Of Cooking and Cowardly Writing

I'm tempted to start this post by explaining my absence so long. Its a horde of reasons. I read this line somewhere:

...you know its a good blog when you have to pause a second before giving the address to someone you already know because there is stuff in there that you do not really want to share...

So there has been more than one ocassion where I've resisted the urge to just come here and pour my heart out, and fret about all those little mean, ugly and nasty things that happened to me or rave and rant about the little sweet somethings that my life has suddenly become filled with, post marriage.

So call me a coward, if thats what it is, but I just can't get myself to spill that fervent emotion here in this space, like I have done on many an ocassion before.

But all this wrangle apart, I have been doing some good stuff on the home front. And I've tried my culinary talent, much to H's delight. One of my own, original recipes, has been published by a dear blog friend here . Inspired by that, I decided to dish out another creative yummy delight, which made us (H and I) laugh till our stomachs ached, and almost made us go hungry last night. Here is what you should not try:

Never mix mango puree with whole wheat flour and have the mistaken impression that you could possibly dole out a mango paratha. Well that just does not happen. What really happens you will waste nearly 2 juicy, tasty mangoes and half a kilo of wheat flour. But if you really want a good laugh, do something more original.

Had your share of cooking disasters? Leave them here...

Stilled

I heard there is a virus in the air which is giving half of this city a bad time! But I also think there is another of these microscopic organisms thats giving half the bloggers a "writers block". Have been reading quite a bit these days hoping I suddenly get the inspiration! And I've seen a considerable quantity of ranting.

I'm not sure what it is. And I cannot seem to make out my mood . I'm not even under one of those cribby, whiny spells. I think I've resigned to fate or something. Whoa!!thats scary...but what ever. But yes I think I'm kinda waiting for a lot of things to happen. This is a funny phase you know- this 22-25 age, where you're done or atleast almost done with education. You've got a job, but still finding your waters on the job. And you know you've got to be patient. Just stay still for a while and only then the sea won't swallow you. The fact is you know at 24 you are not really "settled" in your job. But hell you can't be settled at 24.Then you be bloody buried by 32!

Then its the love life. At this age you probably have a girl friend /boy friend whom you really love or something. But whether marriage will be a necessary fall out of that, you can never say. You're in the waiting there as well. Insecurites hover around. May be this relationship has none of the sparkle left from the college days when it first begun. May be profession takes a priority. May be distance takes a toll. May be he/she is just not the one. what do you do? Wait! I don't mean to sound like a fatalist. But really there's nothing much you could do...And if you are my pathetic single bloke, then you register on one of these matrimonial sites, and wait for Cupid's arrow to strike your heart. Its pretty much like that...Not like in college when you've got deadlines and proper yard sticks. And could smoke up or get so drunk and think it solved every possible issue that required to be addressed. At 24 you know that its not true and its terrible to get to work with a hang over. Plus there's this voice of responsibility that kinda never shuts up. So you begin doing silly things like binge on food or clothes or something.

You've got your dreams and they get bigger by the day. Well they're meant to. But you cannot go all out for them. You don't have the darned dough for it!! What do you! Bulls eye! Wait. It reminds me of those finger on lips (that sounds corny for some reason now!) sessions in primary school, when we were asked to just shut up for a few minutes. I remember even then I used to get uneasy. Silence is just not my cuppa tea, you see. And so even now, I feel like a jack in the box waiting for life to start.

Or I'm not sure if this period of inertia is like a period of thanksgiving for all that you got until now, and in preparation for the rickety rockety ride that follows. Its a cranky phase you know, like one of those arbit stops the train makes in the middle of nowhere because its not got the go signal. And I'm getting impatient and fat, munching on all those fillers!

Chennai, Navarathri and How I found Bliss...

Although the Navarathri is technically celebrated for nine days, I effectively got only two days to sort of lounge in the glory of the festivities, thanks to my ultimately screwed up daily routine, which results in my being so thankful for getting three extra minutes in bed. Anyway, since cribbing takes up a substantial part of time otherwise, I'll keep this post water tight from any leaks of my perpetual ramble.

