Readers Write In #679: A Feast of a Song

By V Vijaysree

The menu items to be served on the banana leaf are in steaming cauldrons, fresh off the stove. The laddoo, the murukku, the jalebi and the rest of the goody bag items have been ready for a while. But the duo from the groom’s side insists that there is still one key item missing from this lavish vegetarian spread – cooked greens. When the “cooks” step out to get the greens, Ghatotkacha, the half-demon son of Bheema, walks by, and sees this tempting feast.

Did the food call his name? Maybe, but in this memorable scene from Maya Bazar, the mythology fantasy film from 1957, Ghatotkacha, played by S. V. Ranga Rao, summons the dishes, and they line up to be devoured by him! The song is Kalyana Samayal Saadham (Tamil version) or Vivaha Bhojanambu (Telugu version). Shot before technology made special effects easy, this song sequence shot by a master cinematographer is pure movie magic.

One line in the song’s lyrics “புளியோதரையில் சோறு மிகப் பொருத்தமாய் சாம்பாரு” never appealed to me. Tamarind rice with the right sambar? Such a bad pairing – it is almost like the marriage between Duroyadhana’s son and Krishna’s niece, which Ghatotkacha has set out to stop. I have told myself that lyricists sometimes have to throw in all kinds of words simply to fit a tune and there is nothing more to be said about it.

Recently, however, I came across an essay “Puliyodharai Puranam” by writer Sujatha Rangarajan, which made it clear that the offending line was no awkward compromise. The tamarind rice was meant to be paired with sambar. What kind of sambar? “The best sambar for puliyodharai is the sweetish onion or red pumpkin sambar made with toor dal,” Sujatha writes.

Sujatha expounds on the qualities of the right sambar. The sambar with moringa (drumstick) or radish simply ruins the joy of eating good puliyodharai, he writes. He also speaks of a green mango sambar his mother used to make, a favorite of pregnant women. Puliyodharai + mango sambar. Think about it for a second. Sourness with a side helping of sourness, of a slightly different kind.

Since Sujatha is a writer from a generation when men rarely ventured into the kitchen to cook, I would have loved to dismiss the suggested pairing out of hand. But when he lists the key elements in the making of good puliyodharai, it is clear he knows, and cares, about the making and the eating of good puliyodharai.

The cooked rice, the main ingredient, has to be spread out on a plate, so it can cool down, Sujatha says. This process also gives the cooked rice a chance to dry a bit. The grains will no longer stick to each other like newlyweds but remain a little aloof like a couple who have been married for a good decade, he emphasizes. They are together yes, but… ((“அது புதுமணத் தம்பதியர்  போல பின்னிப் பிணைந்து குழைந்து இராமல்.. திருமணமாகி 10 ஆண்டுகள் ஆன தம்பதிகள் போல சற்று ஒட்டியும் ஒட்டாமலும் இருக்கும் பதமே சாலச் சிறந்தது.)

And the oil for tamarind rice – it always has to be sesame oil. Even if you are from the Bill Gates family, don’t think of adding ghee to the puliyodharai, he says in a mild rebuke. Don’t forget the peanuts, he says. Whatever their market price, in the puliyodharai, a peanut is worth ten almonds, he says. So, ghee and almonds have no place in this earthy dish, tinted with turmeric. Also, use old tamarind please, he tells the cook.

Better still, just head to the best Vishnu temples where puliyodharai is handed out as prasadam he says, because there is no way a mere home cook can compete with a temple kitchen in this matter. But he mentions that even the gods might have held their palms out for a taste of his grandmother’s puliyodharai, which she garnished in her own style, with fried sundakkai vatral powder.

If you do find a good plate of this dish fit for the gods, what else is there to do except to tuck in like Ghatotkacha himself, Sujatha asks reasonably. And how that genial half-demon tucks in! He doesn’t just loosen his chunky golden belt. The shape shifter expands his frame and takes a Viswaroopam of sorts to do justice to the meal. Like Ghatotkacha’s assistants watching from the sidelines, we can only marvel at his gusto, and gleefully cheer him on.