Now having carried an umbrella around with me for a week, and having to use it almost everyday, I personally can declare that the rainy season has arrived.
Many other cities in India however are unable to boast of the same. While some are getting cloudy skies, others are simply stuck with an over-extended, unwelcome summer. Global Warming sure has caught up with us, and how! It is declared drought in many states now. Sad.
Till the rains started here, the intolerable heat and humidity day after day had an inverse effect not only on people, but their behaviour as well. More intolerant people, more impatience and more unrest in the world. And then it rained.
Monsoons seem to unleash something in the primal spirit of man. It mellows down their outlook and makes the world a better place. Getting wet in the rain touches something so basic inside us that no matter what, at some level we like it. Sure it is inconvenient. To think of going to office drenched, is horrible. To have wet shoes all day is unbearable, and to think of acutally cleaning up the now sullied clothes - ugh!
But abandoning all that, and just letting yourself think of the raindrops on your face, the feeling is indescribable. A feeling of joy, fun, abandon and freedom. And a feeling that something is really, 'washing you clean'. For that moment, all the practical problems can be laid aside, all the worries kept in a box and locked up. While walking towards the shelter without an umbrella, it is best to just give in and enjoy the freedom that a blast of raindrops give you, rather than worry about how your silk gown will probably never look the same again. Believe me, it is totally worth it. The silk gown cant be salvaged anyway, afterall.
In India, the monsoons come after peak summers. After months of harsh heat, combined with humidity in 3/4ths of the country, the monsoons are like the much needed glass of water after a hot hike. And the people love it. There are odes written to the monsoons in every language, praising it, pleading it, asking it to come as soon as possible. Some of the favourite names chosen by parents for their children has much to do with rains, monsoons, and rainy clouds. And so many blogs written by Indians have rains in some form or the other, as their blog name. All this is indicative of the importance and reverence given to rains. Even when some cities complain about it being an eleven month monsoon per year, the moment rains delay by even a week, no one cares about any inconvenience. It is the relief that negates anything else.
For that is what it comes down to. Relief. Rains bring in wet soils and blue skies and greenery everywhere. They bring in clouds to block out the harsh sun, temporarily make it bearable to venture out without squinting, and then, once the clouds losen their burden, leave you with a clean, washed look everywhere, including the sky. And the effect on Man is palpable. People mellow down, problems seem smaller, and tempers running high for so long, temper down.
In cities like Mumbai where winters are only a term, and not a reality, and peak winters provide only 10C as the minimum in three months, monsoons drop temperatures to a pleasant below-25C, and add strong winds laden with tiny droplets into the bargain - which of course, make it really much cooler. And this may go on for days. Of course, nothing beats the view of Marine Drive with the sea waves cresting over the high embankment onto the roads in peak monsoons.
In other cities, like Calcutta, monsoons are torrential outbursts, sometimes continuing for days on end, with large drops of water splashing, with thunder and lightening and gusty winds - a Big Drama Spectable. Rumble of thunder on the horizon, puddles of water, slanting rain pelting down, strong gusts of wind and drops in temperature! Going out on the streets one feels that they can be blown away, carried away by the winds and rains to the black thunder clouds, to another land. There are very few people who actually do not like it at all.
In Delhi, the dry heat saps away everything from the surface of the earth, and then the monsoons bring everything back. Bringing in cold winds instead of the Hot Loo(wind), the monsoons add to the beauty by bringing in water as well. Suddenly the landscape which had turned brown and dustry turns green. Things start to sparkle, the dust settles and there is a rainbow in every mind. All Air conditioners and coolers can finally be switched off, and the air becomes a little humid, providing relief to parched bodies.
With the monsoons also emerges another primal desire - the love of food. When its raining outside, and you are cool and sheltered inside, feeling the spray on your face carried with gusts of wind through the open windows, nothing completes the setting like a plate of hot bhajias and tea. Or corn on the cob (bhutta) - roasted with salt and lemon rubbed on it in your hand. Or piping hot Khichdi (not the North Indian one for ill people) with papad / fried potatoes and tangy mango pickle for lunch. Or hot buttered aalu parathas - yum! In fact, anything hot is fun to eat. And when its raining, we love to much. It prepares one for the forthcoming rain dance ;)
And then, to emphasis the cold chilled feeling, there are ice creams and kulfis and cold drinks. The other end of the monsoons spectrum.
Yes, its monsoon once again, my rain gear is out, and though the mush, the irritation of arriving disheveled and wet to office and the impossibility of keeping things dry increase, one thing is for sure. With the extende summer, I realised just how much I missed it. Im glad its back. As for asking the rain to go away? Not me!
- Mood:
good
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All went well till I was left with almost nothing on my plate, and no intention of reloading it. Then I decided to have that tiny bit of chicken left on my plate. I pierced it with my fork. And then came a split second which extended for minutes. My fork made a loud noise as it hit the plate. The chicken was not chicken. It was gourd. It was a hard piece of gourd that refused to be pierced by my unsuspecting fork. It was a hard piece of fork which made no qualms about skidding away from my plate and make a beeline towards my left, leaving a streak of angry red behind it.