Well yesterday and today, really makes me so happy to be here in Chennai, though ideally I would have liked to round off today with a kutcheri by the Priya Sister's. Notwithstanding that, the last two days were very fulfilling.

If you have followed my writing so far, you must know, I have an adept interest in intently overhearing conversations that do not fit me in the loop. Hence, in the exercise of my most effecient skill, I learnt that Kaali Bhari, in west mambalam had a great Durga Pooja going. No no, I am not bengali (though a very dear friend of mine thinks I speak Bengalised Tamil... :P) but I still decide to make it there. When I entered the temple precincts, the first thought that came to my mind was an understanding of the reason behind why photography is banned in many temples. The beauty of the Lord is so immense that one would never want to even take her eyes off for a moment, and to capture it in a still does no justice to the eyes or the beauty. We were there for the Aarthi. I've not seen anything of the like before, and was therefore, was even more in awe. I've seen devotees in ISCKON dance in surrender before Krishna, but there everyone is dancing to the beats of the Dholak, its a different kind. Here the priest broke in to a little dance as he offered fruit and flowers and camphor. It was a gentle dance, where I felt he really was enjoying his job. There were two percussion instruments, the names of which I do not know. One could have been a dholak and the other a big dholak. The third was a metallic instrument, somewhat like a gong. so as they played the beats, he sways - this way and that- like a leaf in a gentle breeze with the offering in his hand, and I am so sure that the Goddess would have been compelled in that atmosphere to grant any wish that the priest had in mind. At that moment I thought I felt bliss, and any more words that I write will really be empty.

If I felt part 1 of bliss yesterday, today was part 2. I think I have not felt this elated in a loooooonnnnng time. I wore my chalangai after 6 long years, and man! let me tell you, those years were really unfulfilling. The jingling of the bells is really my favourite sound in the whole world! Bharatanatyam has meant a world to me, and is very very dear. I only hope I get back on stage to do a few performances. We also did an evening temple visit to Agasthiar temple behind pondy bazzar in T.Nagar where the puja style was back to the usual tam-brahm, and special pujas were done for Goddess Saraswathi. This is the reason I love this city. None of my needs ever feel incomplete.

Truthfully, I am not competent enough to sustain an argument on the presence or absence of God. Neither is it my endeavour. I simply accept some things because I love it, irrespective of whether logic and reasoning can be awarded to it. Colour and culture will always remain my most favourite facets of life. It is a world by itself, and that's where I have my space!

Memories in Pune....

In the last few days, I have missed the city that was witness to the years of my most significant evolution. The city - which shaped me, my dreams and may be even a large part of my destiny. I entered that city, fresh from school, to kick start my legal education, and spent five long years in the city that did not seem even half as long. Pune gave me some of the best moments of my life, and I wish I could have captured them all into a capsule. But leave alone capsule, I have not even frozen those moments into the stills of optical science’s greatest contribution ever- photography!!! But I won’t brood because those moments are so vivid that I don’t really require the assistance of science to keep my spirits high. My memory space is adequate, and as of now penning this down serves the purpose.

Certain things and places are dearest to me and as an ode to all of them, here goes:

The railway station:

Being at a train station always gives me the jitters. I had to worry about whether my I was carrying my ticket, whether it was booked for the right day and date, whether I had reached the station at the right time. I verified by pulling my ticket out a million times and then put it back only to check for it again, as if mysteriously, it will disappear into platform ‘twelve and three quarters’ or a stray magic wand would have changed the date and time printed on the face of it. I also nurse fears about whether I had packed the necessary things, my books especially, if I was going on study leave and whether I will be able to enter the train with all my things, though my luggage was never out of the lines of control. And last, but not the least thanks to the sleazy men that only God knows why He really created, whether I will be able to board the train with most of dignity in place.

