THE BANE OF BISMILLAH

Chef Karem A Elhady’s mom brought up not one but three fine burly sons on macroni/rice/pasta and torley (mixed veges in tomato gravy) like most Egyptians mothers. Only Karem shared her love for cooking and took it up seriously.

As the Sous Chef of Movenpick, a fairly established Swiss chain of hotels in Cairo, he has had a lot of experience today in dishing out the most exotic Egyptian cuisine. What he learnt from his mother in her kitchen is however the most invaluable part of his learning. It started with the unique Arab spice mixture biz’har .

Biz’har is not as bizzare as it sounds. It may be a little different from family to family but this gives the essential Arab aroma to the same old veges that you and I cook. Biz’har has all the ingredient of garam masala like cardamom, cinnamon, turmeric, cumin, coriander, paprika, peppercorn, clove, Kashmir chili. In addition it has a little nutmeg and most importantly loomy – powdered dried lime which gives the Arab food its tangy flavor.

Karem is no more than thirty and has spent most of his growing years in Florida studying. But like most Egyptians worth their salt he likes his traditional food the best. Cairo is sprinkled with western style fast food chains today like Mc D’s and KFC’s. However he tells me local snack bars in cubby holes serving KUSHARY (A bhelpuri kind of mix of pasta, rice, black lentil, chana, and fried onions) are still more popular. The richer crust was a little more adventurous and showing a great fascination for Sushi in recent times.

“So what is a typical Egyptian dish?” “Hard to say!” He mentions how traditional Egyptian cuisine is a mix of many Mediterranean flavors – A bit Turkish, Palestinian, Lebanese, Greek and Syrian. What is typically Egyptian is not easy to classify. A lot of students from Saudi Arabia and Kuwait came to Egypt every year to learn the multicuisine specialties of Egypt.

“But what are your popular food items?” I asked and was once again surprised to see how easily I could relate to Karem. The kebabs, kuftas, tikkas and tandoories were nothing new to me. I recalled how Fatima, another friend of mine from India who settled in Egypt, mentioned her effortless transition into an alien Arab kitchen.

They are also basically rice eaters and preferred a little gravy which came from tomato puree. They ate a lot of stewed and grilled items. They loved their Mezze fried snacks (like our samosas, spring rolls and wadas). They guzzled several cups of black tea throughout the day and had a sweet tooth exactly like us … (I may be referring to my Bong community here!!!)

Drawing me out of my reverie Karem presented a salver before me.

“Okay try this one. It is commonly known as Mahshi”. I smelt an exotic platter of what looked like stuffed vegetables. One was a zucchini, looking quite like something we cooked back home In Calcutta – Potoler dolma.

“It tastes like dolma too.”

“You know dulma? Mahshi is dulma. What stuffing do you put?” Now it was Karem’s turn to be surprised.

“We put mince meat and sometimes cottage cheese even flavored rice like you have here.”

“But do you stuff vine leaves like us?”

“We don’t have vineyards in India. We don’t do the cabbage, egg plants and zucchini either.”

“Try Fuul. This will 'taste' different.” Karem was hopeful.

Egyptian breakfast comprises Fuul (mashed beans), Falafel (bean cakes, like south Indian wada), Bileela (whole wheat grain like dalia cooked in milk) eggs, assorted cheese, Labna (yoghurt cheese), Sha’riya (sweet vermicelli) and bread.

Karem had cooked his fuul overnight over slow fire and then mashed it with oil (Usually olive or corn oil) lemon, salt, chopped onion, tomatoes, crushed garlic and cumin powder. That so tasted like Ghugni from Kolkata

I was still looking for something that would be absolutely exotic – that would linger in my mouth as the exquisite Egyptian flavor. “Aren’t you acting a bit spoilt?” Jo finally said. India is such a diverse nation. With such a varied range of people and culture influencing us, he was right, I was bound to find similarities everywhere. I had to get out of the contest and enjoy the fare instead - The soups, the salads, the mezze, the sweets, the beverages, the breakfasts and the main courses.

