Gardening in different countries

 

Begonia baskets in the UK

Once upon a time, a Mum had three sons. They all grew up in the same house but two of them, went away to live in different countries in the world. One went to study in the UK and stayed on there and one went to certify as a cardiologist  in the US and he stayed on there. So, now what does a mother do when her babies have left? Pack her bags and go visit them twice a year!

“ Don’t you get bored when you go there?” I am asked over and over again. “ No! Never!” I respond. I have never been bored when staying at home anywhere in the world, because the garden keeps me busy and occupied. And ofcourse my writing and cooking.

Golden yellow British Iris in Tennessee

So how it all began was I saw many of the plants we have in our garden, in the hot houses in Kew. So, I decided to take a few plants with me to the UK and try them out there in my big sons massive garden. Sadly none of them really took off. Mum’s Ginger that the boys asked for. I carried it all the way and put it down and it never showed in the UK. I took the Thunder lilies that they as boys had grown up with, here in Hayes. Sadly no, they did not grow too. Nothing I took grew in the UK and it was a learning curve for both my son and me there.

Dainty Solomon's Seals all hanging like medallions below the stalk.

Here in India, you put a plant down and it grows and flowers and blossoms, through the year. There the winter kills off the seasonal plants and only the hardy perennials we learnt grew. Names we had never heard of -- Penstimons and hydrangeas in many colours, calla lilies and Stargazers, Phlox and Dianthus, Clematis, Fuschias  and Solomon Seals. All new names which we learned to reel off our tongues and choose with care when we shopped for the garden. I particularly love British roses and they grow to an amazing plate size, which we never get here, except in the colder regions.

Then I decided to take what grew in the UK to the US. Once I took a tiny golden yellow Iris rhizome from David's garden which was not doing too well. Little did I know the Iris is the state flower of Tennessee and if you see it in my son’s garden there -- it looks like a golden resident. All the neighbours are envious of the flowers, which bloom even when the temperatures drop cause after all they are British!

My beautiful Aliana on her First communion day with the Iris

I have taken rhizomes and planted them all over the front and back yards and when my son sends pictures I cant stop laughing, cause they have truly blossomed and grown with their golden yellow blooms all over the garden. I took Mums Ginger lilies and those too have bloomed and grown from the very first year! Pure white scented blooms which I have shared with friends across Knoxville.

And then two years ago I took David’s Solomon Seals which were not doing great in his garden to Tennessee and low and behold, my son there is amazed at the beauty of the plant growing tall and splendid with its strange hanging medallion like flowers below the stem. Mum! Look at the flower you planted -- what’s it called he will FaceTime excitedly and I tell him Solomon Seals -- hail all hail, another British resident!

Azaleas I planted

It’s time for him to move states and homes and I am worried, I cannot visit because of Covid. My legs are tied or I would have been up and away for many months. I love going there and they enjoy my coming too. I pray I can go before they move states into their new home in South Carolina. Hoping I can take the Iris and the Ginger and the Solomon Seal with me! After all I cannot abandon them in Tennessee!

 

 

Hoskote after 30 years

 The beauty of a graft

I had stopped going to Hoskote after the case on the property had reached the High Court. It was disheartening that such a wasteland, which I had unwittingly bought, which was turned by us into a beautiful garden of Eden, was being grabbed back by the greedy original owners. No wonder people are fed up with the shenanigans displayed by so-called SC/ST’s. I was definitely not willing to give up what I had sunk all my savings into. PLUS, it had a piece of my entire family in it, including my Dad and Mum who used to visit in the initial years.

The Bangkok sweet tamarind

When we first bought it, it was literally what the word ‘kharaab’ means. Wasteland, fit for nothing. The previous owners had just planted eucalyptus on it and left it to prevent squatters on the land. The previous owner was an Anglo Indian gentleman who ran a vegetable service from Hoskote to Mysore. He bought the farmers produce in our village and ran trucks carrying the vegetables to Mysore. The 2 acres he bought off one of them.

The double scented Quis Qualis from Mangalore.

His sister sold me the land in a terrible state and it has taken 30 years of hard work from all of us, to get it to the condition it is now. Like I was telling a sustainable gardener in Goa, redoing her badly eroded garden. “ I had to work on the two acres like you have to patiently work with a little child. There is no silver bullet. You need to give time and energy to revitalise the land and mainly to control and retain the rain runoff. I used gut feel as at the time, I was not educated in sustainability yet. I worked along with my young son's sweat, to start the process, as we did not have money then to hire labour.