This was a place that brought me contrasting emotions depending upon my purpose of being there. As I was leaving for home, it was a special feeling, I looked forward to going home, where I would be the celebrated iconic figure. Self praise is one thing, but when I hear my mother bragging about the university rank I recently secured, or the moot my team recently won or the internship I had secured with a law firm, it made me feel like God Himself. Those are the times when I choose to completely concur with the theory of Aham Brahmaasmi (I am the Brahman). Not to mention the times when I return to Pune, so alone at the station, so unwelcome in the city, so uncared for, yet where I will survive and be King!

The auto wallahs deserve a special auto ratna award. They will, except for an errant few, run on the standard route and will charge the appropriate sum, unlike most of their brethren in Madras, where like a parallel to the world wrestling federation runs the biggest farce in terms of auto fares!!!

Kamala Nehru Park

This place has a fond space in my heart, as being the park where most of my attempts to shape up took place. I have run, jogged, walked and stretched in the precincts of this spacious garden, and watched the retired couples brace their lives post sixty with such hearty enthusiasm. The naariyal pani (tender coconut) seller outside became the significant provider of the only healthy food I consumed. Then were the numerous ‘chat’ shops a friend I always munched over, the kachchi dabeli stall which sold the second best kachchi dabeli in the city and the sweet little Dattatreya Temple, whose presiding deity became the answerer of most of my prayers for good marks, winning moots and ultimately having secured a good job. Then was the mithai dukaan around the corner…Am racking my brains to remember the name…was a R.M. Ghadke and sons if I remember right that sold Pedas and displayed them so well that I was mostly drooling at the pedas and most often than not gave into my desire and nullified the effect of my exercise. Soon, I discovered a little lane that turned in left so that I could avoid the fatal attraction.

Walks in lanes of Prabhat Road

I have a theory I often share. If you are bored, there are few things you can do: go for a movie/ go shopping/ eat out. But when you are bored and penniless, there is even less that you can do, and one of that is just what Kanksha and I did. We almost had the map of the bylanes of Prabhat Road by the back of our hands, walking round and round and round discussing everything under the sun. And if it had rained the trees formed a wet, green canopy above us, and the damp roads and the humid weather!!! Ah that was life….

Kaka Halwai and Chitale Bandhu Mithai Wale

Well, two sweet shops that rule the world!!! Kaka Halwai was the greatest factor for my never losing weight, and Chitale Bandhu was the reason my parents looked most forward to my home coming visits, when I would never fail to carry their favourite Bhakarwadi. If you, dear reader don’t know what I’m talking about, I would suggest that you make a visit to the city solely for the purpose, as no amount of my explanation will do the sweet-tangy-salty savoury any justice.

The numerous Rasvanthi Grahs

It essentially means juice centres and in the context of Pune, refers to the umpteen sugar cane juice centres in the city, which will amaze you with the absence of a single fly. A tall glass is simply divine, and for those who have the taste, a dash of lime and ginger provides a variant from the standard. Priced nominally at 5 Rs.- 6 Rs for a glass, and offering health and taste simultaneously, it is adequate reason why a true nationalist should start an “anti foreign cola” campaign. That brings me to:

Lakshmi Road:

Of course, the city of Pune has all the features of a modern city, with shopping malls mushrooming all over. But to pamper the true shopper in you, visit Lakshmi Road. The variety of trinkets, earrings, hair clips, bands, bangles, hand bags, chappals…You can go there almost every day, and yet not be bored and get lost in the lanes of where I discovered paradise. The splash of colour in the bed spreads and curtains on display is a sure shot cure to a bad mood swing. There is also a shop which name I don’t remember…which sells the world’s best plastics, tubs, buckets - all shapes and sizes. That’s where Kanksha and I spotted the enchanting- white with black flowered dinner set. God!!! We would have both agreed to get married to any donkey, if the dinner set came as a gift or dowry!!

