Amritsari Kulcha

http://www.natgeotraveller.in/you-cant-just-taste-the-amritsari-kulcha-you-have-to-hear-it/

Multani Dhanda

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Harmandar Sahib: Gur Ram Das rakho sarnaee

Hum Avagun Bharae Ek Gun Nahee Amrit Shaad Bikhai Bikh Khaee ||
I am overflowing with negativity; I have no personal value and self-esteem and I keep drowning myself in poisonous thoughts and actions.

Maya Moh Bharam Pai Bhoolae Sut Dhara Sio Preet Lagaee ||
I am attached to materialism and delusion; I am clinging to my children and spouse.

Ik utam Panth Sunio Gur Sangat Tehey Milanth Jam Tras Mittaee ||
I have come to know the most exalted Path of all, is the conscious dialogue between seekers of the Truth, where those seeking to awaken inner light gather. In this company may I remove 
my fear of death.

Ik Ardas Bhaat Keerat Kee, Gur Ram Das Rakho Sarnaee ||4||58||

Keerat the poet offers this one prayer: 

O Guru Ram Das, Save me! Take me into Your Sanctuary! ||4||58||

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eMkIwRlmEco


This shabad or hymn is from the Bhaat Baani or verses of bards (www.sikhiwiki.org/index.php/Bhatts). Some compositions from the Bani are recited every morning at Harmandar Sahib and are known as Swaiye. The term originated from a popular form of poetry used by the Bhaats called 'Swaiya Chhand', which gave their verses a very distinctive musical style (www.discoversikhism.com/sikhs/bhatts_bards). 
Also called Bhaattan de Swaiye, these are recited in turn by a group of sevadars after the arrival of the Guru Granth Sahib to the sanctum sanctorum, and whilst the holy granth is being adorned with poshak or rumalla (covers) in preparation for prakash or opening of the granth for the daily hukumnama. 
Hukumnama  originates from two Persian words hukum, meaning command or order, and namah, meaning letter. In the Sikh tradition, it is now used to refer to the first shabad read during prakash and is considered the guru's order for the day.  
The one accompanying this photo essay has been composed by Bhaat Keerat. It's the last Swaiya and is recited in chorus, the congregation also joining in. 

Amritsar with Chef Vikas Khanna

It’s not everyday that a Michelin-starred restaurant chef takes you on a food trail. So when an opportunity like that comes along what do you do? Quite simply, grab it and grub around. That’s what I did last week along with a motley lot.

The chef in question was Vikas Khanna, the occasion was the launch of his new book Amritsar: Flavours of the Golden City (Roli Books), and the venue, quite appropriately, was his hometown and the food capital of Punjab: Amritsar.

The book is not merely a recipe guide but an ode to his beloved city and the people who shaped who he is today. A celebrity chef, the face of India in New York where he’s the executive chef at Junoon, a popular television host/guest/judge, cookbook(s) writer, documentary film-maker… Vikas Khanna dons many a hat and does so with utmost ease. He resides in America but wears Made in India on his sleeve. A proud Punjabi, he’s as much at home in Manhattan as he is on the streets he took us to, happily posing with whoever came by for a photo-op, praising nondescript cooks for their excellent skills, generously hugging dhaba-owners he had known since childhood and making them swell with pride on being credited for being a part of his evolution. 

Winsome, self-deprecating and modest to a fault, he's almost unbelievable. These are qualities that have endeared him to the masses giving him near-rockstar status. The cynic journo in me felt he skillfully plays to the gallery; perhaps an art he had mastered like his art of cooking. That aside, there's no taking away his accomplishments. In a world of 'pop-up' celebrities he stands among the achievers. Take a bow Vikas Khanna, you have walked the miles and there are many more to go.   

STOP PRESS: Oct 1, 2014: 

"Junoon is graced with FOURTH Michelin star in a row. A huge thank you to all of YOU and big congrats to the entire devoted team of Junoon who worked diligently for this honor."