Planting theTabibuea on Sunday

I began by buying a truck load of granite stones, which we carried ourselves and laid across where we saw the rain runoff flowing. There we built a long check dam. It was so exciting to see with the first rain after that, the soil carried by the water all stood up against the dam and so did the water, slowly percolating into the soil. We dug trenches horizontally in other parts of the land to hold back the water that ran down from right to left and slowly over the years the slope righted itself with the collection of soil.

The trees have grown to maturity

Then, in the heat of the noonday sun, I put down three cement concrete circular wells into which I emptied tankers and began my first round of planting our graft mango trees. They were bought ONLY from Lalbagh. Dad and Grandpa believed in that nursery and so did I. The grafts were Raspuris and a new breed called Mallika with delicious orangey flesh and a slim, thin seed. The trees are over 10 years old now and have grown sideways and not upwards.

Cow bought for the family. We cant stand unpasteurised milk!

I can just stand and pick the fruit. And Narsimappa has to hold up the fruit with V Forked branches of other trees. Over the years we have planted pomegranate and more mango, over 30 chickoos and roseapple. And ofcourse I got two star fruit trees from Lalbagh which are now 4 feet tall and we get a few fruit occasionally, as the kids on the farm finish them.

The mallika graft lifts my spirits

The Jamuns and Jacks are massive and fruit every alternate year and the lichie too.No luck with guavas so we will give them a try once more. I want only the Allahabad variety which I enjoyed when I worked for a year in Lucknow. And then, on my trips to Bangkok on conferences, I brought home a kg of sweet tamarind for 100 bhat each time and planted the seeds. THREE, yes THREE trees have grown and have begun to fruit -- SWEET expensive tamarind to my utter joy, besides the Salem sour variety.

Almost time to pick

The chickoos are of two types -- the cricket ball and the oval with pinkish flesh. They are so delicious I have friends beg me for some every time we bring home a bag of them. The Butter fruit or avocado fruit and Narsimappa takes them off when they are very young. Really needs a kock on his head to learn when they are ripe to remove.

With a loaded Raspuri tree

This Sunday we planted 10 Tabibuea Rosea I rescued from D’souza road, left there to die by some fool. We fussed them for a month and they threw out fresh leaves in no time. Then we went and put them down in Hoskote with a generous sprinkle of dried cow dung. The older ones we planted bloom during this season and were quite spectacular according to Narsimappa.

The tame peacock

And ofcourse now with COVID 19 we have a pet peacock come in to be fed from the wilds. It’s wonderful to see it scuttle about foraging in the leaves and sitting in the shade quite tamely waiting for food.

 

Vada diplomacy works!!

The house

 Meet Leenika Jacob, said my fellow Pilerenekar Julia Jones virtually on Whatsapp. “ I have just bought a house in Moikovaddo,” volunteered Jacob. It’s a beautiful house from the picture she has sent though all that’s  of it, is the outer frame.

We chat cursorily on whatsapp and I get to know Leenika is going to turn the house into a sustainable living showcase of sorts, besides living there with her family. They are going to wind up living in Delhi and come to Goa, to breathe the fresh air and live, like many Delhites are doing.

Leenika and her lawyer husband met the young Parish Priest of our church even though they are not Christian and she appraised him of the fact that I was one of the original Furtado’s of Furtavaddo in Volvaddo. Ofcourse she gave him a sizeable gift of funds to repair the church.  Promptly Fr Derrick contacted me on Whatsapp and convinced me to write a piece on my Dad -- Wing Commander Anthony Michael Furtado. I did not need much convincing as writing about my inspirational father just flows.

Poles to cordon off our property

After writing the piece I had young father Derrick ring me to come and bless the house!! Have not had it blessed for decades. RING AND COME?? Unheard of, but my writing has opened new flood gates in the village. Reading about Dad the villagers realise that he was an engineer from one of Karnataka's best Engineering colleges, during an era, when no one really did their engineering degree, in our families. And their respect for him has grown a thousand fold.

The chapel built by grandpa

Then the neighbours -- one from Mumbai who has built and living in the village, has taken to visiting and asking if we need help. We knew your Dad, he loved Pilerne, they say. The greedy lady next door who cut down five of our teak trees saying they were hers, is very careful. She smiles and wishes even though she is in her 70’s. We got hold of the government surveyor -- Mr Gonsalves -- and enclosed our strips of property and squeezed her in. So her big head has reduced and she realises that we know and are not fools. She is pumping water out of our well and destroyed the walls with the shuddering of the pump. 

