I write this column on the first day of the nine-day period of Navratri, a festival that has always had special resonance for me and my family. But, for the life of me, I can’t remember a time when we began the Navratras (as we Punjabis tend to call them) by policing the streets to check if meat was being sold in the shops. Nor did we ever worry about our Bengali neighbours (this was in what was then called Calcutta) eating fish or mutton during this period.
For us, Navratri never meant keeping a watch on what other people were selling, buying or consuming. No, in our family, it meant a joyous celebration of Ma Durga, as we fasted during the day and congregated in our family pooja room in the evenings to sing bhajans (tunelessly, I must concede) and eat the delicious prasad that my mom made every day. It was a time when the entire family came together to worship at the altar of the Goddess. And the only thing we were concerned about was our prayers being accepted; not what was on the dinner menu of our non-vegetarian friends.
I still remember the excitement with which all of us children gathered around my mother and grandmother as they sowed the wheatgrass – called Khetri – which was supposed to symbolize the Goddess Durga. We vied with one another to help in the process and would begin every day by running to the pooja room to see how high it had grown overnight. My mom and aunt had a running competition to see whose Khetri flourished the most; and I am happy to report that my mother won resoundingly most years.
While the adults held proper fasts which entailed eating just one meal a day, us kids had a special dispensation to eat both lunch and dinner, but with no wheat or rice allowed. We didn’t really mind because my mother was a genius at creating tasty variations using kattoo ka aata (which was allowed during Navratri). So, we had aloo parathas made with it on one day, perfectly puffed pooris with arbi ki sabzi on another. And as a special treat, in the evenings, my mother would make aloo pakoras using this atta, which were so delicious that our friends would find some excuse to drop by so that they could gorge on them as well.
{{/usCountry}}While the adults held proper fasts which entailed eating just one meal a day, us kids had a special dispensation to eat both lunch and dinner, but with no wheat or rice allowed. We didn’t really mind because my mother was a genius at creating tasty variations using kattoo ka aata (which was allowed during Navratri). So, we had aloo parathas made with it on one day, perfectly puffed pooris with arbi ki sabzi on another. And as a special treat, in the evenings, my mother would make aloo pakoras using this atta, which were so delicious that our friends would find some excuse to drop by so that they could gorge on them as well.
{{/usCountry}}The grand finale came on Ashtami, when the fasting came to an end and we celebrated Kanjak Day by inviting all the little girls in the neighbourhood to our home for a special pooja. The Kanjaks would be made to line up while my grandfather washed their feet with water. Then they would enter the pooja room, where they would be worshipped as if they were incarnations of Ma Durga herself, and given token presents to take home with them.
For us kids, though, the highlight of the day was the kala channa and puris that were served alongside some atta halwa as prasad. After more than a week of (so-called) fasting, we fell upon this repast as if it was ambrosia from heaven – and believe me, it tasted exactly like that.
And no, we didn’t worry if our neighbours were eating chicken as we chowed down, either…
From HT Brunch, April 05, 2025
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