Mulberry Musings in Shillong

From left its oranges or rather the locally grown small but extremely sweet tangerines.The pile of little green fruits next to it are bay-berry or what the Khasis call Soh Phi (soh in Khasi means fruit), it has such a tarty sour taste that sets the teeth on edge, that those biting into it for the first time are bound to recoil in total shock. When you buy a small polythene packet of Soh Phi, it comes sprinkled with a mixture of salt and red chilli powder. You buy it, find a comfortable place to sit and bite in, involuntarily squeezing your eyes tight the first time, your teeth almost rattle in protest, your tongue goes into  paralysis mode at sucking the squirt of the most sour juice ever. And yet you can't stop at one! Soh Phi in Shillong signals spring, to me it is intrinsically Shillong like the pine trees and the rustling breeze. Soh Phi is also pickled and sold in mom-and-pop stores, but the pickled version is very tame. Incidentally, the same green fruit grows wild in hilly areas of Uttarakhand and Nepal and in Nepali it is called Kafal. There are even songs about the fruit, the most famous one being 'Kafal pakyo, kafal pakyo' (Kafal has ripened) The ripened ones initially turn an orange-ish red and gradually acquire deeper hues of dark red and purple and can often be mistaken for raspberries. The shock inducing tangy quotient reduces and acquires a sweetish touch with still a bit of the acidic. In Khasi the ripe variety is call Soh Shang and in the picture above it sits right next to its green avatar.

Then comes the mulberries! And every time I see them, its immediate transportation to childhood and junior school and that infectious song, ' here we go round the mulberry bush so early in the morning....' In our old house we had a small mulberry tree along with a tomato tree.  If memory serves me right, it didn't bear much fruit but it always seemed to have caterpillars crawling around. It was the too-much caterpillars that ultimately resulted in its untimely death, it was uprooted and done away with. Fruit wise mulberry doesn't have any distinct taste, but what it lacks in punch it more than makes up with staining everything a dark black purple - your fingers and nails naturally from handling them,  your clothes, your face, anything that you touch with your mulberry stained fingers and above all, your teeth. And you realise that being an adult doesn't mean you stop from flashing your mulberry juice dripping teeth at everyone, especially kids while at the time making sure you are cock-eyed!  So there we were, a friend and I, slurping on mulberries at Police Bazaar, Shillong and smiling at everyone! By the way there is a trick to eating mulberry, you hold one by its dainty delicate stem, push the whole thing into your mouth, hold firmly the stem and pull it out. What you get is a mouthful of splattering mulberry in your mouth and a tiny stem in your hand to be discarded. 

April in Shillong is also when the wind blows fiercely, like an angry avenger blasting its way everywhere. Thankfully, there are long breaks in between. If you happen to be out when the strong gusts happen, and if you are wearing dresses, please drop everything and ensure that you pull down and hold your dress for all its worth! Eons ago it was one of the most hilarious, make that howlirious sight to see one 'aunty'  desperately holding in place her jainsem with one hand and her wig with the other! And if you are inside you make sure that the clothes are pegged on tight on the washing line and nothing is left outside that can be literally blown away. At late nights, when few lights twinkle faintly in the hills and there is darkness all around, maybe a car passing in the distance and the furious wind wooshing about violently, it is easy to imagine other world spirits and such on the prowl. This is when you slink in deeper into your quilt

April is also when the flowers are in full bloom in Shillong.  The wild roses are everywhere as are carnations, balsam, geraniums, calendula, pansies, dianthus, daffodils, lilies, cosmos, petunias, fuchsia, more roses and just what have you. Several houses have flowering orchids too, the branch laden down with the weight. Some are just beautiful, some so exotic and haughty, one feels like bowing before them. In the midst of traffic on a busy thoroughfare near the Governor's House one stops suddenly, there is an old structure, the kind not seen around much. It is some government office and before it a bottle brush tree stands regally with its fiery red flowers spreading cheer. There is a Zen feel to it all - the simple white limestone washed wall, the black wooden frames, the naturally coloured wooden doors and the red tin roof. You smile for a long time after that.

Close by on a dirty wall a poster catches the eye. Shillong is not the place one would expect the communist party to be active but there it is, with a yellow background with ' prevent price rise, price of diesel' written in green and red and signed CPI (Communist Party of India). One can't help but remember what is generally said about youths and communism: If you're not a communist before you are 25, you have no heart; if you are a communist after 25 you have no brains (or something to that effect)  I am sure the CPI poster was the first one on the wall or why on earth would it be next to the one that announces, 'Dance for Respect'. Someone  from the Megha Rockers Dance Academy in Shillong surely has a deep sense of humour!    

Another day rushing down long narrow steps it is suddenly time to apply the brakes again. There's a small house, which looks like any other insignificant house in the hills, at a level lower  than that of the steps going down. What makes you smile is the roof turned into a flower garden. Nothing posh-tosh, nothing elaborate, just pots lined up in rows on the two levels of the cemented roof with blooms of every hue. It must be a cheerful feeling for the house inmates to know that above their head is a little paradise.

  

Another day going around hunting for starfruit (don't ask why!) Everywhere I am told its not the season as yet. The search for the missing starfruit takes me to the Laitumkhrah Market and what I see instead are small snails everywhere! I am told the most common way of having it is to boil the snails for sometime, strain it, let it cool and eat it like the way you do with mulberry - hold in your mouth, suck in the flesh and discard the shell. There is no way anyone is going to get me to suck on snails!

A bright red coloured signboard catches the eye. Its for a Khasi food restaurant called Red Rice, named after the locally grown rice with its reddish brownish colour. The red rice is organic, wholesome and very healthy, though not as tasty as fine polished Basmati. A blend of mashed red rice and the locally grown seeded banana is common baby food. We walk into Red Rice, ignore the Chinese section of the menu and order Khasi veg and non-veg platters. What comes makes me laugh - the platter is served on a square steel plate with inbuilt bowls like those you get in school/college dining halls/canteens and army messes and there is no sign of any red rice anywhere. The rice is white Basmati. I call the waiter, could he please exchange the white rice for the red rice? He can't because there is no red rice. Huh! so why name the place Red Rice? And why on earth can you have a Khasi cuisine eatery without red rice?

Time flies and suddenly Barapani (Lake Umiam) is behind you and, ahead Guwahati is much closer. I don't like it but I have no option. Zoom, zoom and Umiam disappears in a jiffy....

 

 

Soon after you have reason to smile again. As you drive from Guwahati to Shillong, there are sections between the borders of the two states where it can get a bit confusing over demarcation. One moment the left side is in Meghalaya, the next in Assam and so on.... The best way to  identify, without fail, which portion lies in which state is to look for the wine shops. Yep, good ole booze shops. There are none on the Assam side, there are more than enough on the Meghalaya side. And they come with the most amusing names- Transcend (you know obviously what!); Grace; Good Will; Doni Polo; Shenki; Capital; Blue Hill; Cash and Carry (love it!); Lakhan; Border: French and so on. For all the grand names the shops are small,  unimpressive, some even hole-in-the-wall affair, some with strong iron grills  between the customers and the shopkeeper.

 

Long, long ago there used to be one called 'Stagger In'. Sadly that seems to have disappeared. Maybe next time there will be more amusing names. Talking of names, one hotel on the bypass road to Guwahati airport seems to be suffering from a major identity crisis- there are quite a few huge signboards announcing its presence, just that in some it is called  Hotel Bhargav and in others Hotel Bhargab. Sigh, guess it is a question of  ' to v or not to be!'