” Mother and daughter hugged each other as tears flowed down their eyes.

Yatra – Chapter – 4 – Who is This?

Jagadeesh reached Mukti Bhavan and walked to the office where he met the manager / administrator of the building. He introduced himself in a bit of broken Hindi. The manager smiled and spoke in English. This comforted Jagadeesh. The manager said that the body was ready to be cremated and it had been kept in an ice-box. He asked Jagadeesh to freshen up and come down to the ghat in an hour. He said that he had booked a room for him in the lodge at the end of the street. He gave him a red token and asked him to give it to the receptionist at the lodge who would then give a key to his room.

Jagadeesh processed all the thoughts slowly as he walked in a pensive mood. Grief, anger, frustration, or helplessness, he did not have one specific word to describe his feelings. The lodge was an old building but maintained properly and had a coat of light-blue paint. He got his key, room-number-7. The room was small, simple, and functional. A bed, a table, a chair, and an attached toilet and bathroom. Jagadeesh took a quick bath, changed into a dhoti and white half-sleeved shirt, took his wallet and phone and walked to the ghat.

At the ghat, the manager was waiting along with another priest and a person in charge of handling the funeral pyre. Jagadeesh wanted to look at Chandru for one last time. As he removed the white cloth that covered the body, he was shell-shocked. This was not Chandru. He said to the manager, “Sir, this is not Chandru.” He took out his phone and showed the photograph of Chandru.

The manager was completely confused and said something in Hindi to the priest. He then said to Jagadeesh, “Please come with me.” Jagadeesh said, “What about this body?” The manager replied – “We will inform the local police. Please rest in your room. I will inform you regarding the next steps. Please examine the bag that was there with the man who claimed to be Chandru and let me know if there is anything in it that you can link back to your friend Chandru?”

The realization that Chandru could still be alive made Jagadeesh happy. He wondered – “Who was it that died? How and why did the person assume Chandru’s identity?”

Yatra – Chapter-3 – The Accident

Jagadeesh’s flight took off on time and the flight was not very crowded nor were there any crying infants among the passengers. Jagadeesh closed his eyes and tried to reconstruct the events of the day of the accident. Chandru had gone to Dehradun to oversee the launch of a new initiative of the NGO that he had established. The NGO was helping widows and underprivileged children by offering career paths and education. The new initiative was a small food processing-unit that had been set up to prepare and sell apple jam and apple cider vinegar. In the three years since the NGO had commenced operations a lot of people had benefited from Chandru and his team’s efforts. The food processing unit would offer a steady source of income to the women who were part of the group.

The event had been a grand success and the local newspapers and television channels had also covered the launch of the food processing unit much to the delight of the women and children. Chandru had to return to Delhi for a business meeting and he decided to drive down from Dehradun. The details after this are hazy because the newspapers and TV channels that reported the incident said that Chandru had swerved to avoid ramming his car into a bunch of schoolchildren at a turning point on the hill-roads and broken the barrier wall and fallen into the gorge below. The search-party that looked for his body could only retrieve mangled remains of his car that had been completely wrecked. No trace of his body had been found.

Jagadeesh had nursed a small hope that somehow Chandru would have survived the accident and would have been living somewhere. He did not realize that his wish had come true. But he would still be meeting his friend after his death and not when he was alive. It irked him to no end. Why had not Chandru made contact with him or any of his friends if he had survived the accident? What was he doing in Kashi? And why of all places to check into Mukti Bhavan and wait to die? The announcement by the air-hostess to fasten the seat-belts broke his chain of thought. He would find out the truth.

Yatra-Chapter-2-Flying to Varanasi

After the initial shock Jagadeesh composed himself and told his wife – “Don’t worry ma! I will be fine. It is just that the news was sudden. After all these years, a jolt from the past. None of us knew what happened to Chandru after the car accident. I will look for an early morning flight and leave accordingly. You take care of Varsha and Vihaan, tell them that Appa had some urgent work and had to go to Mumbai for a client meeting.”