The Rainy Mornings:

When class is at 7.15 a.m. and its been pouring without a break for the last 4 days, when the roads are water logged, and the leaves of the trees are dripping, when the umbrella is not sufficient shelter and when the thought of water now makes you sick, we still needed to get to class at 7.15. A cuppa chai at the canteen after the first class, or the tapri wallah over a warm smoke and conversation for my friends, and over simply conversation for me, was what woke us up after the first lecture, through which most of us continued our sleep.


The Zillion quaint eateries:

Actually, I would have to dedicate entire chapters to the zillion quaint eateries we ate at. But for the sake of brevity:

Vohuman Café(spelling mistake?)
The world’s best cheese omlet. I only managed to eat there a couple of times, because the guilt of being a Brahmin and consuming an egg created waves of high frequency disturbances in my brain. So the refrain became better that the indulge.

The Nameless Kachchi Dabeli Wallah on the corner turning of J.M.Road
Now this has a story as well. It goes that I had the debit card of a bank which only had two A.T.Ms in the entire city of Pune. The nearest was about two kilometres from my hostel. So if I ever needed money, Kanksha and I would embark on a project- to walk and walk back. Why we walked and decided not to take a bus or auto is a question I would answer in Kansha’s voice: because walking rids thighs of cellulite!! But as we talked and walked, the combination of our hunger and the inviting aroma, would beckons us to enjoy the Dabeli there. Sigh!!!memories….

Fantasy
Fantasy was the owls flocked. And the nocturnal binge in strawberry thick shake was the factor that egged on the non-alcohol-drinkers to be awake at those ungodly hours. This place is shut tight in the day time, as the owner believes in catering to the niche population of owls that did not have sclerotic vision.

German Bakery
The biggest attraction at Koregaon Park, apart from the park and Osho’s ashram German Bakery is a way of communicating to the vegetarians of the world that the cause of vegetarianism is totally worth and completely rewarding. The desserts here are worth a life time and you could also chance upon a hot doped greek lost in the figments of his imagination.

Chaitanya Dining
The place where I was exposed to the world’s best paranthas, the world’s best rajma chawal and the world’s best dal maakhni. And if I forget the Shahi Lassi I can well be convicted for a crime that may be even the President would never grant clemency for. The large glass is a challenge and a bigger one for me than resisting the melting butter on my hot Parantha that Kanksha always eyed disapprovingly.

Peppinos:
Kanksha called it Poppinos and that makes it sound more appetising than its real name. the place where I had juice of the combination of apple, guava and banana, not to forget the Naachos with cream cheese…. Am sure hungry….


Anand Bakery
Again an olden-golden bakery that sold cream rolls and other snacks that are worth a life time. The biscuits were a marvel too. Biscuits remind me of:


Shrewsbury at Kayani
Seems to be handed down to Pune from the Colonial era, the Shrewsbury biscuits are actually worth a special birth. The shop will shut at the stroke of eight.(or six?) and even if you go down on your knees pleading, there will be no mercy. I told you, it’s worth another janma.

Am sure you must be wondering why every soul in that city of bliss is not over weight. Well that’s a question even I have pondered over, rather pointlessly. Pune is like a game of trasure hunt with little secrets waiting to be discovered. A city of convenience, of absolutely no pretensions. More so a city where life is at its best or can I say best ‘est’?

Loved and Lost...

Most pleasures are foregone with the passage of time. What gives that special adrenalin rush today is replaced tomorrow. Sometimes voluntarily and sometimes involuntarily. I completely acknowledge that this is the most boring way to open an essay on the topic of pleasure. But I cannot but help sigh at those little somethings I’ve lost as time galloped past me, and all that bottled up negativity may be the cause of this poor start, which I humbly request my reader to excuse me for.

