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THERE are few things as tempting as a fresh, marble-white mooli draped in emerald green leaves, scraped clean and washed well by the vendor. Come winter and the gajar-mooli duo is there to make us drool. Just a sprinkling of tangy masala salt and maybe a few drops of lemon juice`85 all the warnings about the hazards of cut vegetables exposed to street-side filth are forgotten. What can be richer in vitamins and healthier? But we digress. Every one relishes the radish as a salad vegetable—the gentle folk prefer the daintier red, round variety while those who adore more robust fare swear by the more pungent whites. Mooli also provides a welcome change from alu and gobhi as a paratha stuffing; occasionally it is encountered in a raita but most of us can’t recall really enjoying it as a vegetable served in its own right. There are fading memories that the writer retains from a childhood spent in the hills of Uttaranchala in the pre-motorised transport days. Winters were long and hard, the supply of subzi from the plains dried up as the snow blocked the roads and the ladies in the house devised myriad dishes from mooli to cope with such situations. Dahi wali alu mooli or nimbu muli sana—a sweet and sour salad topped with dahi and flavoured with ground bhanga (cannabis seeds absolutely non-intoxicating). Crushed roots contributed substantially to baant – a light karhi. The mixed vegetables were more often than not a m`E9lange of kaddu, baigan and mooli. Mooli also figured prominently in the pahaari bari in grated form. One suffered a major pang of conscience recently when Rashmiji treated us to a delectable Kashmiri delicacy—mooli macchali—how ungratefully has one forgotten the faithful friend! The reverie that was triggered also revived images and echoes from Jaunpur railway station many moons ago. Early in the morning one was woken up by parents to ‘see and believe’ the gigantic mooli produced locally. It has remained etched indelibly in our mind as the true emblem of the seat of the Sharki Sultans. The notes of raga Jaunpuri immediately start a post-wasabi tingling in our palate. (Incidentally, the Japanese value daikon a.k.a. mooli to enhance the flavour of their soups). When Simla mirch was in season, mooli was often combined with it or paired with pahari torai—when it made its appearance. This ridged gourd is not to be confused with noniya or doodhiya torai (wax gourd). We cooked it recently, compelled by nostalgia, and were delightfully surprised by its charm. Who says plebian pleasures can’t match patrician pretensions?
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