The aroma of poli

14 04 2007

Summer afternoons, after a hearty breakfast of dadpe pohe topped with freshly grated coconut, were spend royally lazing around, fighting with sister, making clay utensils in the balcony of the unoccupied house next door, playing and reading loads and loads of books bought especially for the summer vacation. Half an hour before lunch time, aajji(grandma) would start making polis(chapatis). Not fulkas, the Maharashtrian style polis, the bigger and layered big sister of fulkas. As she would bake one poli after another and neatly stack them up in a steel dubba, the sweet smell of baking would fill up the entire house. Sometimes it would even reach the playground.The smell had the capacity to make me start imagining of what all aajji would’ve cooked for lunch. It used to be a very simple meal so to say. But that aroma used to make me look forward to the delicious bhaji, koshimbir, golya sambar and polis, that she used to prepare unhurried. Sometimes when the game or the book could not hold our attention from the hunger inducing aroma, we would start hovering around the kitchen. And then she would wash her hands, wipe her hands with her saree and then apply some toop(ghee) on the polis, sprinke an even layer of peethi saakar(powdered sugar) and roll them up for us. That used to feel like pure bliss.

I am missing that smell today, right now. The smell of polis getting baked on a iron griddle under the soft, careful hands of my aajji. There is something very comforting about food cooked by *any* housewife. Even on weekends, when I dont rush through my cooking, that calm, seasoned touch always seems to be missing.

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One response

14 04 2007
rexy

beautiful …
just got nostalgic reading your post ..
you have it in you to become a writer 🙂

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