Thanks to the end of my dependency, I have blessed myself with something that in effect is more detrimental, than developmental. I even feel a pang of guilt about referring to it as a necessary evil, because it in fact is not so necessary after all. Well all this build up is not to unravel some 9th wonder of the world. Nine, being the choice because that would make it more wondrous than the 8th , which is in effect is superlative to the 7th. To break the suspense, the object of all this melodrama is my newly acquired vahana, Sanskrit for vehicle. Duh!!! The build up was not worth it. Was it? And to top the disappointment let me clarify that I’m not even referring to a snazzy Lexus or a breathtaking 400c.c bike. Beginnings are humble they say, and mine completely adheres to the law (for once!), but that does not have any effect in terms of camouflaging my pride. Well if my sweet Ganheshji could so proudly flaunt his little mouse, I think nothing in the world can snatch me of my right in being pompous about my Black(and ttchch..slightly dented already!!!) Honda activa.

Well, now that the protagonist of my story has been successfully launched, I can move on to how I nearly I ran, or rather rode into a whizzing auto. And you, dear reader, must appreciate my humility in admitting that the fault was completely mine. But behind this averted catastrophe is a story of the past.

The past – when I was still a pedestrian, who had to wait at the zebra crossings to cross the road, the one who had to often slip into the role of a self assumed traffic police to make it alive to the other side of the road. The times when I could stop open mouthed and wide eyed at a woman with appalling make – up or stare fondly at the doggie at the window of a plush car, or gape at the sky wondering if it would rain today, or indulge in a conversation with my alter ego, or stop and stare at the display window of a shop that had branches almost in every city, was in the least a special attraction, yet for no reason excited me to know that it was going to come up in my neighbourhood, or to stand and smell the scent of the roses in the garlands in the flower market, or to swear loudly in English that was never understood by some vagabond who passed a remark that I assumed had to be lewd or just to watch the faces of the other pedestrians and commuters twitch with expression as they engaged in a conversation either with themselves or with the invisible person over the wires or the wireless blue tooth(wonder what made it a tooth and that too blue!!) of the cell phone. Walking gave me a part of the day with myself. To come to terms with my day that was closing in. It allowed me to look around and absorb a part of the world I lived in.

I still have not outgrown that habit, which is the reason for the possible collision. A house had been decked with lighting- a decorated drive way- a playing band. A wedding? An engagement? A party? What was it? I had to know, and in all my inquisitivity about what was happening or going to happen in the life a stranger, I was blissfully unaware of the auto honking at me, trying to distract me from my distraction. And so it had happened.

But this does not mean that all is lost. I enjoy scooting around the city on two wheels. I love the wind on my skin. I love the symbol affixed on my vehicle that announces that I’m a lawyer. I love being able to reach my work place without incurring the wrath and curse of the auto wallahs. There are many things I love, yet many others I’ve lost.

Goodbye...

There are some people I cannot bear to see go. I cannot just stand there and wave a cheery good bye and hug and kiss in the modern style, whilst advising the other to ‘take care’. It was something that had become more habitual than meaningful. Many times the people who tell you that, will definitely not be the ones around you when you really need the ‘care’. Yet, the ‘muaah’ ‘muaahs’ on either side of the cheek bear a close semblance to motherly love, care and compassion.

Having said that I should admit that I am one of the worst ‘bye’ say‘ers’ in the whole world. For I don’t exactly implement the hug and kiss gesture, but will stand there and look and if you would care to notice, you would notice my battle with my tears. I am a law graduate, and have been tutored to learn the skills of separating ‘law’ from ‘fact’. Still, when it comes to the ‘goodbye’ word, I feel like a scrambled egg, the white and the yellow, all mixed up. Someone sang that ‘goodbye’s the hardest word to say’ and if he came alive before me even once I would definitely hug him and kiss him and tell him that he could not have been more correct.

I hate to go, and to let go. Given the opportunity I would really love to keep the favourite people of my life, around me in close proximity and accessibility. But since that is hardly plausible, I am repeatedly forced like today to pack my loved one(mind you I have no issue in using the word, although it sounds a tad mushy) into an auto and then run back home into the bathroom letting myself loose, now that there is no obstacle in the way of my emotion. For a long time after they have left I will brood, an occasional tear welling up in the corner of my eye, wishing that the two days could have been slightly longer.

