On the Gujarati New Year or Bestu Varash as it is called, I admired the stack of neatly piled Gujarati rotlis in the rotli container, known as ‘garmu‘ in Gujarati. They were evenly rolled out, lightly dotted after being carefully roasted for (some seconds on the fire), almost all of them had puffed up, and were generously layered with home-made ghee immediately after they were cooked.
I looked at them in affection, something akin to what a poet might feel after they have composed a perfect piece of verse.
Gujarati rotlis take a lot of effort to make, and so these aren’t a daily affair in my household. Even if it is just the two of us, these rotlis that are typically different from their Punjabi versions, are gobbled up at quite a quantity, being smaller, thinner and oh-so-soft when you eat them just hot off the stove!
No wonder these are often the bane for many Indian women, and I say women, because it is mostly women who make the dough, roll and roast the rotli. In India, many women who would otherwise cook the rest of the three meals a day themselves, would often hire a ‘rotli-wala behen.’ Typically her job would just be to roll out hot rotlis (apart from making the rotli dough) and she would come once or twice a day, according to the terms of her employment.
Growing up, I knew that in many Gujarati households, a new daughter-in-law would be ‘tested’ by the way she could make her rotlis. Were these even, not too thin or thick at the centre or at the edges? Did they puff up? Were they rolled perfectly – not too big, nor too thin? Did they all settle into a pile evenly, all of the same size?
Households also had a ‘tapka‘ rule – that is, how they liked the spots on their rotlis to be. Not too many black spots/dots for some (when roasted), just a few brown ones for some, and none for others.
Men were also measured by the kind of rotli eating habits they had. If they were used to being served hot rotlis by their doting mums, sometimes even coming home for a hot lunch in the middle of their work days, one would assume and it would usually turn out to be true, that they would expect their wives to do the same for them. One friend had confided in me after meeting a man that her parents had introduced her to (as apart of traditional matchmaking), “I will never say yes to this man. Ene roj garam rotli ni aadat padi che, mane bhare padse. He has developed a habit of having hot rotlis off the stove; it will be a liability for me.”
Once I had gone with a friend to stay at her mama’s place. A mama in Gujarati is your mother’s brother. They lived in a joint family, with two brothers, their wives, children, and the mother-in-law occupying a beautiful old bungalow in Ahmedabad. Apparently, I learned that the two women (my friend’s aunts) would together make about a 100 rotlis in the morning for the entire family, including the household helps.
I must have been so traumatised by it all that I decided that I would not want to marry into a joint family, and if I did, I certainly would want the help of a rotli-wala behen.
Today, when I make these rotlis for myself and my husband, I feel happy, and satiated. No rotli-wala behen here, but these little round beings transform every meal every time I make them. Any vegetable wrapped tenderly in their folds and dipped in dal or kadhi becomes divine.
Almost like a slice of heaven on earth. A food from the gods.
Here’s to all Gujarati women who painstakingly make these rotlis day in and day out for their families. What’s leftover, these enterprising women transform the next day into another much loved and cherished Gujarati delicacy known as Vaghareli rotli – the rotlis cut by hand into rough medium sized pieces, shallow fried in a little oil, mustard seeds, curry-leaves, green chillies, ginger, garlic (optional) and salt and turmeric. A tiny amount of sugar is also added. Then buttermilk or chaas is added to the mix, the rotis bobbing up and down in that sweet and sour liquid. After it cooks a bit, and very gently at that on a very slow flame, a dash of lemon and freshly chopped coriander leaves are added.
The beautiful rotli transforms itself into a soupy little thing – it’s like two slices of heaven on a plate where there were only one.
The Banyan tree and other stories 
You’re making my mouth water, Prerna! Those soft, hot rotlis are the stuff of my dreams! And so interesting to read about the joint family setup. I guess previous generations would have taken it for granted and not even have thought of questioning the fairness of the work allocation.
LikeLike
I would love to have you over, Harini. I will make hulks and a potatoes-tomatoes jaggery and tamarind shaak. I am not sure if all joint families were like that from a few that I did see (in action), while there were plenty of good things about the set-up, it was also true that women had to take such a lion’s share of all household work. Perhaps true for nuclear families as well, but then you are only cooking for your spouse and children, and it won’t be 100 hulks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
There were compensations – if there was a lot of work, there were many hands to help. I sometimes wish I lived in a joint family! Of course there must be kindness and affection, otherwise it would be intolerable.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Do you mean phulka? Autocorrect has struck again?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Well spotted! I meant the phulka. And you are so right about having many hands to help. My father, who was a paediatrician, said that children who grew up in joint families had a wider vocabulary of words, and at much younger age. It may have been in part to do with the fact that with many adults to tend to a child, the child got his/her stimulation, picked up words and was always looked after. But of course, like you (as always) put it just right. You need kindness, you need affection and genuine one at that for a large family to live under one roof and thrive. Most of the joint-families that I knew of since I was a child, all have disintegrated and the split was far from amicable. Sometimes the damage was so deep that brothers, sisters, sisters-in-law, brothers-in-law, and even cousins who had grown up together weren’t on speaking terms after the joint family broke up.
LikeLike
Mmmm 😋
LikeLike
I would like to have known your father, Prerna – he sounds like a wise and kind person.
I know only one person of our generation who grew up in a joint family, and he was happy in it. But some of his siblings and most of the older generation were not. They remained on speaking terms though there was some amount of jealousy and bitterness.
LikeLiked by 1 person