What pleased Jo most was their strictly non-veg orientation and the range of stuff they consumed - All sorts of fishes, clams, meats, ducks, pigeons, rabbits, gizzards, sheep brains, livers just name it, went into their diet – Wow! For Jo these were a bunch happy guys who knew what good eating was all about.

A bit of a vegetable lover, I was struck by their interesting mixes of vegetables and meat. Like the one with Zucchini and lamb or the lamb and okra stew and
the artichokes with minced beef.

Of all vegetables bitingan rumi or eggplants seemed to be an important part of the Egyptian diet. Sometimes a whole section in a recipe book has been dedicated to them. Baked roasted, fried they were part of every meal. I loved the taste of Babghannuug for instance, like our Bharta mixed with Tahina sauce (Sesame seed paste mixed with lemon juice, vinegar, cumin and grated onion and crushed garlic.

Our gastronomical adventure was further whetted with a series of Ifhtar parties during Ramadan. My Egyptian friends, who are famous for their generous spreads made sure each Ifhtar was a special treat for us and left no recipe books unturned.

Sharp at six every evening we would say ‘Bismillah’ and get started with the special Ramadan drinks like Tamr hindi (sweet tamarind drink), Karkadeeh (hibiscus drink), Sahlab (a sweet spiced milk drink) - so (unbelievably refreshing). A minimum seven course dinner would end with sweets like Kunafa and Baklava.

It is pity my friends that you use only cutlery to eat. You may not fully appreciate what I mean by a lip smacking finger licking experience – but that’s exactly what it has been!

The only bane of Bismillah - You have packed us home not only with loving memories but nice tyres around the midriff as visible mementos.

OF GHOSTS AND GRAVES

In the land of the Pharaohs, where people buried their dead believing they would continue their journey in an afterlife, I wondered if would find any ghosts or at least some ghost stories that I could recount to my readers. I daresay I looked for them everywhere and finally made this shocking revelation. Let me share with you a 'deadly' tale of the ones at the bottom of the pyramid.

When I expressed my disappointment at not being able to explore the pyramids for a ‘ghostly’ story I was prompted to look elsewhere by my local guide. “In this necropolis of the great kings there are many other graveyards. Why don’t you scout them? You may find a ghost or two. There are many in Zienhum,” he said with a mysterious smile.

The graveyards of course! My best bet. Ghosts seem to fancy graveyards more than any place I’d say. That’s where they are buried and that’s where they prefer to be. Helps them to maintain their ‘grave’ look in the background of the ruins and derelict tombs, I guess. They do have this serious ghost image to preserve from which they rarely depart – Unless of course it is a pretty genie or a well meaning spirit popping out of a lamp. But we are talking about graveyards here. And the ones in graves are always solemn, somber, disheveled and emaciated, hovering over the burial ground in flowing gowns or tattered clothes. I needed to catch one of them.

"If you are lucky you would just catch one silly," said Jo. Have you heard of ghosts walking hand in hand or having a party?" Not really. That stuff happens only in a Michael Jackson thriller. "They would cease to scare you if they looked decent and went around in pretty masquerades, dancing and giggling." True! If indeed I found them huddled together or scattered in clusters they wouldn’t even look like ghosts unless there was a proper background score playing – sprinkled with blood chilling wolf cries and all. I'd take them for a bunch beggars instead!" Precisely!

I will come back to the ghosts in a while. A little more about the graveyards first!

Cairo has a large number of graveyards. Once a upon a time some of them were in the middle of the desert. No more. With the city expanding and gobbling up every bit of the sandy plain some of these cemeteries lie comfortably ensconced between high rises and highways today.

The largest of the charity graveyards in Cairo is in Zeinhum, across the central morgue. During the first day of Eid, when everyone went out to pay respect to their dear departed in their ancestral family graves and private tombs, Zeinhum would look desolate. These graveyards were earmarked for unidentified accident victims and the poorer lot and so no one came here.

And this is where I am told, in all likelihood, the first ghosts appeared. They came one at a time sequestering small patches for themselves at first. From a distance one could make out they were unhappy souls trundling in the darkness of the night to their graves to mourn their plight. They looked scary and pathetic. One could only pray for those restless souls and feel sorry that there was no one to send them flowers, or share their agony.