If this is the outcome of a temporary good bye, one can easily fathom the ‘goodbyes’ of finality. When I know there is never going to be a next time. I vouch for the fact that those are the worst, and when it has been accelerated by facts and circumstances that are simply beyond one’s control, it will have the same effect as a death by slow poisoning. (Indeed I have never experienced it to draw the parallel, but what do they call it? Literary license?) If it were in my control, I am sure I would definitely nail the person, without hurting him at all, of course, to the spot he currently occupied so as to prevent his going. But these are only wishes I can dream of, being sure without an aorta of doubt that it will never come true.

So I have had my little ‘dramas’ at places of all sorts, which I shall not publicly announce in my own self interest. Notably, I have been involved in these performances ever since I was a child, and age has not exactly contributed in simplifying things for me. The people I have met, liked and loved (and I don’t mean it in strictly the romantic sense) most often know how much they’ve meant for me. I do not however know if they understand the pain I’ve associated with the word. I relive the little moments I have spent with them. It will be always be a fresh bunch of flowers. To all of them with whom I am in touch and out of, for reasons we know and don’t, all I can say is a hearty ‘miss you’. And I mean it!

lost...

The drab pouch caught the glance of my irritable eye. It had barely been a week since I moved in with my maternal grandmother and it seemed like it would take me a couple of rebirths before I could get her house in order….and that only if there was no mercy in awarding me with salvation for my heavy duty patience. But something caught me thinking in that pathetic disarray.

A stay at my grand parents place had always been a treat to me….One part may be I could attribute to the spoiling I received at that at end, in stark contrast in the way I was handled at my own home. But that I realised was not why I looked forward to these short trips to her place. It was the chance of discovery that always thrilled me. It was that serendipity that I associated with those visits…it was a special sensation. I had built my own stories amongst the broken things in my grandmother’s store room…my imagination was let to run wild in that quietitude. In that spacious house there was always room…room for everything – emotion.

It was a great deal of comfort I feel when in this house - a sense of belonging. A sense of identity, not with people, but with things. Nothing ever changed. Even after the death of my grandfather….many things, in fact most things remained the same. The furniture, his belongings, his handwriting, his books, his glasses, his letters, his lists….nothing. And that was what I realised….gave me such a complacent comfort. And that was caught the attention of my monkey mind.

I saw that familiar design…red and white stripes….with the star spangled banner….Yes it was the American flag….but nothing in association with nationality or patriotism or politics. It was a mere design, and now the coincidence strikes me. It was the design on my grandfather’s pouch. And that sight was worth some reflection. I had always seen my grandfather as one who had bountiful of everything – of love and anger, of money and sympathy, of class and innocence, of ambition and despondency, of stories and history, of strength and simplicity. I loved to be around him. He was always my equal. Yet I looked up to him…because he was many times my guiding force.

But that pouch that had now gathered dust of the years…had eroded in its youth. As if it was quietly mourning the absence of its true owner. I remembered how sometimes I was given the privilege of holding it on rare outings with him. I saw it as a great deal of responsibility. No ordinary feat. And I felt like I was holding a trophy in recognition of the respect he had for me. My grandfather called very few things his own and to partake in that was my sheer pleasure. I remembered how when I bid him teary good byes when it was time for me to return to my own home, he opened his pouch to fish out some money that he would thrust into my hand. I knew that even he could not bear to see me go. I remembered him asking me to fetch it from his cupboard when he met important people. Sometimes I remembered him even looking for it hastily to find some money to send me to buy cheese…the food for which we both shared a common passion. I had gone on that errand for him and so would escape my mother who was worried even at that age that I was gaining far too much weight. One day he wanted to get me jewellery and took me to the jeweller and asked me to choose what I liked. My choice was not questioned, just executed. So simply, so skilfully so respectably. That pouch just went with my grandfather for as long as I saw him and today I realised I could not bear to see it without him.


I had lost those little pleasures. I had lost him. I had lost that familiarity. And in the process I had lost a part of myself.