Harshini nodded her head and said “OK pa, I will quickly pack some of your clothes in the suitcase. Are you carrying your Mac Book with you?”

“No, ma! Nothing to worry, I should return by Monday evening. Nothing to stress. Just put in a couple of shirts two vests and briefs, a veshti and angavasthram. That should suffice.”

Jagadeesh booked the flight tickets. The early morning flight was relatively free and he had no trouble in booking the tickets. He decided that the return tickets could be booked once he finished the formalities at Kashi.

The next morning:

Jagadeesh looked at his wife and children deep asleep. The flight was at 6 AM. He would do the web check-in through the app of the airline on his phone. He needed to be at the airport at 5 AM. It was 3 AM now. He made himself a black coffee and added a spoon of honey to it. The view from the verandah always took his breath away. The marsh was silent at that early hour. By 5 the birds would start their chirping and squawking and as the day progressed, one could spot different birds flying and looking for fish in the marsh.

As he sipped the coffee, he smiled sub-consciously. It was Chandru, who had introduced him to the combination of black coffee and honey. So many memories were associated with Chandru and their small group of friends. They called themselves “The Usual Suspects” and would be available for each other through thick and thin. Dr. Sai, Rineesh whom they fondly called as Rinku, and Gokul. The five of them together had enjoyed many a hearty meal together. How time had flown by. Sai was heading the Department of Neuro-surgery at a hospital in Vienna. Gokul had shifted to Singapore and settled there with his wife and daughter. He was working for an international IT major. Rinku had returned to Kumbakonam and set up an organic farm in his ancestral property. He realized that none of them had spoken with each other in a fairly long time.

He finished the coffee. Washed the cup and kept it back in its place in the kitchen cupboard. He kissed his wife on her forehead, placed the blanket properly on top of her and the children, took his suitcase, locked the front door and left the apartment. He decided to take the car and park it in the airport parking lot.

The roads were free of traffic at that hour. He reached well in time for his flight. The baggage screening and security checks were done. The display board indicated that the flight would leave on time. He boarded the plane and sent Harshini a message that he had boarded the flight and would call her once he reached Kashi.

Yatra – Chapter-1 – The Phone Call

It was around 8 PM, Jagadeesh had finished his dinner and was planning to get ready for his weekly conference call with his team in Seattle. The call would start at 8:30 PM IST and would usually last for half an hour. The team-members would discuss the work done during the course of the week and share inputs on the plans for the week that lay ahead. The familiar ringtone on his iPhone interrupted his thoughts. Jagadeesh looked at the phone, the Truecaller app said – “Mukti Bhavan Pandit”. Jagadeesh answered the phone, a voice in Hindi said – “Namaste, main Pandit Shivlal Sharma baat kar raha hoon Kashi se. Aap ke dost Chandru aaj chal base.” (Hello, this is Pandit Shivlal Sharma calling from Kashi, your friend Chandru passed away earlier today.)

It took a minute for Jagadeesh to process what he had just heard. He stammered and said in a mixture of Hindi and English; “I / Main tomorrow aa jaaonga” (I will reach there tomorrow) and disconnected the call. He started crying. The emotions flooded his memory. His wife Harshini came out of her room as soon as she heard him cry. “Yaennanga aachu? Yaen azharaenga?” (What happened dear? Why are you crying?) He just hugged her and sobbed into her bosom. “Chandru is no more!”

The Shawl

There is a green shawl,

That remains in the wardrobe.

It has been in the family,

For as long, as I can remember.

My granny used to drape it,

To stay warm and comfy.

After her demise,

My mother kept it as a souvenir of her memory.

As my mother grew older in years,

Feeble in body and mind,

That green shawl would hold her together.

A powerful bond of days gone by.

Now, my mother is no more.

But the green shawl remains.

And as I grow older,

The green shawl continues its tradition,

Of offering comfort and hope.

At times I wonder,

Once I depart,

Who will take care of this green shawl?