Poles demarcating our property

Once repaired, I will fence the well and lock her out.No more largesse for greedy fingers who have no respect. Poor Dad how they harassed him and he just did not know how to deal with them.Now with the poles in place she is very careful and does not come in our way.

The cousin on top used our frontage to unload his rice and stones. All sorts of people used the valuable plot as a through fare. Enough, I went to the Panchayat and complained with my ownership form 1x14 and fixed a gate to close our boundaries. Stay out if you cannot respect, is my motto. No more lorries and tippers now in our frontage. The plots above the house he told the village all belonged to him. Well with Gonsalves surveyors and all his equipment we spent a day plotting our property and enclosing it. Again with poles. Cost us a lot but I wanted the village to know they could not overstep their boundaries.

Unloading the poles

Now to get our chapel back. I told Fr Derrick that the chapel was built by grandpa on our land and I wanted it back. Yes! I can see the chapel matches your house, said Fr Derrick. Keep the chapel, but the land behind is all ours is what I am agreeable to.Everything takes time and I need to get it done. Meanwhile the village is aware now of our ownership and a new found respect has been erected also, by giving a gift of cash to the church.

The neighbours mango tree near the kitchen of the old house, gave Dad grief. Mangoes fell in the season, breaking numerous tiles and there was no compensation. I got a man to shin up the tree one early morning, and shave the tree of the branches over our house. Dad really suffered and I won’t, sorry! The shaved tree now offers no complications. It still stands, it still fruits and it does not give us any trouble any more.

Bonny supervises

 This time I did what that one person I heard does -- it's called Vada diplomacy! Hot hot vadas he will say and give them to a tenant and get around them. I gave many of the village, beautiful plants and fresh tamarind from my farm. Last time I carried chickoos from our farm and that excited them all. Small gifts like the hot, hot vadas and there is a new found respect, that people have, knowing we cannot be cheated any more. 

AND knowing our history, that we are an erudite and cultured family, has sidelined the cheat of a cousin and he will step back and be careful. Got to wall him out next. 

 

Repairing the roof in Goa

 

As always snap decisions are made by us, to drive down to Goa. Whenever we get a string of days, approx a week, that’s plenty to work on the house. We can never take a ‘holiday’ in the complete sense of the word in Goa, though I plan to do that sometime in my life. A promise made to my Dad and a sense of responsibility keeps us going.And anyway, Covid made sure we could not even visit the beach. 

When we drive down, it’s to repair something in the house that needs to be done, as the house is over 300 years old and can fall if not looked after. So twice a year we go, Bonny and myself and sometimes with Steve and manage doing something substantial with the money generated between three siblings. The fourth wants a share by sitting on her hands and doing nothing but we are used to her behaviour. The fifth with the greediest spouse, thankfully Dad cut out and I registered in court.

This time we had to repair the last three rooms and bathroom in the house. Bhujang had told us that it HAD to be done BEFORE the annual rains. So, at the beginning of April we got our stuff together overnight and drove down, alerting him of our arrival and to get the roofer ready.

Bonny’s brother who lives in Goa now, told us about a much shorter route via Ponda and it cut our travel tie by 2 ½ hours which is amazing. Ofcourse there are awful stretches of no road in our beloved Karnataka jungles. Quite frightening really, but we navigate and somehow get over them, struggling along with massive trucks.

We did try air travel a couple of times but the cars for hire are the pits and work out crazily expensive. If one leaves at 5am and one is sure to reach Goa by lunch time, with one pit stop. 

The jungle in the Karnataka side was dry and pretty lifeless. We humans have probably siphoned out all the groundwater in Karnataka. BUT on the Goa side is lovely and green and we reach the homestead in record time. That same evening, Jagganath arrives and  goes around the house with us. Like us he has aged and so manages a team, rather than climb on the roof himself. He, like the other workers we employ, have been with us since the time we took over looking after the house.  But for all his talk, I saw him climb right up and supervise the work so well.

They began at 8am before the heat of the day hit them. Working on the roof in Goa is a killer. I like working with our local Pilernekars, not the Biharis. He tells Bonny how much wood to buy and gets me to record his number on my phone. The next day Bonny goes off and buys the wood in Verem and it is stacked in the garden. I marvel at Bonny’s genuine love for the house, which he has inherited from my Dad like me.

