Pasaka: Sīmens, Samsungs un Aifons

Mātei bija trīs dēli – Sīmens, Samsungs un Aifons. Vecākajam dēlam Sīmenam bija desmit gadu.  Tā kā puisis jau gāja skolā, māte tam daudz laika neveltīja. Piešķīra vien savu noslēgtu istabiņu un teica. „Mācies tikai!”. Taču dēlam pēc skolas gribējās paspēlēties. Kā kādreiz. Kā Māte to bija darījusi pirms piedzima Samsungs un Aifons.

„Mammu, kāpēc tu ar mani vairs nespēlējies?,” dēls Mātei reiz jautāja, kad viņa pārnāca mājās ar Aifonu uz rokām un Samsungu, stingri pieķērušos pie rokassomiņas.

„Tu jau esi liels! Kādas tev vēl spēlītes prātā? Sēdi un mācies. Paskat, tu esi visvecākais, bet glupākais no maniem dēliem. Aifons trīs gados jau iemācījies lasīt un rakstīt, kamēr tu knapi burto, ” Māte skarbi aizrādīja.

Sīmens saskuma un asarām acīs teica.
„Nu tad kāpēc tu mani neatdod citiem vecākiem, kas ar mani spēlēsies un mani mīlēs?” viņš jautāja.

„Nerunā muļķības, Sīmen, sēdi istabā un pildi mājasdarbus. Negribu vairs dzirdēt atrunas,” Māte strikti norādīja, un saruna ar to beidzās.

Sīmens kā pirmais dēls bija pa Mātes un radu rokām noņurcīts, turklāt noēdies un uzaudzējis resnu vēderu, mājās vien sēdēdams un nekā nedarīdams. Ar skolu nepietika. Cik tad var mācīties? Nekādu ārpusskolas pulciņu, nekādu spēlīšu. Vakari bija tukši kā izēsta konfekšu kārba. Tā arī Sīmens jutās – iztukšots un atstāts novārtā savā aukstajā istabā ka vai sāka mesties putekļu zosāda.

Vecāko dēlu nepavisam nevarēja salīdzināt ar brāļiem. Samsungam un Aifonam bija skaistas, glancētas, prieka pilnas sejiņas, tieviņi viduklīši, ka vai prasījās tik to vien kā pa rokām auklēt. Viņi vēl nebija radu rokām apbružāti, turklāt, spītējot saviem jaunajam gadiem, bija gudri, daudz gudrāki par vecāko brāli.

Nenoliedzami Māte visvairāk bija pieķērusies tieši jaunākajam, skaistākajam un gudrākajam dēlam - Aifonam. Brīnumbērns! Viņa slavēja trīsgadīgo dēlu visām savām draudzenēm. Puika jau mācēja lasīt, rakstīt, bija apguvis visas pasaules valodas, vienmēr zināja, kāds nākamajā dienā būs laiks, palīdzēja pat Mātei darbā (viņa strādāja par juristi), dziedāja, dancoja, spēlēja, izklaidēja Māti, stāstot viņai anekdotes un zīmējot bildes kā īstus mākslas darbus. Ko tik viņš visu nedarīja! Tieši tāpēc Māte Aifonu stiepa visur līdzi un lutināja ar visiem iespējamiem labumiem. Viņi kopā gāja uz darbu, teātri, operu, kafejnīcām, pasākumiem, ballītēm. Visur! Māte jaunāko dēlēnu tik ļoti mīlēja, ka vienmēr to glāstīja, spaidīja, taustīja, vienmēr sadzirdēja un uzklausīja, turklāt pirms gulētiešanas tā vietā lai lasītu pasakas dēlam, Māte klausījās dēla stāstos, dziesmās, dzejoļos, padevās brīnumbērna bagātās iztēles uzburtajiem videoklipiem. Un tā arī viņi viens otra skavās aizmiga teju vai katru nakti.

Sīmens, to vērojot no savas vientuļās istabas, raudāja. Viņš atcerējās, kā Māte bija lasījusi pasakas viņam. Kā Māte kādreiz viņu bija mīlējusi tāpat kā abus jaunākos dēlus, bet tagad to visu dabūja Aifons. Un pat vēl vairāk – izskatījās, ka pastarītis Mātei dod to, ko nespēja Sīmens un pat ne Samsungs.

