The Pot of Milk & Badam Powder

Over the weekend, I decided to homebrew (Ham Radio slang for making things at home rather than purchase off the shelf) ‘Badam Powder’. This was pending for some weeks now as we had already purchased ‘Badam’ but I had not really got down to the actual preparation. The ‘Badam’ was soaked in water and skinned later. It was then carefully sautéed to a golden brown – all as per the traditional recipe. I had learnt this during my childhood. When it cooled, it was ground to a nice powder along with ample quantity of sugar and a dash of cardamom. Home made “Badam Powder” was ready to be consumed. And consume I did. The first spoon of the sample brought back old memories – not of the culinary kind.

It was this similar ‘Home made badam powder’ that gave me a scar that I carried for years – I have not checked off late!

This brings us to the main story. I have already blogged about the eventful year of 1969-70 (click for link) and the trysts that I had in life. This is one more incident briefly mentioned in the previous blog.

In those years, ready made health drinks were limited to Horlicks, Bourn-vita and Oval-tine. Since not many preferred these ready made additives to milk or relished plain milk, many households used prepare indigenous flavours that were palatable and healthy – more over – having religious sentiments ensured that the purity and hygiene of the product were met. One such preparation was the “Badam Powder” – recipe already mentioned.

Being kids and having a sweet tooth, my elder brother (Click for link) and I were in the habit of always coming out of the kitchen gobbling a spoonful of sugar, Horlicks, Bourn-vita or this “Badam Powder”. All would go well if we were not ‘caught in the act’. But that evening in February, 1970 turned out to be not that well. We WERE ‘caught in middle of the act’ – red handed if may call it that- of gobbling the tasty ‘Badam Powder’. But unfortunately, that ‘middle of the act’ meant that my brother – being the elder – took the first spoonful. That was when my mother came into the kitchen.

She had put down a vessel filled with more than a litre of freshly boiled milk that had been collected on behalf of a neighbour who was out. Those days, milk was heated or fresh milk brought to a boil on mud stoves using firewood/charcoal. Unlike vessels heated on gas or electric stoves, those vessels did not cool down fast. As an added protection the vessel was placed very close to the wall awaiting departure on the arrival of the neighbour.

Having been caught in the act and being deprived of the opportunity to gobble my share of the ‘Badam Powder’, I decided to go on strike – dharna – if you may call it that – by properly sitting down at ‘that very spot” – to demand my share. Unfortunately - ‘that very spot’ turned out to be right over the vessel of hot milk. I landed squarely on the vessel – right into the milk.

OUCH!!! YELP!!! AMMA!!! (As I write this, memory of the event gave me the goose bumps!!! Even to this day)

Thanks to the presence of mind of my mother who pulled off my uniform shorts – luckily made of thick drill material, which probably lessened the effects – exposing a BIG BOIL on my right hip!!! In the panic situation, mother remembered that smearing honey on the area would reduce the effect. But unfortunately, instead of smearing she RUBBED the honey on the area. This ensured that the skin came off and stuck to her hand.

Medical treatment followed. And it took nearly 3 weeks before I could fully sit down. For some time I had to sit half-seated – I will not go into more graphic details.

Every time I gobble up a spoonful of anything from the kitchen – I have still not got out of the habit – this sensational memory flashes to remind me of the incident in childhood.