Column

In the context of what the consequences of the impending general elections might be, I find the use of the word khichdi disingenuous in the political sense, and completely unrelated to its intrinsic qualities in every other.

True, there is a colloquial usage to the word (remember the movie by the same name too?) which means a mishmash or hodgepodge of sorts, and which finds frequent expression not just whenever there are elections to be held, and coalitions are inevitable, but in every facet of human life where contradictions exists. But there is a ‘loftier’ side to a khichdi which is deserving of attention, and which has sadly been overwhelmed by all the negative connotations.

For the record, it is still commonly considered as ‘comfort food’ in large parts of Asia, and even finds prominent mention, I learn from Wikipedia, in the Ain-i-Akbari, which is a document that dates back to the 16th century and was written by Emperor Akbar’svazir, Abu’l-Fazl ibn Mubarak, who says that there were seven variations of the khichdi, each with sterling virtues to improve body and mind.

You don’t, of course, have to be royalty to appreciate the benefits of this food. In my growing up years, khichdi stood for commonsensical, healthy food. It was a simple concoction, usually of rice and lentils, that provided vigour to the system, nourished the body in times of ill-health. One of my aunts from Pune I recall (since sadly deceased), would serve khichdi with curd every night to remove “all the rubbish that your stomach serves to your mind.” That lesson has stood the test of time for more than four decades.
This, alas, is in complete dissonance with what khichdi means in Indian politics today where, presumably any party can partner any other without conviction or compunction. The Congress can sleep with the Samajwadi Party, though both dispensations were vehemently ranged against each other for almost five years, and don’t be surprised if the BJP goes to bed with anybody who will support them. This argument holds true for every party in the fray in the elections.

Unlike in the US presidential elections, say, where policies were as important as personalities for voters to make up their minds, the Indian elections become bereft of end objective.

In that sense khichdi has, unfortunately, lost its value and become an abuse.

New Zealand’s cricketers may have got a pounding from MS Dhoni’s side in the first three One-dayers, but in the last on Saturday they came back strongly to show that they lacked neither skill nor spunk. Indeed, the Indian team would do well not to underestimate the doughtiness of the Kiwis. Their threshold for pain and punishment is high, and the spirit never-say-die.

This attribute is best highlighted by an anecdote involving the irrepressible English commentator Brian Johnstone and the famed New Zealand opener Glen Turner. Indian fans might remember Turner not only as an obdurate run accumulator in the 19s, but also the husband of Sukhi, a Sikh lady, who went on to become mayor of Dunedin in the recent past.For the record, he made more than a hundred first class centuries, and once, believe it or not, scored 300 runs in a single day.

But that is digressing from the main story, which came about in a Test match at Lord’s in 1969 Turner was hit in the groin by an express delivery and was felled to the ground. As he lay doubled up in pain, the television cameras caught his grimaces and anguish, with Johnstone providing the description with a vividness that had made him a household name across the cricket world.

Now Johnstone was renowned for his quirky sense of humour, and this seemed too good an opportunity to let go, though Turner was in genuine agony. When the batsman, quite bravely, shook off the pain from the stunning blow to his unmentionables and resumed his batting, Johnstone came up with this gem to salute Turner’s heroism: “Turner looks a bit shaken and unsteady,” he said in the mike, “but he’s going to bat on — one ball remaining.”