Tiesa, arī Samsungu Māte ne vienmēr visur ņēma līdzi. Arī viņš lielākoties bija nosēdināts istabā, lai pildītu mājasdarbus un mācītos. Taču pret Samsungu viņa nebija tik skarba kā pret Sīmenu. Viņam klājās drusku labāk. Māte par vidējo dēlu atcerējās, kad brauca uz ārzemēm darba komandējumos, kuri notika gandrīz katru nedēļu. Varēja redzēt, ka viņa lepojas ar jaunākajiem dēliem. Abi bija tik gudri, ka varēja Mātei svešās zemēs gan parādīt virzienus, gan palīdzēt ar valodām, gan kārtot darba jautājumus. Tikmēr muļķītis Sīmens vienmēr palika mājās, aizmirsts pavisam. Mātei bija kauns iet kur sabiedrībā ar vecāko dēlu. Sīmens to juta.

Kādu dienu neviena negaidīta, neviena nevēlēta atnāca nelaime. Māte pārradās no darba... bez Aifona. Saraudātu seju, viņa ieskrēja vidējā dēla Samsunga istabā un nesakarīgi kliedza: „Aifons, nolaupīja Aifonu, kāds nolaupīja Aifonu..mans Aifons...mans dārgais, mīļais Aifons...”

Lai arī Māte bija sūdzējusies policijā par jaunākā dēla pazušanu, viņa neloloja lielas cerības to atrast. Tāpēc pavisam dabiski jaunākā dēla vietā stājās vidējais dēls un kļuva par viņas ikdienas biedru. Tomēr aizstāt Aifonu viņš nevarēja. Māte skuma pēc sava jaunākā dēlēna. Ļoti skuma. Naktīs nevarēja aizmigt, domājot, kur tagad ir viņas dēlēns, kādās rokās nonācis, vai vispār vēl dzīvs. Nevarēja aizmigt, zinot, ka Aifona nav blakus un zinot, ka ... diez vai viņš atgriezīsies.

Draudzenes Māti mierināja, teikdamas: Pagaidi pāris mēnešus, un pieteiksies jauns dēls, taču Māte zināja, ka grib tikai Aifonu – Aifonu, kuram viņa bija tik ļoti pieķērusies. Šis zaudējums bija pārāk liels, lai domātu par jaunu dēlu.

Māte bija palikusi ar diviem dēliem, un, likās, dzīve iestāsies tādās pašās sliedēs, kāda tā bija, pirms piedzima Aifons. Taču kas to būtu domājis, ka nelaimes Māti apciemos viena pēc otras. Saslima Samsungs. Izmirka lietū, saķēra iesnas, klepu un drudzi. Neviens ārsts nespēja pateikt vainu, un dēls tik ļoti savārga, ka bija jāliek uz gultas režīma.

Māte nezināja, ko darīt. Aifons, tagad Samsungs... Viņa krita depresijā. Bija pazaudējusi divus dēlus. Turklāt tos, kurus pēdējā laikā bija visvairāk mīlējusi. Viņa jutās tik vientuļa, tik pamesta, taču tad atcerējās par to, kurš, iespējams, jutās tāpat. Jau sen.

Māte klusām pieklauvēja pie Sīmena istabas durvīm un iegāja iekšā. Tur viņš sēdēja. Viņas apetelīgais, bet mīlīgais dēlēns. Strupiem pirkstiņiem, sagrauztiem nadziņiem. Pats pirmais. Dēls aši pagriezās Mātes virzienā, bet tad ātri novērsās un iegrima burtnīcās un grāmatās. Vēl joprojām viņš bijās Mātes, kas viņu rāja par slinkumu un salīdzināja ar jaunākajiem brāļiem. Tagad tā pati Māte uzlika roku uz vecākā dēla pleciem un saprata, cik netaisni pret viņu izturējusies. Saprata, cik ļoti tomēr viņa savu dēlu mīlējusi tādu, kāds viņš bija. Jau no pirmās dienas, kad piedzima. Šo viņa lempīgo augumu, sasprēgājušās rociņas, tomēr dzīvo, vēl joprojām dzīvo dvēselīti un spraigi pukstošo sirsniņu.