 – www.facebook.com/VikasKhannaGroup

Also see: amritsar food trail

Amritsar food trail

Clockwise from top left: Emblematically Amritsar... milkman with valtohi or brass milk-can; jalebi at Katra Ahluwalia;the authentic Amritsari kulcha; gulab jamun at Sharma Sweet Shop off Lawrence Road;Rana's fruit cream stall at Lohgarh Road; just-can't-be-missed kesar lassi at Ahuja Milk Bhandar in Dhab Khatikan; batter-coated Amritsari fried fish; peethi-poori at Kanha Sweets on Lawrence Road; and aloo tikki

There’s a popular Punjabi idiom: Tthid naa payayieen rotian te sabay gallan khotiyaan… If there’s no food in the stomach, everything looks fake. Somehow in Amritsar nothing ever looks fake; there’s always something in the stomach here! 

Amritsar is a city where food is passion. Who would know it better than local boy chef Vikas Khanna. ”If you ask anyone in Amritsar, ‘Kithon aa rahe ho… where are you coming from?’ chances are the person will say, ‘Main roti kha ke aa rehan haan…I’ve just had lunch and come’. For us Ambarsaris food reigns supreme,” he says in a matter of fact way as we begin the food trail organised as part of the launch of his new book, Amritsar: Flavours of a Golden City. Later, amiable Balraj Kang, District Tourist Officer, gives us his take on his city. “Adha Amritsar khaan vich mast rehnda hai, adha pakaan vich… half the city is busy in eating the other half in cooking.” 

In a city like that how could we stay away from food for too long. Let’s get on to the tastes we savoured at spots that were the chef’s personal picks. Most were established names, some dating back almost 90 years. Recipes from some of these eateries feature in his book too. 

Our first stop was for an appetizing breakfast consisting of peethi-poori, chhole, aloo launji, gur kara and lassi. The pooris were the piece de resistance. Mini footballs these, their size made most of us feel we wouldn’t go beyond one. But one bite and we couldn’t stop at one. Crisp and flavourful these looked deceptively oil-free! Of the accompaniments, the aloo launji was the tangy surprise. The sweetness of sugar had been blended delightfully with the sourness of tamarind to create this wonderful potato curry worthy of repeats.       

Here’s where:

Kanha Sweets, Lawrence Road

Taste-o-meter: 9/10

The chef had warned us to keep space for his favourite flat gulab jamun available next door. The lot of us arrived at the hole in the wall to be met by Sharmaji, who was busy stirring milk in his gigantic kadhai. The chef presented him with his new book, showering praises on his fare. Cameras buzzed and questions flew but Sharmaji remained unmoved by all the attention; his focus was purely on the milk. To which chef Khanna said, “This is passion! At this moment the man does not care who we are. His only concern is the milk which needs his top priority. A newbie chef would have rushed for a photo-op with me, but not him. He is totally involved. And that’s the first lesson for success in any profession.” 
Here’s where: 
Sharma Sweet House, Off Lawrence Road

Taste-o-meter: 7.5/10

Post the morning food session we proceeded for a heritage walk. Having burnt a few calories and sweated suitably under a blazing noon sun we were ready for another tryst with taste. It was time for lassi at one of the most popular places in town. Looking at the size of the glass, like most others in the group, I asked for the quantity to be reduced to one-third. No sooner than had we gulped it down that we were asking for refills. It was the best I had ever had. The kesar lassi gets my top vote. I tasted the masala paneer too, and relished its melt-in the-mouth texture. I got some packed for home and blissfully it survived the heat and dust.  

Here’s where:

Ahuja Milk Bhandar, Dhab Khatikan

Taste-o-meter: 9/10

This is one place our group missed visiting. But it should definitely be on the list of anyone coming into Amritsar. Maqbool Road’s kulcha-wala Sardarji is a legend and his stuffed kulcha is truly “all-India fames”, as his board once said before it was corrected to “Famous”!  Now there is no board, I hear. He ain’t in need of any. The Sardarji consistently gets his kulcha right and is known to shut shop, a true-blue roadside eatery, as soon as his kneaded flour gets over, which could be as soon as 3 pm. So…

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The test of a perfect kulcha lies in its crackle: once it’s out of the tandoor and on to your plate (glazed with a tempting dollop of butter) all you need to do is hold it in your hand and lightly crush it. If it gives a crackling sound you’ve got an ace, if not, another address needs to be tried. In flavour it should be flaky, crisp and moist. Besides the dough mix and the low-fire  tandoor that gives it its distinct flavour, it’s also the gheou (ghee) that does the trick. Nothing succeeds like ghee and it’s not for nothing they say in these parts of the country: Sau daaroo tey ek gheou... Despite a hundred medicines, nothing can match the value of desi ghee. 