I closed my eyes, I waited for a reaction. Any reaction. I saw there was none. The man on the table next to me refilled his glass. The waiter came and asked to refill my plate. My table fellows continued their conversation. I looked down at my plate. It was empty.
After a while I circumspectly looked at the table next to mine - it had a beautiful level, single streak of red, not leaving the cloth at even one point, slimming down as it traversed around a foot-long journey. I wondered at what speed it must have sped me. I could not locate that errant gourd.
As for me, the sooner I could leave that place, the better I felt.
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What would you do if you were me? And if you were the Man, perhaps not so dulled by alcohol?
- Mood:
uncomfortable
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Cooking was never a great deal in my family. Eating was, is and will remain big though. However, the Kitchen is primary in everyone's mind. Its a cardinal sin to have guests to whom only two courses are served, and with vegetarians my extended family knows not where to go. However, they survive with soya and paneer saving the day.
My paternal grandfather was a vegetarian in all senses of the word that a Bengali can derive. He ate fish, and the occasional chicken, but did not touch meat, eggs and garlic and ginger. Hence cakes for him had to be egg-less. My paternal grandmother was an eternal foodie. She loved food with an enthusiasm I am yet to encounter in another. She loved food for its worth and she loved to share. She loved it in masses and she loved people hordes moving towards it. Needless to say, the food was 90% of the time, non-veg. This meant she would not touch an egg-less cake with a barge pole. Even on days after fasting all day, she would ensure everyone ate what she was about to eat, because she wanted people to revel in the joy of food - even if it was a mix of boiled rice and potato.
On my maternal side, my grandmom loved to cook and made many delicious and now rare foods at home. My grandfather loves shopping. To him there is nothing better than feeding his guests prime produce from wherever he can. Even if it is an apple. Over the years he has made connections all over the marketplace and people keep aside their best for his verification before they sell it to another. Even now, when he goes to market rarely, he gets missives through the cook (who goes shopping now) about certain fish, vegetables and upcoming fruit bonanzas. To him and my grandmom, there was nothing more pleasant and important than feeding people right. And 'right' obviously meant loads of courses and fish in almost every one of them. Even on the rare occasions vegetarian food was required, there would be the exotic preparation to make up for the blandness.
Thanks to all this, one would assume cooking would be important and that the cooks would be over taxed. Interestingly enough, in both families, the cooks have had a decent enough life. The important dishes were always handled by who made them best. My paternal grandmom would make the mutton or the rare fish, while my paternal grandad would grill the kebabs or bake the eggless cake in his favorite GE oven (which he had shipped with him from London). Both would make periodic trips to the kitchen to advice and even take the cooking over from the cook, ensuring the meal would be good - even on normal days.
While my maternal grandmom was healthy, no cook dared enter the kitchen, but my grandad was the one who made all milk products - the ghee, the butter, even the fruit creams served as dessert on certain occasions. The menu was decided together and there was constant interference from grandfather while grandmom presided over the kitchen.
As a result, from childhood I have seen the kitchen as a pretty central, yet neutral area for the family. My father has always shown no qualms about entering the kitchen, even before his lifestyle demanded that. In fact, with his father being kitchen independent and my grandmother being blasé about cooking, it was but expected that he would have no hang ups about cooking. So it was that since childhood, rustling up lunch/ dinner depended primarily upon whoever came home first. When in the mood, my dad would make something exotic, and experience the wrath of my Mom (at the mess he would leave behind). If it were me, I had to make the rice, and I resorted to the simplest fried rice as an ends to all needs. All this of course, was when the cook were absent.
The same held true for morning tea/ coffee. My Mom being an early riser would typically make it for the family, but many times my Dad, up and about, would wake me up with coffee which he made while he made himself and my Mom tea. So, no one was spared. The kitchen is and was, everyones equal domain (scratch that - my Mom does have more rights over it). Actually, the eventual (p)resident of the kitchen in all these houses has been the cook. No one cooks unless they want to, and then there are no hangups as to who that person is.
My father is visiting, and yesterday, my maid/ cook took leave. Armed with this prior knowledge my Dad took it upon himself to make me lunch and as I discovered later, dinner. The lunch was quite tasty, and quite unlike what my cook makes (it was luchi and cauliflower-pea sabzi). On letting my colleagues and friends know that my dad cooked for me (thrilled as I was with his excitement), I met the astonishment and a general level of awe. Which is when I realised, how in most families, men consider cooking the 'womens' job and rarely, if ever go there. They would rather order first (correct me if Im wrong). Considering how important food is to a family, I never cease to get amazed by this. How can something so innate to the family's well being remain the stronghold of one person. I have never understood men who cannot (and will not) cook. Innately, I have found it unnatural.
