Winter, Snow, Grandparents, Kangri and an egg just laid by a hen reared at home. We never had to go out in the market to buy the eggs which they say are artificially manufactured in a factory these days.
It was an organic world with beautiful stories narrated by our grandparents, the love flowing was unconditional and while we as kids listened to those stories, the beauty of waiting for the egg to burst in the Kangri is unexplainable.
In olden times in Kashmir and probably in the present times as wel, in certain rural areas, the tradition of putting an egg or two in Kangri (Fire Pot) is known to each one of us who lived through those times when there was no concept of pollution, where there were no junk foods and when there were no online games to confine each individual in a household into their prospective rooms.
The homes were full of love with at least three to four generations living together. Grandparents, the King and the Queen of the house who knew history, tradition, culture and science in their own way. The phrases they used, the techniques they applied gradually showed up in my curriculum class after class.
The fragrance of the egg cooking in the Kangri would trigger the enzymes and then a “boom” within the Pheran of grandma signaled, “the egg is ready.”
The egg was de-shelled slowly by grandma and then the kids would feast on this unique recipie.
Hygienic and original, the unique qualities of the food then never impacted our health. Everlasting memories, the fragrance of soil, pure air, crystal clear water and a huge family with smiles on every soul’s face.
And then they say, “Nostalgia is a file that removes the rough edges from the good old days.”