Culinary Chronicles
By Yasmin Rahul Bakshi
Frozen in Time: A Punjab Farewell – Our backyard in Patiala was never just a garden. It was our quiet haven. Our own small piece of Punjab where we coaxed life, slowly and lovingly, out of that rich, dark soil.
There is a different kind of peace that comes from eating what you have grown yourself. A soul-quiet kind of peace. Watching those tender green shoots push up and reach for the sun, knowing they were fed by the earth and by Tiger’s hands. Tiger has always had that magic. That steady, unhurried patience that could turn a small patch of ground into something overflowing, something alive.
For years, our deep freezer stood in the corner of the kitchen, humming quietly. It was our secret treasure chest. Inside, it didn’t just hold vegetables. It held time itself. It held the trapped sweetness of summer in frozen gourds, the sharp tang of autumn tomatoes and most precious of all, our sarson ka saag.
That saag was never just food. It was our ritual of love. I can still see those biting, shivering winter days. The dense fog outside and us huddled close to the wood fire inside, the kitchen thick with that comforting. Smoky scent that clung to our sweaters. We would let the greens simmer for hours, patiently until they finally gave up and surrendered to the heat. And then came the “ghotni”, our old wooden muddle. Mashing it was never just a task. It was a rhythm. A meditation. Thud, thud, thud. With every turn of the wrist, we were binding the very essence of our home, our winters, and our togetherness into that dish.
But then the world shifted. The air, the seasons, everything turned a little crueler, a little more unfamiliar. Until it finally whispered that it was time to leave the plains and move towards the hills.
Standing in that half-empty kitchen, defrosting and emptying that freezer for the very last time, is when it finally broke me. The weight of it all came crashing down at once. As I pulled out those final, frost-dusted packets of saag, my fingers going numb from the cold, I wasn’t just holding food. I was holding years. I was holding the literal taste of the earth we were leaving behind. I was holding the quiet, simple rhythm of the life Tiger and I had built, leaf by leaf, winter by winter.
Each packet felt impossibly heavy. Each one a small, frozen piece of my own heart. And I understood with a sudden ache in my throat that once these were gone, once we had eaten this last harvest, that specific alchemy would be gone too. The particular character of our garden soil, the way the smoke from our fireplace curled up into the cold Patiala sky, the warmth of Tiger’s soil-stained hands in the kitchen garden. All of it would live only in the fading, soft corners of my mind.
We were walking towards a new horizon, I knew that. There was hope there too. But as I held that last, humble, frost-kissed bag of greens in my hands, I let myself stand there in the empty kitchen and weep. Not just for the house, but for the simple, beautiful, rooted life that was finally, truly, coming to an end.
Ingredients:
- Fresh chana leaves – 500 gms (washed and chopped)
- Spinach leaves – 250 gms (washed and chopped)
- Mustard leaves – 250 gms (washed and chopped)
- Desi ghee – 3 tbsp
- Corn meal (maki atta) -2 tbsp
- Onions (finely chopped) – 2 medium
- Ginger -2 tbsp (paste)
- Garlic – 2 Tbsp (paste)
- Green chillies – 3 to 4 (chopped)
- Asafoetida – pinch
- Red chilli powder – 1/2 tsp
- Salt – according to taste
- Water – 2 cups
Method:
- In a heavy-bottomed pot or pressure cooker, add the chopped chana leaves, spinach, mustard leaves and green chillies with salt and water. Cook on medium heat for about an hour (or 3-4 whistles in a pressure cooker) until the leaves are completely tender.
- Allow the boiled greens to cool slightly. Use a traditional wooden ghotni (blender) or an electric blender to coarsely mash them. Stir in the makki atta (cornmeal) gradually to absorb excess moisture and give the saag a rich texture. Simmer for another 5 minutes.
- In a separate pan, melt ghee over medium flame. Add a pinch of asafoetida.
- Add the chopped garlic and ginger, sautéing until golden brown. Then add the chopped onions and cook until browned.
- Stir in the red chilli powder. Cook the masala until the oil starts separating from the edges.
- Add in the mashed greens.
- Mix thoroughly and let it cook together on low heat for 8 to 10 minutes.
(Yasmin Rahul Bakshi is an accomplished senior consultant Chef and a food historian. A widely travelled Army wife from the Mussoorie hills with exposure to international cuisines & preserving recipes with the medium of food photography and digital content creation in the form of stories.)