Here’s where:

Kulchawala, Maqbool Road

Taste-o-meter: 9.5/10
* I will also recommend the stuffed kulcha served at Holiday Inn, Amritsar (www.ihg.com), where I stayed. It was a winner in all respects. Once I had tasted it, everything else on the buffet ceased to exist.   

Our evening raid began on a snacky note with papdi-chat, aloo-tikki, bhel etc. The place was the popular Brijwasi Chat on Cooper Road. I found the stuff here below par, the aloo tikki being the only redeeming item. This joint gets my thumbs down.

Soon it was time for some kukad-shukad, meat te machhi. Though locals have a lot of personal favourites for tandoori chicken, keema naan and Amritsari fish, these neighbours are popular spots.   

Here’s where (on Majitha Road):  

Beera Chicken House

Taste-o-meter: 8/10

Makhan Fish

Taste-o-meter: 7.5/10

Prepared in a wooden balti 

We had eaten, actually seen, enough fare for a day. By the time we reached the fruit  cream stalls it was around 10 pm and we were quite satiated. The genial Balraj Singh insisted on us trying out this “different stuff”. How different  could good ol’ fruit cream be? Oh! It surely was. Another one-of-its-kind of Amritsar. It was not the fruit cream I had grown up eating at the Army messes. Nor was it the kind Grandpa liked Granny to make when he had his buddies over. It was, as Balraj ji said, “different”. And delicious. A nutty fruit cream, stuffed as it was with nuts, cashews most, and no banana (as most glow-signs in the vicinity mentioned), it was delicately sweet, lightly creamy and had a crunch in every bite. It was prepared the way the old-style balti-ice cream was, and magically, despite it being whisked pure cream, one never felt that unsavoury hint of milk-fat sticking to the palate. 
Here’s where:

Rana (fruit cream), Lohgarh Road

Taste-o-meter: 9.5/10

The trip was on an invitation by Roli Books and Punjab Heritage & Tourism Promotion Board 

Hotel Review: Park Plaza, Zirakpur

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India Today Travel Plus, Sept 2014

                                                                                  
Other reads at:  http://indiatoday.intoday.in/author/Brinda-Suri/1.html

ANANDPUR SAHIB, Punjab

  It's a city robed in white. It looks pristine and true to its name, blissful

ANANDPUR SAHIB torpidly sprawls in the foothills of the Shivalik range. The green of the indigenous kikar provides a painterly contrast to the white structures and the almost-always clear blue skies. In between this mosaic, the Sutlej River meanders through, en route her long journey to reunite with the great Indus.

It was here, over 300 years ago, when Guru Gobind Singh, the tenth guru of the Sikhs, founded the Khalsa brotherhood. Ever since, the town has been an important pilgrimage site for the community, with Takht Sri Kesgarh Sahib—one of the five temporal seats of the Sikhs—and over 40 gurudwaras drawing the faithful. On festivals, especially Holla Mohalla (March) and Vaisakhi (April), when the turnout is colossal, its labyrinthine lanes become a riot of colour and exuberance fills the air. It’s a quiet, bucolic town offering uncharted trails for hiking, over 150 bird calls to identify, a non-touristy farm life to experience, voluntary service at the langar, and indulgence in simple pleasures of picnicking by the crystal clear waters of the canals.

In recent times the Virast-e-Khalsa, a museum dedicated to Sikh history has become the town’s big draw. In a landscape replete with white arches and domes, its stainless steel-sandstone architecture and the dramatic silhouette it forms, evoke awe. Open through the week except Monday, the audio-visual presentations are remarkable and a detailed tour takes about two hours on agile feet. Entry is free.

Around town, the Shaktipeeth Naina Devi in Bilaspur, Himachal Pradesh, is an enjoyable 22 km uphill drive. There’s also the option of reaching it by cable car and getting a chance to admire the panoramic view of the undulating terrain with terraced fields and exclaiming at the spectacular cobalt blue water of the Gobind Sagar reservoir as it steadily comes into sight from amidst the folds of the hills. This truly is a sight to behold.

The other magnet, 33 km away, is the “New temple of resurgent India”, the Bhakra Dam. One of the highest straight gravity dams in the world, this engineering marvel stirs a sense of pride while the scenic beauty around it is worth capturing on the lens. Though photography is not permitted, this will remain an everlasting frame for the mind’s eye as will the blissful white of Anandpur Sahib.

