Meal in the Plains - Khweng, Part 1: The Pond And The Garden

One of my favourite childhood books was “Totto-Chan, The Little Girl at the Window”. It was about this little girl named Totto-Chan, and her adventures, mostly at school. And one of my favourite parts in the book was about lunchtime at her school, where every day, the children were encouraged to bring in their lunchbox “something from the ocean and something from the hills”. All the children would be excited to see what fish, meat and vegetables their friends had got, and would happily offer to share their lunches if someone was missing one of the elements.

I thought this was a beautiful -- if somewhat simplified -- way of introducing children to the concept of balanced meals. And while this may have been just a story, many cultures do in fact have some such folk tale or practice about balanced diets.

So this story reminded me of my time in Khweng, the last region of Meghalaya that I visited before I returned home. Khweng has its own version of “something from the ocean and something from the hills”: here, it was more like 'something from the paddy ponds and something from the garden'. Allow me to explain...

On the Meghalaya trip, after the hills of Mawpdai and the valleys of Nongtraw on the southern edge of the East Khasi Hills district, I made my way north towards Assam. I had one more stop to make, in Khweng, in the district of Ri Bhoi.

As we traveled north, the hills began to slowly give way to undulating plains. Vegetation became less alpine and more tropical. And with such a significantly different topography, the food was significantly different too.

In Khweng, they grow their own rice! This was the first major difference I noticed. Surrounding the entire village were lush green paddy fields. In the other parts of Meghalaya I had visited, the topography just didn't permit paddy fields, and rice -- an integral part of Meghalaya's diet -- was an 'import' from these lower-lying regions.

The paddy fields, stretching across the plains that surround Khweng

Additionally, small freshwater fish and crabs are caught from the muddy flooded paddy fields (something from the paddy ponds). This was the second major difference. The other regions I visited only had access to fish from vendors who brought them in from rivers, or dried and salted fish sold in the local markets. But here in Khweng, the fish and mud crabs were caught fresh, using traditional bamboo equipment. During my stay at the home of my host family, I had a lovely curry made with these tiny bony freshly caught fish and some tender bamboo shoot.

Round bamboo basket for catching fish from the shallow muddy paddy fields, and small pot-shaped baskets for storing and carrying back the fish

Apart from this, like in other parts of Meghalaya, most of the fruits, vegetables and wild greens that make up the daily diet of Khweng come from their own backyard gardens (something from the garden). Many varieties of wild mustard, spinach and other greens that were once collected from the forests are now grown in the gardens to prevent them from getting burnt away during the jhum farming process. The jhum cultivation in this region consists largely of tubers, ginger and turmeric, and bamboo.

Kong Ritynki, my host, standing in her lush kitchen garden

Three different varieties of chili from the host's kitchen garden -- and this was just the diversity of chilies alone; in addition, there were wild greens, tubers, and so much more!

The evening that I stayed in Khweng, the process of cooking dinner had a particularly mystical aura to it, mainly because we cooked only with the illumination of four candles. Khweng tends to have an erratic supply of electricity, and blackouts are a part of daily life, much the way “load-shedding” blackouts used to be in Bangalore. Under the warm glow of those four candles, the Mei (mother) of the family, Kong Rikynti, made dinner. And as I feebly attempted to help, she chuckled at my terrible onion chopping skills: my culinary training was of no particular use with a traditional Khasi folding knife and my thumb for a chopping board! While her children spoke fluent English, Mei only spoke Bhoi, a dialect of Khasi. But we chattered away merrily, despite the language barrier, laughing awkwardly at the miscommunication that ensued. I felt like I was visiting a distant aunt -- unfamiliar, but at home. 

In the candle-lit kitchen with Mei Kong Ritynki

Another reason Khweng was particularly interesting for me is that the region produces Eri silk. Eri is one of the three main varieties of silk produced in India. And while this may have been exciting for my mother, a handloom textile designer who works extensively with silk, it also excited me! Wonder why? Well, silk production means rearing silkworms -- protein-rich silkworms!!

Eri Silkworms

I’ll let your imagination fill in the rest... for now. The rest of that story will be reserved for my next post, which I promise, will not take as long to be written as this one did!