The Falooda Story

Falooda is a dessert typical of India. It was brought over from Persia by the Mughals. It contains fruit, syrup, ice cream, tukmaria seeds (they look a lot like tapioca when cooked), vermicelli and can also be topped with dried fruits. I was amazed by the different combinations available at this fantastic vegetarian restaurant we found right by Dadar station in Mumbai. Shubham was the name, Shubham pure vegetarian restaurant. It was full of working class Indians and had an extensive low priced menu. The dishes that delighted us the most were the chinese noodles done in every imaginable flavour, from tabasco that burnt the roof of your mouth, I know 'cos I ordered that, (by mistake!) to flavourful fried noodles laced with al dente slivers of spring onions. I've never been a fan of noodles, or chinese food at all, but was converted straight away upon tasting this particular dish from the plate my eating companion, Luz. As I couldn't eat the plate I had ordered, the Szechuan noodles, how was I to know that they would be so spicy? I also dipped my fork into Sandra's plate. She had ordered Hakku Noodles, delicious, with lots of fresh vegetables and garlic!

Getting back to the falooda. I think it reminds me of my first shopping experience in a typical Punjabi village in Pakistan. I was nine the first time I was taken over to be shown to my relatives there, I was the first born in the UK. Nearly a year after mother joined my father in Manchester in the United Kingdom. They had been apart for eight years which meant the age gap between the first five daughters and me, number six, made me the eldest of the second "batch". Anyway I was a bit of a celebrity. So we went over just before my tenth birthday. Just my mother and I. My cousin Seema was getting married so I had my first taste of a typical, old fashioned Punjabi wedding. Back then they did it the authentic way. A dholaki - typical Punjabi drum was brought over and the ladies of the house spent three nights singing the traditional wedding songs. My mother was still relaxed in those days and joined in the fun. I was allowed to stay up late and take part in all this. In the UK we were sent to bed at 8pm every day as we had to sleep a mandatory twelve hours on school nights! They even had a "Ghadoli" ceremony, where my mother had to fill a pot with water from the well and carry it on her head. I have fantastic memories of that wedding.

A big fuss was made over me for being the little "English Madam", yes, that was what they called me. I did a lot of ridiculous things then. I wore long dresses and carried a parasol to protect me from the sun - yeah, don't ask! Or the time I insisited that I wanted to ride my grandmother's neighbour's donkey. How did I know that wasn't the done thing? We had donkey rides at Blackpool beach, didn't we?.

So at that time of being in Pakistan and being part of my cousin's wedding, my birthday came up. We had gone over there during the school holidays but stayed for over three months, being a September baby meant that my tenth birthday came up while I was there. A great fuss was being made of the "English Madam", so I was taken on a shopping trip to the market in Kharian. Big treat. Now coming from a huge family of eight sisters and one brother, I was not accustomed to being the centre of attention. So this was an unforgettable holiday. My "mausi", that means mum's sister, my aunt wanted to give me a new suit for my upcoming birthday party. And my eldest sister, that's daughter number one, Baji Nazir, also wanted to get me something. So off we went to the market. Those markets are very busy. It's like crazy Christmas shoppers doing their last-minute shopping but all the time. The roads are very narrow but people manage to get all sorts of vehicles in there and the "tongas", horse drawn carts, jostle for space with cars and people. A bit scary if you have only ever been down to Manchester's Arndale Centre!

There I am nearly ten, being taken for my birthday shopping, feeling very special, and after all that shopping, my sister asked me if I wanted a Falooda. A what? I asked, as I had never heard of such a thing. So we stopped in front of a road side stall with a big fridge-freezer like contraption and my sister asked for it. It's quite a ritual watching as the man made up the falooda. He scooped out some "kulfi" - an Indian version of ice cream - he added the tukmaria seeds and some noodles with milk and topped it off with "Rooh Afza" rose syrup. Wow!!!!

Twenty years later my friend, Khalid, took me to Pakistani restaurant in Southall, Giftos Lahore Restaurant and he ordered us some falooda. I hadn't eaten it since I was a child. It was fantastic redicovering this amazing dessert. It's not for the calorie conscious as it packs a sweet punch but it's so tasty you can forgive yourself the occasional treat.

My last three visits to India have had there falooda moments but I won't forget the one I had in Shubham's on my last visit in December 2010. THAT was spectacular:

-base of glass covered with mango puree

-topped with ice cream

-then a layer of noodles in milk

-next layer of tukmaria seeda

-rose syrup

-more ice cream

-topping of crystallised dried fruits

yummmmm!!!!!!!!!!