Jhaal Muri

The only other time in my life that I can remember being in a community-wide, house-bound state is during the Calcutta monsoons when after hours of torrential rain, city streets would be waterlogged, houses would be submerged, and life would come to a standstill for several days. Much like our current state, we would be trapped in our houses with limited supplies, with concerns about hygiene and disease, and an uncertainty about when life would return to its normal course. Unlike our current circumstances though, the monsoon-induced state of shelter in place was marked by a sense of community, adventure (at least, for the kids), and a reassurance that things would go back to normal as soon as the rain stopped and the water receded from the streets. As the news around the world becomes grimmer by the day, I find myself returning to the comfort of childhood memories of sheltering in place during the Calcutta monsoons.

Due to its geographical location, Calcutta receives copious amounts of rainfall during the June--September time frame. The neighborhood I grew up in must have been situated in a lower elevation relative to the rest of the city or had dysfunctional drainage. Regardless of the reason, our para (neighborhood) would experience flooding any time the monsoon rains persisted for several hours. Back then, I don't remember the weather forecasts being very reliable and providing advance notice of heavy rainfalls that would allow people to prepare for the flooding. We would watch the water level inching up the streets and gradually seeping into buildings. We lived in an apartment block with several other families.  For the people who lived in the first floor of our block, the increasing water level meant that they had to quickly move their belongings to a higher elevation to protect them against water damage. Often, this was accomplished by propping up furniture with bricks and moving smaller furniture like chairs and stools on top of tables and beds. This differentiated disruption definitely led to some resentment between the Downstairs and Upstairs families. However, the tension was usually short-lived as the Upstairs families readily pitched into the damage control operations and invited their Downstairs neighbors to move in with them temporarily.

For us, kids, this meant a multi-day sleepover with our neighborhood friends. Unfazed by the inconveniences of the situation, we wished that the rains would continue so that we could keep playing together. We did not have cable television or the Internet. What we did have was company of like-aged children and apparently, an abundance of imagination that equipped us to entertain ourselves for days. The younger kids made up games and chased each other up and down the stairs. The older kids got a break from schoolwork and just hung out together. The street-turned-canals provided an unending source of entertainment. We would sit at the windows and balconies dropping paper boats onto the water in a bid to see whose boat landed and stayed afloat the longest. We would see random objects floating by...most notably, an Ambassador car that had gone adrift. If we happened to see a brave soul wading through the waist-high water, we would ply him for information on the extent of the flooding. I don't think anybody ever uttered the words, "I am bored." During this shelter in place, our apartment block transformed into an extended family with kids moving fluidly across households.

Another fun aspect of this time were the communal cooking and eating arrangements. Since the rains seemed to come upon us without much warning, no one had time to stock up on supplies. Families would pool together their reserves and cook meals in one of the Upstairs kitchens. The moms got pretty creative with the available supplies in order to feed the five families and brood of kids. Food storage became an issue because the flooding would often lead to power cuts that rendered the refrigerators useless. One time, after a couple of days in waterlogged isolation, a local relief organization rowed up to the houses in a boat with dry food items. Seized by the urge to procure supplies for the communal household, the moms hailed the boat only to realize that they did not have the tools to haul the supplies from the boat up to the second story of the house. The boat started moving away down the street till one of the moms unfurled her sari and flung it over the balcony rail. The precious cargo was tied to the end of the sari and lifted up amidst loud hoops and cheers from the children.

Jhaal Muri (spicy puffed rice) was often on the menu on these housebound days. A quick mix of muri, mustard oil, and chanachur (spicy, savory snack mix) -- staples in a Bengali pantry -this shareable snack goes well with cups of hot, milky chai. Optional additions include julienned cucumbers, diced onions, green chilies, chopped coriander, and slices of fresh coconut. While these add layers of flavor and texture to the muri, they can be skipped if you are in a pinch.

What You Need (Yields 2 cups of Jhaal Muri. Please multiply for larger portions.):
2 cups muri (puffed rice)
1 tbsp mustard oil
2 tbsp chanachur (You can choose any from the options available in Indian grocery stores. This version is made with Haldiram's Navratan mix.)
1 tbsp red onions, diced
1 tbsp cucumber, julienned
1 Thai bird chili, chopped
2 springs coriander leaves, chopped
1 slice fresh coconut


Add all ingredients in a big bowl and give a good stir. Serve with chai.