Payasam Penchant

My grandfather was the consummate storyteller. You could have heard the same story a million times from a million other people. But no rendition could hold a candle to my grandfather's. In fact most of these renditions did happen by candle-light. The load-shedding hours were Prime time at Vellat House. But then, being the fount of all knowledge that he was, my grandfather was never deterred by something as silly as time when it came to telling a story. Besides, no story is as good as a spur-of-the-moment one. It was through such a moment that my brother and I got to hear this one.

Somewhere in the misty reaches of time,it had been lunch-time. Which meant my poor mother was busy trying to herd my brother and me to the dining table. Well you couldn't really blame us.We were young. We were on vacation.There was so much field and fallow to explore. And great food is a lovely thing, but in those pre-hostel days it wasn't that much of a bait. With some quick maneuvering and deft use of the one-eye-brow-up routine (she made us shiver with that one), she actually got us to sit still and placed a plate in front of us before we escaped. And since my grandmother was the greatest cook since since cooking was discovered, we weren't complaining much. We enthusiastically piled our plates and had made some headway into our attack,when my brother whiffed a whiff of something delectable.

"Mmmmmmmmm... what's that smell..." He slurped.
My grandmother swelled imperceptibly with pride.
"Chakka payasam." she smiled. The smile died a quick death and was resurrected as a frown when it was greeted with a loud chorus of "EEEEEEWWW!"

Chakka- jackfruit- is one of the superstars of mallu cooking. It can be eaten as fruit, morph into curry, transmogrify itself into sabzi, and even reappear as dessert in the form of payasam or chakkavaratti. And later in the evening, it will return as chips, or back as fruit again. You can't escape the chakka. My brother and I were not really averse to it in most forms. But we were a wee bit dubious to the payasam. And hence the "EEEEEEW!"

Wincing at the double glares we were getting, my brother and I were preparing to face the wrath of the furies, when my grandfather saved us.
"Ah you shouldn't say that," He said between a bite of succulent ladiesfinger,"Chakka payasam is the king of payasams."

Apparently our disbelieving expressions were expressive.

"Really!" he insisted, eyes twinkling behind his thick rimmed glasses as he swallowed another morsel of food, "It's true. It was my father's favorite. But he didn't like it in the beginning either."

Our ears pricked up, and my mother let out a silent groan. The prospects of our finishing our meal anytime soon diminished considerably under the ensnaring influence of my grandfather's story telling.

"Yes..." he said, pouring more sambar onto his rice, settling into his story. "When my father was very young, he had to go for a wedding. At sadhya that followed he was a little distressed to find that one of the payasams was chakka payasam. But it wasn't such a great problem. After all, all he had to do was to tell the server to not pour it.

"It was a great sadhya. Everything was perfect. He was enjoying himself thoroughly. He had just finished cleaning off his third helping when, before he could say a word, the passing server dolloped a slop of chakka payasam right in the middle of his leaf!"

Here he paused dramatically and slurped on some drumstick while my brother and I let out enraged gasps. Yes, he knew how to work up the drama factor really well. He let us go on in the indignant vein for while and then got back to the story.

" Yes, he was furious!And he showed it!
'What have you done!'He shouted.
Apparently the server was a rather slow person.
'What sir?' he smiled benignly and dumped another ladle-full onto his leaf. The fact that the person on the other side of the leaf was squeaking indignant squawks seemed to have lit a candle wick somewhere in the server's cobweb ridden mind.'You don't like it?'
'No I don't like it!And now you've gone and put such a lot on my leaf!You mggfyffiuggg...' And the rest were sputters of rage.
The server scratched his head apologetically and said 'Oops.'
Which naturally sent the already irate guest into a whole new planet of rage.
'Well... don't worry' he continued, looking vaguely troubled at the rather scarily angry person in front of him. 'Just move it off to one side of the leaf and take whatever else you want.'
This rather simple solution,which had skipped my father's mind, took most of the wind out of his angry sails. He scowled and did as suggested and found the idea quite plausible. Except-
'Now it's on my hand!' he huffed at the server who was still standing by to see the effect of his advice.
'Well...' the server drawled, scratching his head again. 'Just lick it off.' At that moment he was called off to another side of the hall, leaving my father grimacing at his payasam coated palm.
Since it was already on his hand, and since he was planning on eating some more food, my father decided he might as well lick it off and get on with his gastronomical exploits. Taking a deep breath and steeling his tastebuds,my father licked off the payasam."

At this point my grandfather decided to prolong our suspense by leaning over his plate and cleaning off the last pools of sambar from his plate. We of course, obligingly chorused demands for him to continue. Satisfied that his plate was curry free, he leaned back and picked up where he stopped.

"He licked off the payasam, and realised it didn't really taste all that bad. But he wasn't in the mood to to follow up on that. Now that his sullied hand was taken care of, he looked down at his leaf- and was not happy. The pool of payasam was too close to the aviyal. He moved it off to another corner, and licked off the offending payasam. But now it was too close to the pappadam and pickles. So he moved it off to the other side and licked off his palm. Ah that's better. But look the inji thair is flowing into it! Oops! And he quickly moved it off to a safer location.

As it turned out, by the time he was done manouevering the payasam around his leaf- there was no payasam left. And, he had to admit it to himself, he was rather sad that it had gotten over. As if on cue, he espied the erring server passing by under a cloud of sweet aroma. He gestured madly at the man. The server caught sight of him and quickly came to his leaf. My father squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat a lot and finally mumbled at the server 'Couldeyehevsumore?'

The server blinked slowly and smiled a smile that he quickly hid. 'Here you go sir' He said, as he poured a ladle full of payasam and then darted off to another end of the hall.
And that is how my father first fell in love with chakka payasam."

Just then Karthyayani our grandmother's woman Friday walked in with a vessel wafting the distinct perfume of payasam. After a story like that it was difficult for us curious children to keep away from the stuff! My grandfather smiled indulgently at us as we slurped off several ladles of payasam. Our grandmother beamed with pride and my mother let out a sigh of relief.

Chakka payasam has remained one of our favorites ever since. Even now when we go back to Kerala for vacations Karthyayani makes it a point to make it for us if there is jackfruit around. May be she thinks that would make us miss our grand parents less. It doesn't, but it helps soothe the hurt to remember good times like those. And I'm sure they serve chakka payasam in heaven.