In the narrow lane leading to the famous Behari ji temple in Vrindavan last week, we were jostling with people, bulls locking horns and rickshaws, when we stopped short. A deeply menacing posse of monkeys was advancing towards us, eyes trained on our bags. “You’re wearing your glasses on your head…” said a passerby by way of helpful explanation, “that’s something they just can’t resist!” We ducked into the nearest shop that serendipitously turned out to sell lassi, the delicious yoghurt drink I can never resist. Interestingly, the lassi here was being churned by a locally-made blender that took seconds to do the job. It looked like the traditional lassi whisk — a long cylinder with a flat, squat blade on one end, which one briskly twirls inside a tall jar. However, this had been combined with a motor of some sort here, and judging from the efficiency with which the man behind the counter was producing tall glasses of the stuff, it worked rather well.
There was a long queue of lassi lovers, in spite of it being one of the coldest days of the year. Every time an order for lassi was called, the lassi-maker would carefully measure out the yoghurt and sugar in a steel jar and immerse the mixer in it. His own effort was so minimal that he actually had the time to look up and notice my interest. “Isn’t it great?” he said, showing me the novel whisk. I agreed, and asked where he’d bought it from. “It is custom made,” he said, “almost all us lassi-makers here use it, but you can’t buy this machine in any shop. There are a couple of local electricians who put it together on order!” It turned out that the motor used was that of a ceiling fan. Did he know who invented it, I asked? The man shook his head: “No, but he must be a genius! This is such a boon... Not only is making lassi by hand a huge chore, it takes much longer. And when you think of how much lassi we make in a day, the convenience is unparalleled!” Just then a customer ordered a salted lassi. The lassi-maker just transferred the whisk to a smaller jar, threw in salt and whisked…
“Hah!” We heard someone snort in derision. It turned out to be the lassi-maker’s old father. “This isn’t real lassi!” he said to me, “it’s not churned by hand, and these modern contrivances don’t really impress me…” Further, he said, “real” lassi only had buffalo milk curd, sweetener (sugar) and some water. Salt, he said, was as much as an anathema as low-fat curd. We stood inside the shop, drinking lassi with the drone of the lassi machine in the background. “I’ve to admit, this machine is quite efficient. But when I was young, I always churned lassi the old fashioned way, using a wooden whisk in an earthenware jar. These machines can’t ever replicate that flavour!” he said.
I sat on a table with my earthenware glass of bliss and couldn’t help noticing that while the old man was built like a wrestler with broad shoulders and bulging biceps, his son, who let his beloved lassi machine do all the hard work while he chatted up customers, was already running to fat. Clearly, between the old man’s blood, sweat and tears credo and the son’s volumes, convenience and efficiency mantra, the son had the better bottom line… in more ways than one!