Getting there: 

Road: Connected with Delhi (320 appx km/ 6 hrs) via NH 1 and Chandigarh (85 km/1.5 hrs) via NH 21. Route: Delhi-Ambala-Banur-Kharar-Ropar-Anandpur Sahib 

 Train: Una Janshatabdi (12057) via Chandigarh. Departure New Delhi 14:35, Arrival 20:58           Himachal Express (14553) via Ropar. Departure Delhi 22:15 Arrival 06:11    

 Stay: Kisan Haveli (01887-232650/670)

 Shop: Knick-knacks from the various colourful stalls around the gurdwaras 

Published April 2014, India Today Travel Plus 

Other reads at: http://indiatoday.intoday.in/author/Brinda-Suri/1.html

Across Boundaries

The Moorish Mosque in Kapurthala, Punjab
Built by French architect Monsieur M Manteauxis, it is a replica of the Qutabiya Mosque of Marakesh, Morocco. Commissioned by Maharaja Jagatjit Singh, the last ruler of Kapurthala, the mosque took 13 years to complete (1917 to 1930).



The photo here shows the main prayer hall that has arched doorways, a subtle splash of colour and geometrical pattern relief on walls


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Edging on Sentiment

Khushwant Singh’s novel acts as a point of reference to undertake a trip to search and seek ‘roots’


"The summer of 1947 was not like other Indian summers. Even the weather had a different feel in India that year. It was hotter than usual, and drier and dustier. And the summer was longer. No one could remember when the monsoon had been so late. For weeks, sparse clouds cast only shadows. There was no rain..." (Train to Pakistan, Khushwant Singh)
It is the summer of 2007 and as I’m driving towards Wagah, in the distance grey clouds are swelling. An early monsoon has been predicted. Much though I enjoy the rain, the prospect of the skies opening up during my short visit to the international border isn’t such a welcoming idea. On the flip side I wryly think this might deter some among the hundreds who arrive here daily to witness the lowering of the flags ceremony.
I couldn’t have been more mistaken. By the time I reached, the stands were packed to capacity, the evening retreat yet a while away. Smart soldiers of the BSF, tall and lean, strictly manned the area. I took my place among the jostling crowd. From my position I could view the Pakistan territory clearly. People were filling in there too to watch the ceremony. While driving to Wagah, in Punjab’s Amritsar district, tales of trauma and tribulation heard during family gatherings umpteen times were racing though my mind. I had then successfully managed to quell the surge of emotions. Now, they seemed on the brink of explosion.
Beside me sat a silver-grey haired, fair complexioned gentleman. He had West-Asian looks and I took him to be a tourist. I was lost in thoughts when he surprised me by asking in chaste Punjabi, “Where does your family hail from?”
“Rawalpindi,” I said almost instantly, as if it were an obvious question in these environs. “That’s a distance away. Mine is from Lahore, mere miles from where we sit today,” he said.
“You’ve come to seek it seems,” he continued.
“Yes,” I said.
“Me too. I’m Ardeshir,” he smilingly introduced himself. My questioning glance must have said it all. “Yes, there used to be a number of Parsi families settled in Punjab, especially Lahore and Amritsar,” he said in response. I nodded, recalling Bapsi Sidhwa’s Ice Candy Man, which spoke about one such family. “The Partition partitioned everyone. It broke homes, displaced people. It saw no caste, age or gender,” he commented softly.


