Making Meethe Java From Scratch

The process of making java, a cousin of vermicelli, is a tedious one. But for Priti Saxena, it is a yearly tradition that is treasured and celebrated.

Like Proust’s madeleine, the gently rustling java threads in my palm evoke nostalgia. Being married to a Bihari has allowed me first hand insight into their food and traditions: it also made counterpoint to my own upbringing and the culinary traditions of western U.P. My subconscious often compels me to showcase traditions and practices to my children as if I were the sole witness to them.

Once, someone had commented (a little derisively) that Karvachauth, celebrated primarily in western India, was a Muslim intrusion, unlike the ‘undiluted’ Hindu tradition of Teej, where the sun is worshipped. The notion of an unadulterated and consequently 'pure' culture made me angry. But I knew that culture is not an insulated tiffin; the Ganga-Jamuna doab has been both battleground and fertile plain for emergence of composite culture over centuries. My parents are kayasthas of Rohilkhand, which is around the present-day Bareilly and Shahjahanpur — a community often employed as scribes in local Mughal administration and thereby, one that flourished in the interstices of Hindu-Muslim community. This proximity to the Persian culture was also more pronounced here in comparison to eastern India, so the kayasthas here adopted practices and mannerisms like drinking wine and eating meat, which were frowned upon elsewhere.

Rakshabhandhan/rakhi falls in the month of Asadh, when the monsoon is in full force in the northern plains. In Bihar, the tradition is celebrated by making chawal ki kheer, stuffed puris made from chana dal and vegetable curries like aloo-gobhi. I make and enjoy these myself, but the festival for me is incomplete without the java simmered in milk, thickened and aromatic with crushed cardamom.

I am no Sherlock, but I do know the true origins of java can be traced to the ubiquitous vermicelli. Anoothi Vishal wrote, “There can be no boundaries and no snobbery in the world of food. We can only conjecture that the vermicelli made its way into India through trade with the Arab world that connected the west with the east for so many hundred years; as a result imbibing within its fold so many culinary treasures.”

Java, unlike vermicelli, is shorter and thicker, given that it is made by hand. In colloquial language, the process of making java is referred to as java ‘todna’. I have watched my mother making it, and going by her account, it was prevalent practice in most kayastha homes. The process of making java is initiated just after the onset of monsoon. The first step is straining the wheat flour through a fine cotton cloth, thereby producing home-sieved maida. It is then kneaded into soft dough. A small quantity is placed on the palm, while the thumb and the forefinger are used to tease the dough into thin strings, that are subsequently broken off when they reach the right length. Because of a higher wheat content, they don't clump together, unlike store-bought seviyaan.

The java is sun dried on plate, plastic sheet, or a cotton cloth, for a few days and sealed in jars or plastic bags for later use. If sealed properly and refrigerated, it can last up to a year. My mother does this every year before Rakshabandhan, so she can make meethe java on the day, and save the rest for me to take home. I have yet to find anyone else who makes it from scratch. I did try my hand at it, but I must confess, the process was too tedious for me. 

Java is special in so many ways — to me, it represents maternal love, culinary industriousness and skill, and is proof of the intermingling of distinct cultures, where they sweeten both the occasion of Rakshabandhan and Eid. While no Eid is complete without meethi seviyaan, Rakshabandhan too, needs meethe java for a full celebration.

RECIPE: MY MOTHER’S JAVA RECIPE 

Ingredients

200 g java
2 tbsp ghee
500 ml milk (preferably full fat)
100 g sugar
3 green cardamoms, crushed
Few strands of saffron soaked in 50 ml of warm milk
10 almonds, roughly crushed 
10 pistachios, roughly crushed

Method
In a kadai,  add the ghee and when slightly hot, add the java and roast. Keep aside. 
Boil the milk till it becomes slightly thick. 
Add crushed cardamom powder, and saffron strands that have been soaked in a small bowl of warm milk. 
Add in the sugar. The sweetness can be adjusted to personal preference. 
Next, add the fried java while stirring the milk. Keep stirring until the right consistency is achieved. 
Add more malai to make it richer. 
Serve topped with the crushed almonds and pista.

Priti Saxena is a historian and freelancer who is at present working as a content writer for a travel company.

Banner image: Tea For Turmeric

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