The first thing Antu gifted me was her lice, who found fresh real estate on my head. and guava, of course
The first thing Antu gifted me was her lice, who found fresh real estate on my head. and guava, of course
My only childhood friend was a girl named Antubala. She lived in a tree. It was a guava tree in the high garden behind our house. Its branches were very eager to enter my room, and rapped vigorously on the plank day and night. One afternoon, when I opened the window on a particularly sharp rap, I saw two wicked green eyes perched atop the nose of a cucumber, staring warily at me from among the leaves. The eyes were of a nut-brown face, with a head full of tangled hairs, which were attached to the body like a stick insect.
“Well?” I asked. “Okay,” she said. “There are young green guavas around this tree. You, with your sluggish body, clearly cannot reach them. If you let me in, I can bring them for you.” And so began a lifelong friendship that has only caused me pain. The first thing Antu gifted me was her lice, which left fresh immovable on my head. Property pie. And guava, of course.
Once when Antu was inside the house, she demanded to be taken straight to the kitchen. (Thankfully, the whole house was resting at the time.) Entering the kitchen with a whisper, he quickly robbed the jar of rock salt and chili powder, both sprinkled liberally on a green guava cut in half. He thought of me only when he had chewed at least four. Like Antu’s heart, my teeth broke as soon as I hit the raw guava, but I sold it in tears with the chillies. Meanwhile, Antu inspects the kitchen, inserting his dirty fingers into the flour, breathing in the steamed milk, and stirring the setting curd so that it becomes a watery mess. Job finished, she looked at me, abused me, called me sissy and disappeared from the window.
downhill from here
I felt the effect of Antu’s guava late at night: my stomach died like ten thousand sharks walking inside. My mother emptied a bottle of Gelusil from my throat and said, “Antubala has found you, all right. From here there will only be a slope for you.” And so it was.
My game room was littered with broken furniture, window frames, empty paint cans, my grandfather’s bed pan, and my father’s Hawaiian guitar. Antu soon joined me there. Since she was a budding chef, we tried different cuisines. The first was brick squash, which involved grinding up a brick to a fine grater and then adding water and my mother’s kewra essence. We tested it on my sister, who turned yellow, green, and magenta after taking a sip. When she went to the screaming mother, I was locked in the pooja room, which was a horror room because of its lizards the size of dragons.
It was a sad day as I hid in the corner of the dark worship hall, anticipating the attack of the dragons at any moment. Disappointed, I called Antu, who suddenly appeared in front of me. His eyes were twinkling, a sure sign of danger, but I was still grateful for his presence. First of all, he removed the necklace of pearls from the idol of Ganesha and put it on. Then he attacked Batasha’s pots (Jaggery Candy) My grandmother kept there for the gods. In no time empty jars were rolling on the holy floor.
Filled with sweets, Antu drank the Ganges water from a steel glass in which the grandmother had offered it to the idols. “The gods will punish you,” I taunted Antu, at which point he sticks out his tongue, “they already have more than enough to eat and they would care less. Attempts to murder your sister The punishment is much harsher, you remember.”
At the same time my grandmother opened the door after hearing the commotion inside. As soon as his eyes fell on the empty batasha jar, he hugged me and said, “They were kept only for you, my hungry mite.” Fearing that she would not be so benevolent to the Ganesh necklace, I quickly ran away and locked myself in the Garrett for the rest of the day.
gutter tea
One of my childhood obsessions was tea, which my family members used to drink by the gallon but would not give me a drop. When I made this complaint to Antu, she immediately started resolving it. He collected dried peepal leaves stored in heaps near the gutter on the roof and soaked them in water. After mixing it with alcohol, he ‘boiled’ it over a burning candle. The result was out of the world, naturally. It quenched my thirst for tea forever. Antu sharply remarked, “With Antubala, you don’t need anything.”
While I was busy entering the boring adult world, I lost touch with Antubala. Suddenly, men – say, John Lennon or Johnny Depp – became more important. But that was only a short gap. Antu came back as soon as my first heart broke. But this is a different, unseen story.
I met him recently when I had (non-Covid) fever. There was that sharp, familiar rap on the window as I curled my toes and looked in misery at the ceiling. Antu stood outside, following me from Kolkata to Bangalore. His eyes were shining. Reader, I let him in.
Method
Easy Guava Stew
Component
3-4 ripe guava
sugar to taste
a few cloves
Way
1. Desi Guava. (The seeds get stuck in your teeth.) Chop them up, but not too thinly so they don’t dissolve.
2. Put them in a saucepan and add water until the fruits are almost covered.
3. Add sugar and cloves.
4. Boil the guava till it becomes soft. There should be syrup left in the pan.
5. Chill in the fridge.
6. Transfer into individual bowls and serve with well-sprayed vanillin custard.
anusua.m@thehindu.co.in