Image: courtesy - Gagandeep Singh
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Langar Hall Adventures:
Janam Da Firangee, Sikhi Main Mangee
FATEHPAL SINGH TARNEY
The older I get, the less able I am at tolerating masaaledaar (spicy) food. Even in my younger years, too spicy was just that – too much!
Once, back then, meri vahuti (my wife) and I were invited to dinner at the home of a dear Sardar friend well-known for his murgee (chicken) dish. Well, it was so karaaraa (hot) that neither my wife nor I could eat it.
My friend said, “But, Fateh ji, because you were coming, I deliberately made it bahut foka (very bland)! ”
I thought to myself, this is bland?!
These days, my strategy at a langar is to request “thhorraa” (small) portions of daal or sabzi in the event it is too spicy for me. But, on occasion, I make the mistake of simply asking someone who is already eating whether or not the food is masaaledaar.
I am usually late getting to langar because I do golak sewa – I count the money from the offerings. The problem, of course, is that everyone has different sensibilities! Thus, last Sunday, a friend assured me the sabzi would be no problem for me.
He was wrong!
My lips and tongue were on fire and I almost wished I had sat nearer to the fire extinguisher! I was praying that langar sewadaars would come by with paani (water), or kheer, or chaawal (rice), or roti, or jalebi, to help put out the fire, but all that was offered to me was more karaaraa daal and sabzi.
It was almost as if there was a conspiracy against me! In desperation, all I could come up with was, “A’gg! Kirpa karke madad karo, jal jaldi, jaldi!” (I'm on fire. Please help ... water ... hurry, hurry!)
Speaking of jalebi, I am reminded of the time when the vahuti and I had to leave a Sunday divan before the langar on account of a family emergency. People urged us to take some langar for the road. We were in such a hurry that I told my wife to go to the langar kitchen and ask someone for some jalebi that we could eat on the drive home.
She returned to the car with some, but wondered why everyone in the kitchen began laughing. I asked her what she had said. She told me, “All I said was ‘my husband would like a jalaab.’ ”
January 21, 2015
Conversation about this article
1: Bant Singh (New York City, USA), January 21, 2015, 2:42 PM.
This reminds me of a 'gora rishtedar (relative)' in my family. Over the years we've succeeded in burning his taste buds with spicy food to the point where we don't have to make the dish 'mild' when he comes over to the house. However, I still remember the early days when he would taste each dish with small bites and have the roti rolled up in one hand, in case he would have to use it as a fire extinguisher and stuff it into his mouth. All this was very amusing to us, until one day, his mouth was on fire and he could not get the water in fast enough, so he dove mouth first into a bowl of raita (spicy yogurt), which only acted as an accelerant. After we helped extinguish the 7-alarm blaze and he was able to talk, he pleaded with hands folded: "PLEASE, AT LEAST KEEP THE YOGURT PURE!"
2: Aryeh Leib Lerner (Israel), January 22, 2015, 2:31 PM.
In my experience it's the other way around. I'm the one with the Hot Tooth in my circles (which presently aren't Sikh ones, but keep watching this space). What I cannot abide is the fetid scent and flavor of cilantro (dhaniya, is it not? Quzbara in Hebrew). I once experienced a Sabbath meal in the home of an Iranian Jew. Every blasted dish contained dhaniya. Aaarrrgh! Most embarrassing.
3: Fatehpal Singh Tarney (Boca Raton, Florida, USA), January 22, 2015, 4:52 PM.
Aryeh, beloved brother, so glad you're reading my columns! Your comment has prompted me to write a follow-up based on my experience with Persian cuisine at an inter-faith meeting hosted by a Baha'i group here in South Florida.