Of Gugguni & Lobongo Lotika

Thinking of some of our pet pastimes during our moorings in pristine Sunabeda, I am reminded of the little modest tit-bits, foods and delicacies that we used to go in search of around the township, especially in the sweet seventies. With just about three community markets and a few shops outside their realm that could cater to our palate, looking back, option for eating out was certainly limited. Despite the choice of limited options, which was hardly ever felt, we did make most of the available fare and only kept craving for more of the same stuff.

In a way, we were not exactly spoilt for choice, for it was the small change in our pockets that really determined where we could go and what to prepare our palates for.

In the early seventies, I recollect, if I could manage to get the hexagonal 3p from mom (after a lot of haggling), I would end up standing in front of the static bunker right above the then Ganja’s G Zone home (or across the road from H Zone-Shobha’s flat) for a large round white locally made suji biscuit with a bubbled circumference.  

The then OCC market had a mixturwallah who would hand out a conical packet of tasty mixture for 5p. The squared coin with rounded edges could also buy a pair of those tasty Nutrine chocolates wrapped in transparent green cover.

Growing up good enough to bargain for a rupee to go to Bhanja Mandap, one not only got to see a phillum in the 95p Gandhi class, but could also afford the 5p “channa” packet from the good old Bangladeshi from DP camp. With another 5p you were better off with the roasted mumphalis. To make the 5p channa last for the entire second half, one had to keep peeling off its dry skin and then popping it in. If you had more patience, you would split the gram along the semispherical edges and then pop it in. The affordable could send “splitting” sounds across the hall breaking the shells of the peanuts along the part that resembled the forehead of a lilliput penguin. (Utkal Cinema came into existence during the late seventies)

If you had a residual 20p after getting into the cinema, you could demand a Singhada from Ramu’s shop. Fresh, hot, tasty ones the like of which I never had anywhere else. The reddish brown sweet “Lobongo lotika” was a luxury at 25p. If you could’nt afford it, you could at least keep ogling with desire at the neatly laid out pattern of lobongs and Jilebees in his stall.

The pooris at Milan were always an aromatic fare. Passing through the township market, one could not miss this aroma especially in the mornings. The chicklets and Parle white and rose coloured peppermints from the bakery near the township market book shop were popular among most of us.

If we had nothing to do after the noon grub, the Bhalu Pahad with the innumerable cashew fruits had to be the first option to look forward to. Trekking up the hill and eating to one’s fill, unwittingly making a plethora of geometric designs on our shirts, we often ended up being chased downhill by the lease contractors, bruised all over, yet proclaiming our valiance having reached a safe spot to count our booty of fruits and nuts.

In between long evening walks in the township, one could take a respite at the lone bunker of a teashop on the squarish official township bus station outside the market. The 15p “adrak ki chai” from the shop was big hit with most of us. I continue to patronize ginger-tea to this day.

The short stocky Mallu at the Malabar Hotel in Central Market was a godsend. He was only too willing to solicit customers for credit. Family bereavements, miles away from the township brought all the freedom one required to experiment almost anything in town. During such times the menu at the mandated Malabar seemed grossly inadequate to satisfy one’s taste buds. All the same, it was a welcome change from the routine diet.

On most evenings, the hotel at the penultimate end of the “Hotel lane” in the Central Market (the name…..my memory fails me) dished out delicious “Guggunis” in small aluminium plates. The numerous small soaked grams in a tasty soup with liberal masala and onion smeared over it beat any modern day chaat for its, “gimme more” taste. One could also have the sweet large white rasagollas with a red core to one’s stomach fill from the same hotel.

One was spoilt for choice at the bakery next to Appa Rao’s Saloon. Biscuits, Rusk and cakes in all shapes and sizes adorned the large jars lined up in the shop. The smell of freshly baked bread and cakes used to be too enticing to ignore the shop.

The mixture from the vendor storing all its constituents in a large glass box was a must on any visit to the Central Market. It would keep one engaged at least half way home.

The advent of Konark Bakery on the outskirts of the township enroute Semiliguda lured one to the shop, despite the long haul. The buns had a typically distinct and likeable odour and taste as compared to the other bakeries in the township. The puffs were also worth the marathon walk to the bakery. Cakes, when offered free, were a bonus to the insatiable palate.

In contrast to these two market places, the Russian Market near the M and N Zone was a drab with hardly anything ever for the taste buds. Are the M & N girls listening?

During the “tan tan gopal” times, the mangoes from the grove opposite the M zone or the one near the school post office area provided the much needed succor. If one was lazy to travel that far, the large tree with the mangoes hanging out of the fence in Rumni’s (bang opposite the Bhalu Pahad) backyard were easy targets!