The Lane Factory of Sun-Dried Delicacies - Vaishali Shahane

Madhuri and Sunita were out shopping for the summer’s supply of —the traditional sun-dried savories prepared annually in Maharashtra. An exhibition by women’s self-help groups was set up on a large ground. As they browsed the stalls, the sight and smell of the delicacies transported them back to their childhood. Before their eyes, the lane of their youth came alive, transformed into the bustling ‘Assistance Factory’ that it became every May. For that entire month, a medley of aromas would waft through the lane: the earthy scent of finger millet porridge (), the starchy fragrance of fermented wheat paste for , the comforting smell of potatoes boiled for wafers, the nutty aroma of ground lentils for fritters, the sharp tang of spicy , and the fresh scent of hand-rolled vermicelli. This olfactory tapestry was intermittently seasoned with the sharp notes of pickling spices being prepared in every home. As soon as the children’s school exams ended, the timetable for the lane’s -making would be set. In those days, the grandmothers of the lane—the —were held in high esteem. As their daughters-in-law would say, they were suddenly in great demand. After all, they possessed a treasure trove of experience. The entire operation unfolded under their stern and watchful eyes. The grandchildren would often joke, “Usually, Aaji can’t see things near or far, but she can spot a shortage in the paste from a mile away!” The grandmothers had the entire schedule memorized: today at the Sonar’s house, tomorrow at the Tambat’s, the day after at the Pawar’s. This tradition was dear to every woman’s heart, a way of stocking up for the year ahead. But while eating these treats was a joy, making them was no small feat. It required a special kind of expertise. And that is why the month of May truly belonged to the . A common sight during that month was girls carrying rolling pins and boards to each other’s houses in the morning, and boys carrying trays of delicacies up to the rooftops to dry. Even the mischievous boys, who would otherwise dodge their mothers’ chores to wreak havoc in the lane, had no escape. Their duties included spreading the , , and out to dry and, most importantly, pressing the dough through the -maker. And oh, how they would put on airs while doing it! The entire lane would be awake before the crack of dawn. Once the announced the schedule, no invitations were needed. The whole process was organic; the entire lane would gather to help. In the host-home for the day, the bustle would begin while the stars were still twinkling in the sky. The grandmothers, those repositories of experience, would be summoned with great respect. Having already bathed and prepared, they would arrive and immediately take command, launching into a familiar interrogation. If were on the agenda, the questions would fly: “Have you set up the clay stove? Is the firewood ready? Did you scrub the large pot properly? Have you coated it with mud? Let me see how much wheat paste you’ve made. Did the color turn reddish? If it did, the will be red, and you’ll say, ‘What’s the use of having a grandmother around?’ Was your wheat new? For five kilos, this paste seems a bit less…” Through these dialogues, the young girls and new brides learned an essential lesson: must be made from old wheat. Mistakes were rare. But if someone accidentally used too little firewood or added insufficient water to the paste, and an noticed, the heavens would fall. Forty-two generations of their ancestors would be invoked and summarily scolded. “Hey, Yashoda! Did your uncle ever attempt such a grand project? Don’t you dare tarnish my name! After all these years of making , you still can’t remember the proportions? Is this how you passed your exams in school? Your daughter will learn the same thing and bring shame to your name at her in-laws’ house! Pay attention when you work!” The women would accept these rebukes with humility, believing the fault was entirely their own. They would touch the feet, admit their mistake, and ask for forgiveness. In response, the large stud in the grandmother’s nose would twitch with a final, decisive flick. The grandmothers would also keep the boisterous children in check. “Hey, you kids, will you quieten down? Shut your traps! Is that a mouth or a megaphone? If something goes wrong because of you, is your father going to pay for the damages? Why are you screaming so much?” The moment the began their tirade, the children would fall silent, knowing that if they didn’t, their own mothers would deliver a swift smack on the back. Once the work was done, the children would be dispatched to the terrace or rooftop for the day. They were the human scarecrows, tasked with guarding the drying delicacies. The joy of nibbling on a half-dried , a crispy finger-millet , or a potato wafer was something else entirely—a taste one has to experience to understand. It was an unspoken rule that the children would graze throughout the day. In fact, a little extra was always made for this very purpose: for the children to eat, for sharing samples with neighbors, and as a token of respect for the grandmothers who shared their wisdom. Hearts were as generous and vast as the summer sky. The concept of ‘just for me’ or ‘only for us’ simply didn’t exist. For the entire month, there was a continuous exchange of , freshly ground spices, and tangy pickles throughout the lane. Women felt a pang of guilt if they failed to share with a neighbor. Everyone secretly hoped their creations would be praised by the whole lane, and praise was given generously, without a hint of reservation. The children who helped were metaphorically praised to the skies. They too would run around, completing their tasks with enthusiasm. What did this ‘factory’ give them? What did the children learn organically? A great deal. The culinary heritage was passed down to the next generation, complete with precise measurements, and the youth accepted it with joy. This process taught them that making these foods wasn't boring or a waste of time, but an integral part of their food culture. They learned to find joy in the process. The mothers and grandmothers performed their tasks with such grace that mastering the art of became a badge of honor. The measurements were simple enough for anyone to understand—bowls, pots, basins, and glasses were the only tools needed. No matter how modern the times get, these tools remain in our homes. But they also learned that perfectly measured ingredients don’t guarantee a perfect dish. The crucial lesson was that a dish is incomplete until you stir in your love and affection—affection for the food itself and for those you are making it for. Perhaps that is why the women could make twelve to fifteen kilos of or roll five to ten kilos of in a single day, their faces reflecting not exhaustion, but deep satisfaction. They learned that no work is demeaning, that one must always help one’s mother, and that you should rush to help others without waiting to be asked. The children learned the power of unity. The entire lane lived by the adage, “One sesame seed should be shared among seven.” The exchange wasn't limited to ; special vegetable dishes, curries, or sweets were invariably sent next door. The bowl would always be returned full, teaching another lesson: never return a neighbor’s bowl empty. Suddenly, Madhuri remembered something amusing. One room in her ancestral home had a tin roof and a window that opened right onto it. That window was the primary channel for exchange. By leaning over the roof and into the window, a bowl of food could be passed in or out. That window had savored the aroma of countless dishes. The fun fact was, most homes in the old neighborhood had such windows. The children were taught the strength of unity: when people come together, no task is too difficult. The grandest of projects can be accomplished with ease. Wasn't this a form of socialization, happening all on its own? - Vaishali Shahane 9881499257 (This article is the translated version of the original article वाळवणाचा गल्लीतला कारखानाwritten by Vaishali Shahane published in the Sahitya Chaprak Diwali Ank 2025 ) https://youtu.be/ka86XdVoXE0