Footloose : In the Wild..

Gwalior is a place strongly associated with my childhood memories. Memories of Badi Mummy, my grandmother's younger sister, but as openhearted and larger than life than my own grandma comes unbidden in my mind. I could almost taste the delicious homemade murabbas which she used to make. Well I was on my way back to the memories now, and passing the Chambal Valley was another step closer to my destination.

TheValley of Chambal, a huge tract of wasteland spanning states of UP and MP , is a place infamous for its dacoits, but if you cross it on road, instead of a distant, distrustful and furitive glance by a train, or an aerial look-see, you will notice the natural beauty of the stark naked mounts and hillocks seamlessly merging with each other- streching up to infinity. The serene Chambal river flowing through it lends it a surreal charm and the ancient bridge and the vistas it beheld made me stop the bike enroute and take in all this beauty in for a minute.A new bridge was alrady under construction next to it which showed amid other things,that the 21st century has finally arrived in this forgotten land.
Nested amidst the chambal valley , looking in all sense like a wild west frontier was one of my old haunts- Morena . I barely remember the two years I spent here as a kid, though some montages peek through the thick curtain of lost time. The sweet taste of Gajjak for which morena is famous for, and chuski, which doesn't lay claim to that kind of fame, but is even more delectable when eaten on roadside 'thelas'.
The premise looks deceptively simple: grate a slab of ice into crushings, pour on a thick layer of 'rabri'(concentrated milk) on it and top it off with sugar syrup. Simple recipe, but the result....oh the result is heavenly. And mind you it is way different (and better) than its country cousin (also named chuski) which is sold over thelas in rest of india(there's no rabri in those chuskis, just crushed ice and flavoured syrup..) Concoted and delivered to you courtesy a mustachioed guy who is probably some distant cousin of a dacoit (I mean it - even some rickshawwallas claim the dubious relation) in an earthenware 'Diya'. A sip from lip of the diya propels you to heaven as the rabri melts with ice and syrup and forms a sweet symphony in your mouth.
It was time to reminisisce. I did not have the good luck of having a chuski, the trip being in winter and all, but I took along a truckload of Morena's special Gajjaks for Badi Mummy.

An added bonus was spotting my old school ; still the same despite added floors and new furnishings. I was the privilaged kid here: my mother was a revered teacher and I was one of the star kids, first in my class , first in all co-curricular activities(a situation which i soon remedied..much to my parent's dismay). i did not have time to check out if my old teachers were still stuck in this time warp, let alone remember their faces, lost in time. So I moved on, after all, Gwalior, and my Grannny's murrabbas were waiting....