But soon a curious thing happened. They multiplied in no time until it was quite a camp. They still looked unhappy and unkempt but not half as frightening or desolate anymore. They didn't look like apparitions appearing mysteriously at the wee hours, slinking out of their grave to stretch themselves or fliting around ominously to scare you . They were suddenly everywhere, all the time - especially in the evenings when you could even catch an entire ghost family bunched over a fire, cooking a meal for themselves, with a bundled brawling baby ghost to boot. They looked painfully human then, almost like us. They looked like destitutes with no home.

Many of Cairo's cemeteries are full them today - Not just the dead but also those who are fighting to live. Squatters even pay a monthly fee to the grave keepers who decide their eligibility to tenure on of the dank clammy corners or the underground chambers of these graveyards.

Ever since the land prices shot up, burial in private tombs, which has been a tradition, became a matter of luxury. More and more people had been forced to bury their dead in Zeinhum and that is when they discovered the truth.

That was my ghost story. Not as eerie as I would have liked it to be. But creepy you must say!

With Cairo’s population nearly 18 million today and an economy that is not chugging too well, the fate of those at the bottom of the pyramid looks bleak…And I am not talking of the Pharaohs you know!

Eid Mubarak ! Have a blast !!!

The last day of Ramadan and the last Iftar at six - we sat quietly at a Syrian Shwrama shop breaking our fast. We had a flight to catch in a few hours time to go back to Dubai and I was already missing Cairo.

The buzzing traffic a few moments ago had disappeared altogether at Iftar time. It was kind of strange to find Cairo so quiet all of sudden – like a city after holocaust. Every day for the last one month of Ramadan, it has been like this at six in the evening. A pall would set in before the City crawled back to action at night.

But the last iftar was different from other days. Days of penance were to end in grand feast and merry making. Cairo was waiting in hushed anticipation for that burst of life – The city would soon be dazzling like a beautiful girl with the famous Cairo nightlife cranked up several notches in a feverish frenzy to celebrate the gift of life at Eid.

Mohammed like all young boys of his age is waiting for the big bang. “Tonight no one will sleep in Cairo. We will have a blast.” Literally so! There will barely be any walking space in Cairo in a few hours time. Mohammed and his friends have hired a vehicle to go around the city, blasting away as they inch forward through the crowd. “That’s the fun…there will be honking vehicles everywhere and loud blaring music. The police will not say anything to anyone tonight.” Did they ever? I wondered.

I was reminded of the Pujas in Kolkata and its unruly chaotic crowd – jostling, screaming, and screeching. I can picture what Cairo would be tonight - bursting at its seams with its jubilant, jocund, freaking population. Beeping, hooting, tooting cars will move at the speed of a donkey cart, dotting the roads. Most of the passengers (other than the sweaty driver) would walk along trying to clear the road blocks but actually, need I say, adding to the consternation - howling, screaming, yelling, bawling, bellowing, shouting, shrieking, screeching, yelping and yapping…

My PC ran out of synonyms or I would go and on trying to create the Puja fever at Kolkata. There will light eveywhere. Smell of food would wafting from the roadside shanty stalls. Revelry would carry on all night till people are too groggy to push their cars back home. Bleary eyed they will return however, blasting away only to keep themselves awake in the wee hours of morning.

Hmmm I know what I am going to miss. I will miss the pandemonium, my crazy Cairo capers but most of all I will miss you lovely people.

Eid Mubarak dear ones! Yes have a blast! Make it a few extra hoots from my side!

GO, GAYA, GONE

“Okay now tell me how you pronounce the alphabet ‘J’."
“That would be ‘G’ as in ‘GO’.”
“So effectively Jo becomes ‘Go’ and Jaya become ‘Gaya’. You are 'gone' Ma’m and so is Sir.”

Shreyash had been at it again. Pulling their legs.

“So what is your favourite colour?”
“Bink”
And what is the colour of eggplant?
“Burple?”
What vegetable did you put in that Batate?
“Botatoes”
“And this keema is from big I bresume...”
“ No No not bork”
“What other drink can you offer me beside Tamarhindi and Kahrup? Bebsi?”

