The Opo Challenge

Bottle gourd was my enemy vegetable number one. The only time I ever used it in a dish was while making raita which turned out pretty well.But lets face it, anything (just about anything) slathered with mildly spiced yogurt sprinkled liberally with freshly ground cumin tastes good on a hot summer afternoon. I have heard about lauki ka halwa though I had never been ambitious enough to try my hand at that.

I just can not tolerate it in a curry. The bland translucent pieces of this ubiquitous summer vegetable floating in a gravy really turns me off. But now that summer is here, it is inevitable that I have to face this dreaded veggie sooner or later. And to add to my woes, I have a room mate who simply adores this gourd. So I know that very soon my fridge would be well stocked with Opos.
Opo squash. That is just another name for bottle gourd (or lauki, or dhudhi or long melon). The name "Opo" sort of has a cutesy element to it, and that somehow makes it sound less icky to me.
Anyway, this year I have pledged to make opo a regular part of my diet, there are just so many arguments in its favour. It is available in abundance during summer, is cheap, and healthy. If only I could brainwash myself into cooking it!
A couple of days ago, when I returned home to a smiling room mate and two smooth pale green opos, I knew it was time to get going and face the ultimate bottle gourd challenge.

I wanted something quick, simple and--edible. Since I cannot tolerate lauki pieces, I decided not to let any remain in the final dish. What if I pressure cooked it and mashed it up? Then I could make some sort of a bharta with it, the unappetizing smell of the gourd overpowered by the strong flavours of onion, garlic and coriander. And that is what i did.
The resultant dish was not very appetizing to look at, but it was edible nonetheless.
Ah! What a relief! I had successfully disposed off one OPO!! Just one more left to kill off.

Now I have become more confident. We will have opo kheer this weekend.

Princess

I was new to the locality. I first spotted him dozing peacefully on a discarded rug near the entrance of a travel agency. He looked so beautiful and serene as he slept. Sleeping Beauty, I smiled to myself. I named him Princess. We normally associate the word princess with pretty young females, but my princess was different.

To those who didn't know him, Princess was just another nondescript dog, like the many other strays that roam around on Indian streets. I could tell he was an aged dog--the sparse white fur, those clouded brown eyes, and arthritis stricken limbs all pointed towards his advanced age. Yet there was something very endearing about him; what, that I could not pinpoint. Maybe it was the grace with which he carried himself despite his misshapen legs. Maybe it was the innocence in his eyes which had once been a deep brown. Or maybe it was because he bore a striking resemblance to one of my dogs who had died years ago.
I was not really looking to befriend him, it just happened. I was once hurrying to a nearby shop to buy something when he appeared out of nowhere and stood in front of me on unsteady legs. Our eyes met for the first time and we "recognized" each other. It happens. There are times you meet someone for the first time and yet feel as if you had known each other all your lives. It happens with humans, and it happens with animals.
"Whats it, my little princess? How are you?"
He just stood there looking at me and whined softly.
"You want something to eat?"
I offered him a roti I had saved from the day's lunch. He sniffed at it and looked up at me with disappointment writ large in his eyes. I wasn't surprised--the area was strewn with eateries and restaurants selling all kinds of non-veg stuff-- and the resident dogs so used to junk food were not too keen on "real" food.

"So you won't eat roti? You want something else?"
He sat down, and looked directly into my eyes with all his sincerity.
"Biscuits?" His look told me he was fine with this idea.
I hurried into the nearest store, followed by the limping dog who patiently waited for me at the store's entrance.
I broke a biscuit into two and offered him a piece. As he took it gently from my hand, I realized that he didn't have many teeth left in his mouth.
Nonetheless, he seemed to enjoy the crisp biscuits. And I loved his company, it had been long since I had even spoken to a dog. I would have stroked him if only he hadn't been so greasy or dirty. But it didn't really matter, his soul was pure and divine, as is every dog's; we connected on a spiritual level. I was new to the city, away from home, away from my dogs. A dog's company was so comforting. I broke up the biscuits and fed him a few pieces by hand. Then I emptied the packet on a clean spot on the ground. The dog went about nibbling his meal busily. I sneaked away from there before he could realize it and follow me. Now I always keep a packet of biscuits in my handbag. Who knows when I might again come face to face with my little princess?