Two Old Ladies at the Puttu Shop

As I was leaving the Madiwala market last Sunday I passed two largish stalls right at the end of the market. It was evident from the first glance that they were food stalls that made traditional tiffin and thindi (breakfast/lunch meals) to feed the local market crowd.

But what caught my attention was a heavy black cast iron puttu tava over a wood fire in of one of the stalls. A young lady was filling the depressions on the tava with white batter. I stopped to take a photo when another lady, much older, called to me from inside the stall. She invited me to take a closer look. I leaned in, curious, as I asked what the batter was made of.

“Akki, iruli, bellulli…” (rice, onions, ginger) she told me, amused by my curiosity about something she considered rather mundane.

“…Jeerigé, karbevu...” chimed in another old lady, with a grin, equally if not more amused. I hadn’t noticed her till now.

The two old ladies giggled like little girls as I excitedly asked them questions. They were equally excited as they told me about how the puttu is made and served. In true Indian grandmother style, they said “eat, eat!” as they offered me one to taste. When I hesitated they gestured to me to sit down on the narrow bench next to the stall, and handed me a fresh dumpling.

It was warm and delicious - a little crisp and chewy on the surface and incredibly soft and spongy inside. Mildly flavoured with onion, garlic, curry leaves and jeera, it also had a natural sweetness from the fermented ground rice.

From what I understood, the young lady making the puttu and the first old lady owned the stall, and were somehow related. And the second old lady was a friend. They spoke to me in Kannada, and told me the little fermented rice batter dumplings were called puttu. But minutes later they chattered something amongst themselves (about me, I gathered) in Tamil. This time, they called the puttu “paniyaram”.

I’ve learned that these rice dumplings, served with chutney, are a popular food in almost every one of the south Indian states. And in each place they go by a different name. In Kerala it is “puttu”, in Tamil Nadu it is “paniyaram”, in Andhra Pradesh, “gunthapang”, and in Karnataka it is “paddu” or “appé”.

When I finished the puttu I decided to parcel a plate to take to my friend’s house. It was just 10 rupees for a plate of 4!

I took pictures of the three women, as they grinned widely, one of them, semi-toothless. The two old ladies had wise, loving faces.

As I was leaving I wondered  – how is it that sometimes certain people you have just met, and mean seemingly nothing to you, can invoke such strong affection in your heart...? I waved goodbye, fighting the urge to just bend down and give them tight hugs! I think it was because they reminded me of my great grandmother, Ren.