„Piedod, Sīmen,” viņa noteica un nokaunējusies paņēma rokās savu vecāko dēlu.

Masala India

 Masala dosa, you hear on trains; Garam Masala, you will find in curry; Bryani masala, you order in restaurants. In fact, “masala” should be the first word you learn before going to India unless you want to yield to the world of spices and savor Indian food with closed eyes. Yes, that’s what “masala” means – mixture of spices. That one word made me say “no” to lots of Indian food (though I got used to some spices after all) and having my personal whimsical reasons on top of that (no onions, no pork, no mashed potatoes, no unknown mixtures, no overcooked food, no sauces, no unhygienic and dirty plates), I sometimes ended up eating plain rice and bananas which I am very happy about. 

Had your lunch?

“Had your breakfast?”, “Had your lunch?”, “Had your dinner?” You will hear these questions every day asked by your fellow Indian colleagues, friends and even strangers on a street. Beware if your answer is “no”. A genuinely concerned and puzzled Indian face will stare at you urging to get the necessary meal as soon as possible. You might get tired of being asked the same questions every day, but for Indians it shows their sincere concern about your primary need or perhaps it’s also a nice way to start a small talk? 

Food becomes the central topic of everyday life. Carrying a food box to school (for the snack break or lunch break) becomes as crucial as carrying your pencil box or even wallet. Thus mothers check the menus of the school lunch to make sure their kids get sufficient food; employees often bring home-cooked food to their work place and share it with others; however, the realm of food is waiting for you in the frequent and famous Indian weddings when wedding organizers try their best to show the guests enormous varieties of food they can afford. The bigger the wedding and the richer the organizers, the larger and more abundant tables will satiate your taste buds with roti, chapatti, paneer, different types of rice, pani puri, bryani, dal, masala dosa, Chinese Indian food and much more.. 

Have you tried bryani?

I didn’t become a fan of Indian food, but I did enjoy particular dishes and discovered new tastes (which happen rarely taking into account my usual whims). For example, I can’t eat such things as masala dosa or pani puri and many other crazy, unknown, weird mixtures that look like something between soup and sauce and when judging in my terms – not alluring to my eyes to make me eat it. I liked all the rice stuff though (egg fried-rice, chicken rice) except for the rice dishes when rice didn’t look rice anymore, but white, round, flattened pieces of… rice that is called idli. No, no, no. Even though it’s made of rice, I couldn’t stand that look and immediately added to my NO list. Idli is breakfast food and looks strange like most of Indian breakfast dishes, something I couldn’t really befriend with save in chapattis and rotis that I called “bread/pancake stuff”. But I was happy with lunch and dinner. What I definitely want to compliment here is bryani. And if so, Hyderabad was the right place for me to live. Hyderabadi-ans are very proud of their bryani, typical food of Hyderabad. Therefore, if you are a newcomer or meet someone for the first time, add another question to “Had your lunch?” questionnaire. “Have you already tried bryani?” That is something you can’t actually escape when in Hyderabad, so most probably your answer will be “yes” unless you have just arrived. 

Food itself can be very cheap and sometimes it seems it’s even cheaper to buy it cooked outside than cook home. The prices of street food (for example, fried rice) might start from 30 rupees (0,40 euro cents).  

Chocolate is the King

As much as Indians like spices and hot food, they love sugar. One only needs to take a bite of jalebi (yellow, oily, sugary, warm sweet) to feel that the sweet sickening sugar in your throat will make you sing the sweetest symphony ever. Indians seem to love it. Their national plate of sweets alluringly boasts with wondrous colors, sophisticated appearances, and multitude ingredients reflecting the creativity of forms and shapes, and tastes. The sweetest of the sweet; different sweet; Indian sweet. 