“Big deal,” Shereen had got the drift by now. "You are pulling our leg because we can’t say “p” clearly. We can if we want to. Only it doesn’t come all that naturally. Now you try saying Ahmed, Khaleed and Ali...”

Shreyash was stumped. Even after making the most meaningful grunts through his throat he couldn’t get a single one right.

I personally find this mispronunciations or the inability to form certain words utterly charming. I have raised a few eyebrows Bengalifying every language I speak. I maintain that as my specialty these days.

“But we can’t help it, can we? We learnt all our words the way it is in Koran. There is no bink in Koran.”

Shereen, the girl with not one but a million funny bones left us cracking with laughter yet again.

THE WORLD OF ASHRA AND WASTA

Muhammad El Desouki is first a friend and then a translator. He is a lawyer by training but now a supervisor in an entertainment firm. He has been my eyes and ears and nose during this short visit to Egypt. He is originally from Cairo and knows this place like the back of his palm.

Here in its ‘Haraahs’(the bylanes) he has grown up playing ‘Korah’(football) and drinking coffee in its innumerable coffee shops. He loves Cairo and you can see it in his eyes.

“There is life here. People have a heart and we still have a lot of time to love and laugh.” I get the drift. He has seen many new roads come up every year. From a handful of public buses, ten years ago, now hundreds plying to different parts of the state. He has watched in dismay unplanned towns gobble up the rich agricultural lands in Kyrdsa and Giza. And loved the way others like Naser City and the 6th Oct have expanded and developed .

He looked wistfully over the Nile and the many people walking lazily on the Cornice and gave a deep sigh, “How I love this place!”


“Show me your license young man,” a policeman walked up and thrust his head through the window the Toyota mini van.
“Come on quick show me your National I Card”
“But I am not driving so I am not carrying one. The driver has his.”
“Ma-yinfa’sh...,” (It won’t work) growled the man in uniform.
“I have a ten pound, will that do?”
“Mashe.” (Okay)


The matter was resolved in seconds. We were once again enjoying the balmy breeze of the Nile and glittering lights bedecking the many barges and cruise boats, beckoning curious tourist to take a ride along the Nile.

“That was quick. Is this common here?” I couldn’t help asking Muhammad even at the cost of making him feel a little uncomfortable. This was one ugly side of his beloved Cairo. I assured him I knew how it felt. India was so much like Cairo in every way.

“Fuloos (money) and wasta (contacts) can make a lot of difference here. It is a shame but it is true. It is quite rampant in Cairo,” he said with a heavy heart.

To this Shreyes added, "Even if some documents are missing the driver has to prouduce the mandatory 'ASHRA GENIEH' (the bribe money) - that is most important piece paper in these parts."

"Are we not encouraging it by giving in so easily?"

“It is matter of debate. Sometimes it can cost much less if stops at fuloos.”

“ Hmm! I know what you mean. It is no different in India.”

“Ofcourse not. We are very different!"
" Well... What do you mean?"

"Don’t forget our national passion is football while yours is cricket.”

Now that’s a huge difference. We burst out laughing.

PIQUANT PYRAMIDS AND A ROYAL RIDE

Finally to the Pyramids!
Need I explain my first thoughts? From a distance driving through Giza, they appeared like three mountain peaks in the smoggy panorama. Too steep to look like a real mountains but almost like a natural part of the landscape.
The one in the middle, the Pyramid of Khufu, the tallest one, looks snow capped with the little bit of casing material that is still left on its pinnacle.



It is impossible to describe the wonder and amazement as one approached these marvelous creations of a civilization as old as the mountains. This place, Giza, was a desert at one time. That too vast stretches of desert! Today it is a hotchpotch, clumsily expanded district with a swarming population. With the city creeping in and inching towards these magnificent relics, the place where the old meets the new is an amazing vantage point – A crossroad between memories and dreams. Here against huge billboards, snarling traffic, jostling crowd, unplastered houses, and modern flyovers, these majestic ruins reminded me of everything that has gone into bringing me this moment of truth.