Split Wide Open
“The bullet is neutral. It hits the good and the bad, the important and the insignificant, without distinction.” (Character Iqbal’s musings in Train to Pakistan)
Ardeshir was the first time I had heard a non-Punjabi speak about a torment that had affected millions. Nevertheless the pain he had suffered, the poignancy in his voice had similar tenor. Partition had regrouped people. It was still grouping people. Both of us were here to peep into a territory where we had once belonged; both had a yearning to cross over to a land where some dead roots still breathed. He was born there; I had heard tales from those born across. Yet our emotions fused at a certain plane.
I wondered about the many like us who were here at Wagah to get a glimpse of a bygone land. How many of us were searching for our own Mano Majra, the fictional village in Train to Pakistan, a microcosm for any town, city during those days, which reflected the story of societal torture—the fallout of political misendeavours.
Mano Majra was modelled on Hadali (now in Pakistan) where Khushwant grew up. It is shown as an idyllic village where all is laidback and calm. Where only two trains cross daily, their morning and evening arrival signalling the start and end of village activity. That is till 1947 arrives and ghost trains full of Sikh corpses begin docking. The village becomes a battlefield of conflicting loyalties. That’s when religious identities come into focus wearing a treacherous garb.
A slim novel, with a simple plot but immensely multi-layered, it’s through his few characters—like Hukum Chand, the regional magistrate; foreign-educated Iqbal; Juggut Singh or Jugga, the village gangster; and his Muslim love Nooran, for whom he makes the ultimate sacrifice, in the act redeeming himself—that Khushwant fluently brings out the individual and human element of a social suffering, and pertinently asks the questions of right versus wrong or how bad is good and how good is bad, without touching upon the politics involved.


Country Cousins
The train got closer and closer… The man (Jugga) was still stretched on the rope…He slashed away at it in frantic haste…Somebody fired another shot…The man’s body slid off the rope but he clung to it with his hands and chin… The rope had been cut in shreds. Only a thin tough strand remained. He went at it with the knife and then with his teeth. The engine was almost on him. There was a volley of shots. The man shivered and collapsed. The rope snapped in the centre as he fell. The train went over him, and went on to Pakistan. (Closing lines of Train to Pakistan)
Wagah today is about the point of division of two nations, the Radcliff line, and whipping of jingoistic passions at the lowering of flags ceremony. I was a witness to it that evening. Patriotic songs blared. People hummed. Some sang along. Others whistled. Children squealed. As sunset approached, soldiers on both sides carried out their regular drill, showing faux animosity towards each other, much to the delight of the crowd on either end who excitedly applauded the theatrics.
Clank! The gates shut and the national anthem was played. The crowd sang along. Many wept. Profusely. Ardeshir was an unashamed pool of tears. I wasn’t too far behind. I prayed for rain. It didn’t oblige.
As the ceremony got over there was a surge for the gate. On both sides the crowd gaped at each other. Two people, two countries, once again one emotion. I felt like going forward too. But somehow it seemed as if we were two people caged in our lands. The iron grille gates accentuating our fetters. I turned away.
Ardeshir was waiting to say goodbye. All these years he hadn’t been able to make his pilgrimage across the border. In the dusk of his life, I felt, he had settled for the second best. We nodded farewell. Words felt too choked.
There is something about the call of roots. Only those displaced shall know. Ask author Alex Hailey. The quest to get acquainted with the land he belonged, lead him to tracing his origin back two centuries, the mission resulting in his brilliant magnum opus ‘Roots’.
I’ve tried going across a couple of times, the plans always getting scuttled. Each time I fill in the visa form, in the ‘mode of transport’ section I write ‘On foot’, and get an unclassified thrill in doing so. My pilgrimage too has yet to take off. Maybe next time I will book myself a ticket on the train to Pakistan. Hopefully then and in the times to come the two nations would not need a Jugga to do a heroic deed of seeing the train cross the border peacefully.

Factfile
Air: Amritsar is linked by air to Delhi
Rail: Well-connected by rail with all metros and cities through Ambala cantt junction. From Delhi the Amritsar Shatabdi is a preferred mode.
Road: Distances from the city: Jammu 216 km, Chandigarh 235 km, Delhi 435 km. Luxury coaches are available from all these destinations.
Wagah border: 29 km from town. Local cabs do the up-down from town frequently.

Published in Jetwings

Billa and jaggery highways

The cauldron was gigantic. It was large enough to cook a spread to feed a village. Two men constantly stirred the content inside it, which boiled frantically letting off thick, sticky vapour. A posse of men in all sizes—from children to granddads—were busy in various related activity. The content continued to bubble and occasionally someone or the other would come by to take a look at it and announce a progress report.

After nearly two hours, the men in charge of stirring put their ladles aside. As if one cue, most business around came to a standstill. Everyone began crowding around the cauldron. Some watched, some participated as the vessel was hurriedly lifted off the fire and taken to a platform that held a large wooden tray. Within moments, a glowing golden-brown viscous liquid was speedily eased onto the tray. Almost immediately a young boy swung into action, giving the molten a vigorous final whisk to smoothen out any traces of unevenness. Following that it was allowed to firm up for a few minutes.

