Many years later, as he faced a supermarket refrigerator stacked with ready-to-eat/cook, this writer was to remember that distant afternoon when his mother took him to buy a wet grinder for the household.
My apologies to Colonel Aurelanio Beundia and his creator, but that was exactly what happened.
I must have been around six or seven at that time. A new factory and showroom had opened in the neighbourhood. I remember the name as “Steelex Corporation”, but it could well have been something else. The mosaic on the floor of the showroom was new and shiny. The salesman smiled expectantly as my mother, one more person, and I stepped into the showroom.
He took us around and I guess we must have chosen one that fit our budget and the requirement. It may well have been a revolutionary step for the household.
For most south Indians, rice batter is a critical ingredient for a smooth daily life. Households make it once or twice a week, store it, and cook idli or dosa for breakfast or dinner. So did we. But before we bought a wet grinder, mother – or the household help – would use a large mortar and a pestle to grind soaked rice grains and urad dal manually.
The other option was to take the raw material – soaked rice grain and urad dal – to the community rice mill where it would get processed along with several others’ batter. I don’t know why we did not do that, but I suppose we had notions of hygiene (or may be notions of caste purity?). Batter was wet, unlike the wheat and rice flour for which we used the same community mill regularly. The large mortar is still at home, too heavy to be shifted or discarded.
The wet grinder may have felt liberating at that time. Once every few days, mother would make copious amounts of batter with it and fill two tubs to the brim. If my memory serves me right, this would be a little less than 20 litres of thick batter. Just before cooking, some water would be added to dilute it.
The wet grinder was immobile, and it occupied a designated space. One also had to scoop out the batter with a large spoon or with bare hands. Cleaning it after use was also a process. This would take several hours – may be three or four. As mother grew older, it would be my job to lift the heavy grinding stone from the stand and place it gently into the large container and put it back once the job was done. This was a huge improvement over the manual process, but it was still backbreaking and time-consuming labour for the women in the household.
But we have progressed from there.
As the economy grew, families became nuclear. Fewer people needed to make litres of batter at one go. Cities grew bigger, homes smaller, women had lesser time. The tilt-grinder emerged as a product that would replace the enormous wet-grinder as the enabler of south Indian idli-dosa breakfasts.
The tilt-grinder, which continues to be widely in use today, is a smaller device with two grindstones instead of one. It mixes much lesser than ten liters at a time and can be tilted, so that the homemaker can pour out the batter into another bowl without having to scoop it up. The metal mortar bucket can also be detached and cleaned in the sink. Making batter at home became much more convenient. We still have one at home, neatly packed and kept aside.
In many cities, supermarkets replaced specialised community rice mills and provided packed batter to customers, both by delivery and takeaway. In some areas of Mumbai, rice batter delivery is a regular affair; some are on subscription models, like milk delivery.
However, for many of us who don’t live in a catchment area that is large enough for a localized and regular supplier, it was the scaled-up production and widespread availability of branded idli and dosa batter providers such as iD that really changed things for freshly cooked south Indian breakfasts. There are quite a few local brands in Kerala, Tamil Nadu and the Persian Gulf that compete with iD. We haven’t used our grinder ever since the supply of branded batter became convenient; my parents and siblings haven’t either.
The industrialised ready-to-cook batter industry has not only saved women time and labour, but also removed the planning required. One can have as much as one wants at short notice. With ten-minute delivery becoming a norm, even the effort of going to the store has been eliminated provided you’re living in a locality served by these delivery apps.
Purists may say that the industrialised production has standardized taste and texture and killed customisation. Then there are those who argue that the old, laborious way of making food is an act of love. However I think this romanticisation of labour is a way of justifying feudalist and patriarchal practices. Industrialisation of food production reduces overall costs, democratises access to food, reduces hunger and generally improves the health and economic productivity of a population, though we are yet to see if rice batter falls into the same category as food grain such as wheat, rice, millet and pulses.
The biggest argument against branded batter is the heavy usage of single-use plastic. A pack of batter may make around 12 dosas or 15 idlis, and consumes around 20 grams of single-use plastic. There must be a way to reduce the environmental impact of this plastic – recycling and reuse alone won’t cut it.
But as they say, change is constant. As climate consciousness grows and we start acting on curbing our own consumerist behaviour, we will have devise means on how we can make present-day conveniences more sustainable and equitable.
Perhaps community food production – the good old local mills – are again the answer. Maybe we could look at community housing models which mandate community food production centers instead of swimming pools and fancy golf courses. One can have hygienic, coin or app operated wet grinders, flour machinery, and other household automation appliances such as washing machines, dishwashers, and dryers. We could also eliminate the need for household help – and provide, instead, dignified employment to former household workers. The next iDs and MTRs must emerge out of the labour class.
One hopes.
Can one trace the journey of the production of idli-dosa batter as a surrogate for rise in women’s employment? In his book “23 Things They Don’t Tell You about Capitalism” the economist and Cambridge professor Ha-Joon Chang argues that the washing machine did more to change the world than the internet. Advances in home automation – such as the washing machine for one thing – liberated women from household chores and gave them free time to pursue educational and economic advancement.
Here is a part of his argument:
“I was not trying to dismiss the importance of the internet revolution but I think its importance has been exaggerated partly because people who write about these things are usually middle-aged men who have never used a washing machine,” he replies. “It’s human nature to think that the changes you are living through are the most momentous, but you need to put these things into perspective. I brought up the washing machine to highlight the fact that even the humblest thing can have huge consequences. The washing machine, piped gas, running water and all these mundane household technologies enabled women to enter the labour market, which then meant that they had fewer children, had them later, invested more in each of them, especially female children. That changed their bargaining positions within the household and in wider society, giving women votes and endless changes. It has transformed the way we live.”
Professor Chang is not alone in his washing machine theory. Hans Rosling’s talk at a TED event is insightful and puts things in perspective. You may have seen it before – this video is popular and continues to be circulated many years after it was taken. As you can see – you must – the argument is persuasive.
In a recent conversation on LinkedIn, the topic of Bajaj M80 came up. The two-wheeler was ubiquitous in the countryside in the 1990s carrying everything from hay to live goats. We used to call it “meen80” because it was the favoured vehicle to transport fish (meen in Malayalam) from the harbours to the markets. A mid-sized plastic carton would fit easily in the rear seat and it could be filled with ice. Fishmongers could zip in and out of traffic and on the narrow roads in coastal towns.
If you haven’t seen it, here is a video.
You wonder if the Bajaj M80, a humble little two-wheeler and looks quite ugly was way more transformational than many hyped products, such as the Ola electric bike. Anecdotally, it did help low-income entrepreneurs a great deal, especially in cases where the produce did not need a three or four-wheeler. It was inexpensive, easy to ride and maintain and had a torque disproportionate to its size and price.
Just like branded idli-dosa batter, it deserves a deeper study. In our hype-driven world where we look at Teslas, the Ubers and Zomatos because big money is also looking at them, these are these little innovations, too small to be noticed, but change the future quietly.
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