The approach, the little stretch through the sand that is still there for tourists, I couldn’t help thinking, has been trod upon by so many, over so many centuries. The artisans and laborers who created the tombs had walked all the way, lugging those enormous stones on their back. Much later when Napoleon came to desecrate the Sphinx he must have come on a horseback now all one can see are four wheelers.

I wanted my own classic shot of the intriguing Pyramids, which are more than just tombs to me. Its symbolism will outlive it while some of its mysteries will remain buried in its sand forever.

“Ticket please”. A tall Egyptian in traditional Kandura (they call if Galabiya here), headgear ( Ogal) and a smart pair of glares stopped my reverie. I promptly took it out. He looked concerned.
“Where are you from?”
“India”
“With this ticket you can only see these three Pyramids”. He pointed out to them in a distance.
How many were there anyway? I thought there were only three that of Khufu, Khafre and Menkaure who ruled through 2589-2504 BCE.


“Come with me. I will show you something more.”
Was I to follow him? He wasn’t wearing a police uniform but looked terribly respectable.
“ Why? Where?” I responded curiously. He seemed to be taken aback
“Trust me. Come with me. I will show you something nice. Stand here. Put your hands up and I will take a picture of yours that make it seem like you are touching the top of the Pyramid.”
Hmmm! I thought.
“You don’t have to pay me. I work here”


And there hangs the tale. Another naive tourist was gradually ensnared into the web of the infamous touts of Giza. Very soon I was on a camel back “looking like an Egyptian queen,” all thanks to my very generous Egyptian friend in glares. He was paid to see all tourists who came to see the Pyramid went back happy. Now isn’t that a huge promotional package from the Egyptian Tourism Dept! I was beginning to understand the game but wasn’t sure how to end it.

“Ok thanks, that’s enough. I am very happy now. Must get going!”
“I can see you were meant to be a queen. Generous when happy.” He gave the clinching line.
Playing with my vanity. That was taking it too far. I had forgotten about the Pyramids all of a sudden. There were more serious things to deal with.
“Okay. How much do you want?”
“ What a hundred dollar? Did I hear you right? I can give you a hundred rupee. Is that okay? I am not feeling too happy or generous anymore.”

The haggle continued for a while. In the background the Sphinx sat laughing. It has seen so much over so many thousand years.This little interlude was just another anecdote that would remain buried with it, in time.

WHO WILL CLEAN CAIRO?

The morning news paper is full of news of Giza – (Remember the governorate with unplastered houses?) I believe the whole place has got deluged under garbage in the last few weeks.
Mercy them! The serpentine alleys had little space to move around. Now they are festering with foul smelling rubbish.

So where are the ‘Zabaleens’ - the traditional garbage collectors of Cairo? - They live in Manshiyet Nasser, in the largest slum dwellings in Egypt. Since the late 1950’s when they moved into Cairo in their donkey driven wooden carts they have been collecting, sorting and recycling rubbish as the means of their livelihood. 50,000 of them still live in their ghettos, some apparently quite rich among them.

It seems Zabaleens have been more or less out of job ever since the govt invested on an Italian company for their garbage disposal. Due to some financial disputes work in certain areas had recently been stalled. But it is now over two weeks and nothing seems to have been resolved. Stalemate or not, stale and fusty rubbish have meanwhile piled up making life miserable in Giza.

Zabaleens who survived over the years cleaning up the mess left by others must have found it increasing difficult to adapt to the rapid modernisation of towns. (We had their counterparts in India too. They vanished over a period of time as did their shanty towns).

Glitches in the modern system remind us how dependable our traditional systems were. But change is a must. So are transitional hiccups. Traditions and lifestyle that get wiped out will survive is the pages of history...The people will have to learn other survival skills.

Meanwhile in a “Cleanup Giza” campaign Dana Moussa a 25 year old Egyptian managed to get a band of 100 Mohandiseen residents to clean up their local streets. Fantastic isn’t it? What is till great is the fact that she engineered it over the networking website Facebook. Now that’s cool.

It is so heartening to see citizen journalism taking such a meaningful turn on the social networking websites. It is so wonderful to discover Dana Moussa a face of modern Cairo.

Spreading the idea of community service in these parts of the world where we are still unaccustomed to becoming the change we wish to see, Dana you are my young hero for the day.