The One Who Swallows the Laddoos

When you were a kid, did you have a nickname just because you loved a snack?

I had one. Unda Munungi. The One who Swallows the Laddoos.

The sweet rice Laddoos. The Ariyunda.

During Onam and Christmas vacations, we used to go to our paternal home. After travelling in a jeep and two buses with one week’s luggage, we had to walk a long way through the rice fields.

A narrow canal would flow on our right with clear water and tiny fish.

My Grandmother’s Ariyundas added a touch of joy to Onams and Christmases at home, along with my uncle’s tape recorder, his collection of 90’s film songs, and books from my Grandfather’s primary school.

Her recipe for Ariyundas was deceptively simple, yet the taste was a treasure.

The rice, grown in the fields we walked through, was harvested and roasted in an iron pot until it reached the perfect shade of golden brown.

She would cool the roasted rice on a steel plate, her hands moving with the grace of years of practice. The rice was then transferred to an ural, a traditional stone grinder, combined with rich, dark jaggery. Using an ulakka, a wooden pestle, she crushed the mixture finely.

Her rhythmic movements produced a fragrant powder. Freshly grated coconut and a pinch of salt were added, and the mixture was shaped into perfect little balls, each one a bite of bliss.

To get more Ariyundas, I would eat quickly as if I were swallowing, hence the name Unda Munungi.

The songs that played in the background, the scent of roasted rice and jaggery, and the sight of my grandmother’s hands expertly shaping the Ariyundas; all these are etched into my memory.

I remember the journey, the fields, the canal, and most of all, the sweet richness of the Ariyundas.