_Heatwave_ wrote:Really, I didn't know that. In fact, I've filmed in Amul (Gujarat), Lucknow Dairy & Mother Dairy in Delhi - they all had cows. Hmmm.....where are you Kanpurites getting your milk from?
Ok, so....I just watched Being Cyrus....v. interesting watch....anyone else seen it? Saif Ali has really come into his own.
Heatwave,
The farms at Amul and Brittania extract milk from cows and so do most of the brands.
The citizens, however, atleast in our city, prefer freshly "squeezed out" milk to pasteurised one or the one that is sold in packets. A typical buffalo farm is commonly known as "chatta". They are some awful places exuding some heck of pungent odour and battalions of mosquitoes and houseflies.
I am seriously considering replacing milk with supplements and other dairy products. I am sure, my digestive enzymes can't break down things of the like of Urea, artificial oxytocin hormone, "Surf"detergent (kapde chamkaye sirf ek dhulayee mein!, Arre yaar, kapde dhone hain to dho doodh mein kyo milate ho? Paani jitna milana hai milao but please not anything else!!!) and god knows what and what more. Ok, you can laugh now.
Actually, its a lot more serious than I am making it appear here. They add all these "ingredients" for a reason. Water (which is actually the milk we get) makes milk thinner so to restore its turbidity back, they add Urea and Surf. Oxytocin has a long story and a rather very ludricous one which I don't feel like writing out now. The police are cracking down with raids virtually everyday on these farms. I thought I would have a thread on this.
I am ashamed of that,honestly. This was the last time, I've told myself.)
When I was in school, a very long time ago, a gwala (milkman) used to come to our house very early every morning. My father would stand outside with his glass of tea, and watch him milk the cow - making sure, I guess, that he didn't mix water in the bucket before it was handed over to him. One morning, he was standing outside in the pale morning sun, bare-chested in his lungi, sipping his tea. God knows what the cow thought when she looked at the thatch of hair on his chest, but she brought her muzzle right up to it, and in one clean lick of her tongue removed and ate all of it. I am not making this up. He came inside the house, yelling for my mom, kind of in a state of shock. The tiny pin-pricks of blood on his chest were enough evidence of the veracity of his story. Needless to say, he never stood right in front of a cow bare-chested again.