And that’s not all. Despite the plenitude of traditional sweets, Indians would always equally seek for Western goodies. Ice-cream is something that makes them crawl. No decent wedding would end without ice-cream that gathers queues usually longer than the ones opting for Indian sweets. Butterscotch, vanilla, strawberry, chocolate…yes, chocolaty chocolate with chocolate chunks and chocolate slivers deserves another story here. Chocolate indeed seems to be the most to-die-for sweet.  “You will have to bring me chocolates if I do you this or that.” They say it to each other for doing favours  It feels as if chocolate is treated like a king ruling the kingdom of all sweets, even Indian traditional ones. At least that’s how supermarkets treat it with rather high price or better to say – no price democracy offering various chocolate options. What surprised me was that not only Indian kids, but even adults are overwhelmed with chocolate. “For this, you will bring me chocolates tomorrow,” an Indian teacher might say to her poor student. Just like love, chocolate doesn’t mind the age. The fact that even those chewy, sticky caramel candies with a thin, stingy dose of chocolate inside are called CHOCOLATES shows a clear chocolate deficiency and despair in Indian society. If someone has a birthday at school, they would bring these candies (as they are the cheapest “chocolates”), and that would count as: “oh great, you have brought chocolates”. What also confuses me is that they call it in plural – chocolates – instead of chocolate? 

Fruit paradise

Enough of sweets! Enough of masala! Unless you want to turn into one big Indian mama that successfully veils her best friend belly in sari as she graciously walks along the street, go for fruits. Next to the large variety of Indian food and sweets, the same should be said about fruits. Like in a paradise garden, you just stretch your hand, close your eyes, and a street vendor would hand you bananas, papayas, oranges, jackfruit, litchi, watermelons, chickoos, custard apples and, of course, mangoes, Indian national fruit.

I shall start with bananas as they deserve my attention first. They are cheap. Very cheap. Extremely cheap. I couldn’t resist buying them every day as they cost only 15-30 Rs per kilo (about 0,25-0,40 euro cents). They drag me to the supermarket every day and compel me to check other fruits in the fruit stand. That is how I discover papaya. As I am still at the fruit stand, I also have a look at oranges. I still don’t know if my students were right about saying that there are worms in oranges, that’s why some oranges are really small in size. I think these youngsters must have lied to me. The same youngsters discovered my obsession for bananas. Well, that’s another story of a great laughter. 

Snacks will find you

It’s very rare in India to find oneself in a place where no food or snacks or drinks would be sold (unless it’s really deep, deep countryside with no people there). In India, wherever a human being steps, food follows. In short, those are street vendors that need to make money and find their audience by figuring out spots where they could sell their product. Bus stations, train stations (no need to look for them, they will come on bus or train and serve you as a queen), on the street next to your apartment, next to touristic objects. A friend of mine started to call it a “newspaper food”. Why? Well, usually those salted peanuts or other snacks will be wrapped in an old newspaper as vendors can’t afford better merchandise. What I liked most of all the snacks and what is very Indian, is bhujiya, small, yellow pieces of rather spicy snack sold next to chips and cookies, the regular items that a street vendor has in his shack. 

Even if there is a place with no street vendors, like when we were visiting Allora caves and trading in the territory was prohibited, there will be a sign put up inviting you to eat before entering the venue in the food village they have set up.  For God’s sake – nobody in India ever wants you to be hungry and skip your lunch, dinner or breakfast or snack time. 

I can’t embrace cinnamon

I have to compliment that milky coffee Indians make. I love it! Sometimes it’s too milky especially in a very small and dusty street café where coffee might be served in a small, dirty cup. By the time it’s on your table (which could also reveal some random ants as you are waiting) the coffee might get covered with film. Yuck! I think the best coffee I tasted in India was in Bangalore. It was served in much bigger cups, cheap and tasted good with perfect proportions of milk and coffee. 

With respect to the subtle tradition of Indian tea making that involves lots of spices and milk and already mentioned sickening sugar, I would still say No to it mostly because of the taste of cinnamon that I can’t embrace at all. Tea is just not tea with that small, however influential ingredient. The situation was better in North India. I didn’t feel that much cinnamon (or perhaps, it wasn’t there at all) and could join in for some cups of tea. 

Coffee always works

Are you hungry by now? I am. In fact, even though I sometimes went on a plain rice and rotti/chapatti diet at school, there was never famine in my neighbourhood  I survived. Moreover, I enjoyed. And even if suddenly nothing tastes good, there are always wedding invitations to fix it. There are always Indian fruits, or my beloved and truly missed coffee machine at my school’s staff room that saved me even in that one day in eight months of work when I couldn’t eat a bite at school lunch (as it was a day of unknown Indian mixtures). Bon masala appétit!