By R Swaminathan
The New Indian Express, Mindspace page, May 19, 2012
The day’s routine is becoming increasingly difficult for the bread
winner, the male, as well as the homemaker if either of them is forced
to visit the nearby vegetable vendor. Not that they have to plan their
requirements well ahead if both are working. They are most of the time
in for shock as the items they think they have to acquire for their
routine and special preparations (to please guests or deities on
special occasions) are just not available. The problem is not that of
availability but that they are not available for the notes in one’s
wallet. Haggling over this essential ingredient is nowadays a common
sight. Coriander leaves, known as Pachai Kothamalli, find a special
place in south Indian homes and they play a significant role both in
traditional and north Indian cuisines, for flavour and medicinal
properties.
Cookery book writers don’t fail to mention this for garnishing
just about any other dish. A few days ago coriander leaves became as
important as gold because they just disappeared from the handcarts of
street vendors and in Chennai retail chain stores a small bunch (small
in this case would be a gross understatement) was being quoted at `15
(weighing just 35 grams). None could be blamed for pinching themselves
as here is an item that not long ago used to be given free of cost
along with other curry leaves by vegetable vendors. It was more like
the free soap one got on buying a costly shampoo.
Now the bunches of these leaves are not only expensive but contain
fewer stems and leaves. At the rate at which the prices of curry leaves
and coriander leaves are skyrocketing soon they will vanish from the
kitchen table. Like tamarind paste or tomato puree, we can’t just think
of alternative options for coriander leaves because the green leaves
add to the beauty of the preparation and the aroma will disappear the
moment it is turned into a concentrate.
There used to be good times when thick and big bundles of
coriander leaves used to be dumped into the buyer’s hands at the rate
of `10 for three bundles. Of course, it was a different story that most
of the buy would rot the next day given the weather conditions and
excess of moisture. Vendors often pushed these leaves to get rid of
them before shutting shop for the day much like flower vendors who
quote exorbitant rates in the morning and resort to a firesale in the
evening.
Whatever be the case, it is unimaginable to think of a meal
without the pinching-pleasant aroma of kothamalli hitting one’s senses
and alerting all the olfactory nerves. For these leaves to continue to
be a part of our cuisines it is important that their prices hit terra
firma rather than floating among the summer clouds.
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