Who will find comfort in it?

Who will drape it around and seek warmth?

Life goes on in all its glorious uncertainty.

Z for Zest for Life and Z for Zucchini and Sweet Corn Fritters – A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

How does one come to terms with grief and the loss of a loved one?

Kannan tried to come to terms with the absence of his mother. Immersing himself in work, or books, or music, or cinema; things that he loved before; no longer gave him peace or happiness. A sense of fulfillment always seemed to evade him in anything that he did.

His experience in the hospital when he got operated was life-changing of sorts. The duration when he was in sedated sleep; there were lots of vivid dreams. Snow-capped mountains, flowing streams, green meadows, sandy shores by the blue seas; these were some images that played in his mind. Then there was a dark tunnel through which he was travelling and he could hear the voices of his mother, his grandmother, and several others whose deaths he had witnessed. At one point the tunnel ended and there was a bright flash of light. When he opened his eyes he was in the room assigned to him and no longer in the operation theatre. After the discharge, it took a fairly long time for him to recover and during this time he thought a lot about the vivid dreams or visions in the operation theatre. He could not define them or interpret them.

Was he expected to travel to the mountains? Or to seashore? What did the voices of the departed souls signify? He could not get any answers. What he understood was that once again; Life had given him another chance to live; and now it was up to him to figure out how to lead it. He could either wallow in grief and self-pity and make life miserable for himself? Or, he could lead life with a purpose and try to help others in any way that he could.

Kannan decided something. He knew that he had no control over what hand destiny would deal him? He thought as long as he was alive he would lead life with zest. Happiness or Joy was not something that could be purchased for a price in a shop or an online shopping portal. It was a quality or emotion that would come from within. Happiness is what he would seek and happiness is what he would make the purpose of his life. If the book of Kannan’s life was filled with pain and struggles so far; from now on; he would attempt to fill those pages with happiness and a zest for life. If someone was destined to join him in this journey; so be it. If he was destined to travel alone; then so be it. Kannan smiled at his mother’s photograph. The red rose that he kept atop the photo fell down. It was a sign, a blessing; that he was on the right track.

Z for Zucchini and Sweet Corn Fritters

Zucchini is quite fascinating. Though it resembles the cucumber it does not belong to the same family of fruits/vegetables. The local vegetable vendors used to call it as “organic cucumber” and price it at roughly double the cost of regular cucumbers. Amma used to love zucchinis a lot and when in season, I used to regularly buy it from Mambalam vegetable market. Amma loved to eat it as a fresh salad with onions and tomatoes and also used to pickle it in brine along with carrots, beetroots, ginger, pepper, and green chilies. To culminate this series, I would like to share with you a recipe of zucchini and sweet corn fritters.

Ingredients:

Four medium sized zucchinis.

100 grams of boiled sweet corn kernels.

A mixture of all-purpose flour (maida), rice flour, and besan or chickpea flour in equal proportions.

Spice-mix powder – turmeric powder, red chili powder, coriander powder, and chat masala.

Cooking oil of your choice. We will use olive oil for this recipe.

Process:

Peel the zucchinis and use a grater to grate them finely. Now take the finely grated zucchinis in a white muslin cloth and squeeze the cloth to drain out the water content in the zucchinis.

Now in a mixing bowl, mix the zucchinis, sweet corn kernel, the three-flour mix, spice-mix, and salt add a small quantity of water and ensure that you have a batter mix that is not heavily diluted. Shape tikkis out of the batter and cook on a tava with olive oil. Turn the tikkis/fritters over with a spatula and ensure that it is properly cooked.

Serve with a chutney/sauce/dip of your choice. Note you can also add mashed potatoes to add additional flavour to tikkis. You can also experiment with the flours and use millet flours for the batter-mix.

To everyone who read the posts in this series, left a comment, liked the posts; thank you for your valuable time. I wish you a pleasant day ahead and I hope that we all find the happiness that we seek.

Thank you and God bless us all.