Groundnuts and winter camaraderie
SHARING a packet of freshly roasted groundnuts, my friend and I sat on a bench just opposite the bank branch near Kali Bari, Shimla, basking in the mellow sunlight. The day was bright as winter had not yet arrived, but the moongphali vendor had punctually set up his roadside ‘shop’ — a familiar sight in the town.
“I love the crunching sound of cracking open a nut,” I said, pressing a nut and depositing the shells into a paper bag. My friend exclaimed, “I enjoy rummaging through the packet searching for a nut or two amidst the shells and husks. It’s like treasure-hunting.” We exchanged a broad smile, a far cry from the giggles of our teenage years. The weight of being professors had tempered our laughter but not our ebullience.
Across the road, the vendor boy fanned his little ‘sigri’, and the amorphous smell of wood and charcoal wafted through the air, triggering a sensory journey through time. Year after year, the moongphaliwala materialises, as if from nowhere, to spread his wares, ignite the small 'sigri’ and do brisk business — a constant in an ever-changing world. I have watched this ritual unfold every season, and a naïve question often crosses my mind, “How come he hasn’t grown?” Of course, I know the answer — in a kind of relay race, his younger brother or cousin replaces the older sibling.
“School nahi jaate?” I asked.
“Hum iskool chhod diya hoon, madamji,” he replied. I did not wish to prod the kid further. I was impressed by the business acumen of these unassuming folks. Honed through years of hands-on experience and perseverance, their expertise can compare favourably with that of seasoned entrepreneurs.
Interestingly, the humble groundnut forms an inseparable part of winter camaraderie, particularly in the North. Winter has its pleasures, its abundance, warmth of companionship and traditions; and these unpretentious nuts are associated with many of these. It could be a marathon session of storytelling or chit-chat around the bonfire when shared experiences create a tapestry of surreal mystique. Or, it could be Lohri celebrations when fistfuls of groundnuts and revri are offered to the fire, with music and dance charging the atmosphere.
Each crackle of the Lohri bonfire seems to narrate forgotten tales — of harvesting joys and the blessing of abundance; of our indigenous Robin Hood, Dulla Bhatti, the saviour of women and a godfather to Mundri; of the joyous ditty “Sundar mundriye...” followed by the raucous refrain, ‘ho!’
Such innate communion with the community and friends means an equally intrinsic harmony with nature. It becomes a thrilling experience of cultural and sensory immersion — something we miss in the hustle and bustle of modern life.