It was still hot and semi-solid when spoonfuls were scooped from the tray and placed on a dry slab. One of the men picked up a bite size and felt it in his hand before popping it in his mouth. He gave a thumbs-up sign. Smiles appeared on faces all around. Sweetly-delicious, melt-in-the-mouth gur or jaggery had just passed the perfection test. It was ready to be laid on sale. For the men, it was time to get back to work to prepare some more gur.

Drive down the highways of Punjab in winters and the picturesque pastoral vista gets an added aromatic dimension. Alongside canary-hued carpets of mustard fields, little straw sheds prop up, beneath which bucolic pace picks up a new velocity, as day-long a clique of skilled hands get busy in preparing that sweet something called gur. Its sharp, overpowering whiff fills the air and that’s enough to lift the foot off the accelerator and push the brake pedal. You can’t manoeuvre past fresh-off-the-fire gur and not pick up a few kilos. It’s just not done. The numbers of vehicles lined up at these roadside vends affirm that.

Jhanjheri village, en route Fatehgarh district in Punjab, is where I turned off the ignition. The scent of gur had played its part. It remains the best advert for its makers. Half-a dozen sheds stood alongside and I was among a host of others inspecting the gur on offer. We were being handed chunks of gur merely for taste. Remember this was Punjab, the land of the large-hearted. Here they don’t believe in pint size quantities in matters of food. They relish the fact that you have relished their fare. Whether you purchase or not is another story. By the time I reached the last shed I had tasted all sort of gur—plain, semi-molten, with masala (fennel seeds and spices), with dry fruits and as shakkar, its crystalline-grainy variant. They all seemed good except one that was a little dusty in taste.

What stationed me at Billa’s stall was the fact that his gur was just a few minutes away from being removed from the fire. I preferred buying fresh stock for people back home and for the many who would drop by and demand their share. Billa was all of 19 years but had been part of the gur business ever since he was a child. He proudly informed his gur was the best for miles. “My patrons will confirm that,” he beamed. Named Shakeel Mohammed by his parents, his friends and customers began identifying him as Billa or the cat-eyed one, a common moniker in this part of the country for anyone born with green eyes. The nickname has stuck on and “Billa’s gur” is hugely in demand in these parts of the state.

As is the tradition, his complete family is involved in gur making, which is a multi-layered process. Trucks loaded with sugarcane arrive every morning. Then begins the process of squeezing juice, which is set to boil in the cauldrons. While one group attends to the production and sales work, the backroom boys deal with leftover sugarcane which is spread out in fields to dry, to be later used as fuel to fire mud ovens that prepare gur.

Though it doesn’t look so on the face of it, jaggery units like that of Billa’s are an industry in themselves, with quite a turnover. Indulging in elementary arithmetic threw up some interesting figures. Around 5,000 kg or 50 quintal is approx the amount of sugarcane offloaded everyday at each of these sheds. About 1,000 kg juice is crushed out of the lot. As much as 100 kg is boiled at one go and it takes two hours to cook to perfection; to yield around 25 kg gur in one session which is sold at Rs 20 per kg. Nearly 10 such sessions are carried out from sunrise to sundown. This means 2,500 kg gur per day, per shed. Multiply that with a modest figure of 2,000 such sheds across the state and the amount of gur produced daily off the highways in Punjab would be a whooping 50,00,000 kg! And this is just a conservative estimate. The actual amount is anybody’s guess.

The status gur enjoys in Punjab is parallel only to Bengal where odes have been written in honour of the divinely delicious nolen/notun gur made from sap of the date palm. In Punjab the date-palm variety is unheard of and sugarcane rules the roost. Though unlike nolen gur which lends its delicate sweetness to a range of delectable mishti (sweetmeats) every winter, gur in Punjab is enjoyed in its robust form, at best finding itself in kheer (rice pudding), variety of chikki (winter snacks) or crushed and served on a roti (Indian wheat bread) with dollops of ghee. A favourite diet here is gur-channa (roasted black gram), believed to resist any season-related indisposition. Gur finds metaphoric reference in the region’s folktales and songs, and in recent years a top of the chart bhangra pop number, that had the nation swaying, was singer Malkit Singh’s version of ‘Gur nalon ishq mitha’ (Only love is sweeter than jaggery). That should explain it all.

Published in Jetwings