Green Gram — பயறு

A month after sowing the seeds, yellow flowers produce tiny green pods that become green gram. Ammamma would speak of her search for good quality seeds, but Amma just bought them ready-made at the store.

Amma made many things with green gram: dosai, fritters, payatham paniyaram.

My favorite was payatham paniyaram. When the house filled with the smell of the rounded sweets, we knew that the day was something special. Sometimes a happy occasion like a wedding reception or relative visiting. Other times the thirty-first day after someone’s passing. Some recipes crossed over from Tamil Nadu to Karaveddy but this one I always felt was more ours: not borrowed and not mixed.

Akka, Thangachi, and I would circle Amma on the floor as she dry roasted the green gram slowly in a big metal pan before adding freshly grated coconut and jaggery. Sometimes a bit of cumin and pepper powder -- giving them a punch without being spicy.

Without a counter to work on she would roll the mixture-coated dough with her hand on a white cloth stretched over a rice-measuring cup. With one hand she dipped and fried them and with one eye she watched to see that we didn’t grab one before it made it into the bright plastic storage buckets she placed beside her. As children we thought her hands were magic.

In war you leave home quickly. There isn’t time to think about what you will miss. It was only when Amma arrived with a red plastic bucket clasped in front of her like a protective vest, that my heart (and stomach) jumped with excitement and longing. 

Amma would have known that the green gram, high in fiber and protein, would fuel our young bodies. Whether mine or other relatives came, we noticed that every palagaram packet was precisely packed and presented solemnly. An offering for an occasion that couldn’t yet be celebrated. 

Away from home, eating this payatham paniyaram felt different. It was like the struggle, like Amma. There was nothing extreme about its fire: it was just the perfect balance of sharp and sweet.