The wood is offloaded into the garden and we go off to have lunch with my Pilernekar friend Julia Jones who lives in her flat in Porvorim. No more outings after that, with Covid everywhere except in the village. The shack we go to on Candolim beach is off the beaten track and we enjoy rechardo prawns and fish fingers, while Bonny his prawn curry rice, all washed down with watermelon juice.

The next day the wood is lathered down with a liquid called Wood Guard. Before we used Cashew deek and last time spent engine oil! I cant stand the strong smell of cashew  deek and so we plump for the modern Wood Guard. Living in the house and repairing it is a nightmare. But our flat in Pilerne is not ready and so beggars can't be choosers.

“ Two days it will take to repair three rooms and the bathroom,” says Jagganath. But he arrives with his team by 8 am and by 6 pm he was done. What a grand job, every tile removed, every reaper checked and our caretaker worked hard alongside him.

“ I need 50 tiles,” he said to Bonny as they break as he works. About 20 tiles remain in the house to be used if others break. Bonny drives to Verem and buys the 50 tiles in his car to save on the transport. We have a very slim budget to work with as only three of us pay in 25 k each year. 

That has to include Bhujangs wage and the electric and water bill. So it's pretty obvious who is really paying for a lot. I go to make cups of chai for them all and send it up with a poi. They take a well earned rest, sitting on the roof and sipping the chai.

Bonny is smart. He makes them check every single room before they leave. Every single tile in every room and every reaper so I feel safe. Later this year, we will return to do the main roof which had been done 10 or more years ago when we took over. That is a massive job and will take time and I definitely cannot live in the house when that is opened.

 

 

Can a man cook? Ofcourse he can!

 

All the men in my life have been useless at cooking. There is basically no interest and it has been left to the women to handle. Yes my son in the UK cooks now through sheer need, but he does not enjoy it. The Pakistani cook he employed made such rich food the whole family could not eat it in a week. So having men who cook in the building is a new experience for me - - and a very happy one too.

Our ground floor tenant is the CEO of a big bank. And yet he finds a lot of time to cook once he gets home and on holidays. Infact the best gift which I gave him was not the cakes and sweets of a festival, the pickles and chudas from different outlets. Instead he is thrilled with a new packet of masala from Goa and I am rewarded with a packet of masala from Hyderabad.

A year ago I gave him a pot with a lovely big curry leaf plant. Every time I tried to grow it in the garden, some oaf broke it. BIL is the cheap fiddly hands here, who has never lived in a home like this. So, I just took the plant, potted it and the ‘cook’ is thrilled to be able to use fresh kadipatta whenever he cooks.

Every once in a while the door bell rings and there he is with a bag, looking embarrassed, thrusting it into my hands saying -- “ ghee roast prawns and puliagore I made!” With glee the bag is taken into the kitchen and three of us swoop down and polish it off. The ghee roast prawns are divine!

Ginger is definitely his favourite so I get the most yum ginger pickles and ginger chicken dishes, given to us at least twice a month. As his wife says -- I feel wasted! But that's not true. She keeps a spotless house. And she loves my brinjal pickle which is Mums recipe.

A previous Danish tenant gave me half a loaf of his rugbrod ( ragi bread) twice a month. Thankfully he loved our Indian curries and so I fixed up a lady who made Mangalorean curries and roasts and he enjoyed his two years here. Johnny loved living here and sunned himself over the weekend on the terrace, but never tanned much to his annoyance!

His kitchen was like out of a picture book and my help at the time-- Pushpa -- who has retired after 35 years, after breaking her leg -- absolutely adored him. Obviously ‘cause she got 7 k for doing nothing really. He was smart enough to sell all his white goods and cute Pepper Fry furniture, through Siemens for 50% after using it for 2 years. He would have sold his stuff to me if our apartment was ready in Goa, but it was not.

If the best chefs in the world are men, then ALL men can cook. It’s just our Indian men are basically lazy and dont make the effort, unless faced with it. While doing my second Masters in Amsterdam /Copenhagen and Wales, we enjoyed the Thai cooking of our male Thai classmates. Every week we had potluck in one of our apartments and the best dishes were made by Bamrung and Al. Finger licking stuff.

So, is it just the Indian male who is lazy and taught to believe he has to be waited upon?? Well my youngest is learning and fast cause I dont believe in rearing male chauvinists in my home.