My maternal cousin brothers also being from the Army are fairly well equipped in the kitchen and take pride in making their speciality dishes when they are home - it is not unusual to see my aunt throw up her hands in despair as my brothers coach her on making the cheese omelette or the even gravy chicken - this when they dont even have their own kitchen to experiment in - till they take over and proudly feed the end result to whoever is present.
As kids I remember my paternal brothers and I would close the kitchen door from inside in our attempt to make food (of which we had no idea) where I being the youngest would be given the menial tasks while my brothers tried their hands at cooking.
Cooking in my family has always been a family affair, genderless, ageless. It has been one place to showcase ones strengths and prowess. And the place to have discussions. As children we were expected to hang around the kitchen to ensure any of my elders listened to what I had to say. Else, it was over the dinner table that the most important and eclectic discussions were held.
Creating something sumptuous has always been a plus and being unable to enter and cook in the kitchen, well, as of now its unheard of, so I dont know what the reaction to it will be, if ever. I hear of people talk about how in x,y,z family the guy helps in cooking and how great that is. It usually does not effect me. Till I realise that its an exclusive affair and the men cant hold a handle to save their lives - or rather, wont. I have usually seen the chef make everyday food, under guidance from my mom, but my Dads never restricted his opinions either.
So, to me when my dad makes food for me, its not an unusual honour. Its his way of relaxing, of checking out what my life is like (by seeing what I eat) and also, in some way, contributing to the house. When he made lunch for me, I was delighted - it was nice to be woken up with coffee after so long, and not many Dads would pack a lunch - I had expected just a dinner. Of course, when in the evening I went back and found the kitchen a mess, I could totally empathise with my Mom losing her temper after my Dads cooking sprees.
And, after being told that I have too many things in the living room (like decoration pieces, TV, DVD player, computer, etc etc), I was ticked off for not having a proper 12pc cutlery set >.<
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I have suddenly realised Ive been on 'radio silence' for a while now. No outgoing emails, except the occasional reader items, no phone calls, and no blogs. I suppose I have been busy with innumerable things, but I know for sure, that the state will not ensue for too long. Goodness! The last few week shave meant I have written many posts in my head, but not translated one of them onto paper or a computer.
Meanwhile a colleague left the company for good, and I discovered I have a silent reader (SK), who hopefully will also comment whenever she gets the time.
- Mood: excited
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The other day I went to the market and could barely contain myself - everywhere I looked there were delicious fruits, in their prime.
Grapes - black and green, soft pears, Watermelons in all sizes and varieties - green outside and pink and cool inside, Muskmelons - the orange and the white ones - sending their tantalising aromas all around, Chikus, Jamun - gleaming black and deliciously ripe, Pineapples, ripe Jackfruit - pungent odours yet crunchily soft, the white Jamrul's (as well call 'em in Bengal)or star apple - crispy crunchy reservoirs of water, the small delightful bananas, scented varieties of lemon, Amra, wood apple, elephant apple, Indian olive, sweet sweet coconut water, and of course the wonderful uncountable varieties of the King of fruits - Mango!
Eat them raw, temper them with salt or sugar, pulp them, drink their juices, make milkshakes, store them in any form you want. Just revel in them. Even fruits like Papaya seem tastier and sweeter. Cool naturally, summers mean inexhaustible fruit eating! Yum!
- Mood: hungry
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Ah. Jaded Bachelors that we are, solace lies in the very basic of Maslow's Heirarchy. That of clothing and shelter are solved, but food remains high. Especially after experimenting with varieties. So many of my bachelor colleagues I have seen passing though the numerous phases mentioned below, it seems to be the rule of the era. So many 3/4 yr living alone bachelors I have met who enjoy cooking, usually for themselves, and sometimes for others. So many, who have reached the last step mentioned here, where I am, at the moment.
Living alone brings with it a myriad option of eating. Especially dinner. Lunch is usually in the office premises - either offered by them, or following colleagues footsteps. Breakfast remains a thing unknown, unless you are talking of biscuits with the morning tea/ coffee.
As one begins the sojourn away from home, the amazing freedom of dinner choice flabbergast. Eating out seems the best option. However, soon you tire of it, since all food in every restaurant tastes the same. No matter how big/ small/ unique/ generic.
Soon tiring of it all and the pain of choosing menu daily, the person (s) hire a dabba. A tiffin-box with supposed "home-made" food, delivered at your doorstep everyday for a nominal fee, consisting of a pre-appointed menu.
Of course, the menu gets repetitive after a while. The innovativeness wears off.
Soon like an orphaned child, you switch between dabba's meandering from one 'aunty' to another caterer.
That is the time you decide enough is enough, and appoint a cook. S/he will cook for you, if possible even fetch the vegetables. Sure, it includes the unwanted hassle of utensils which have to be cleaned, and firstly, stocked. But hey! you get food you want, when you want it. If you dont want to eat at home, the food need not go waste, neither is there the hassle to call and cancel, You simply ask your cook to go away! They happy, you happy. Cool? Cool!
Some cases pause at this time, but mostly proceed from here. The reasons are various. For one, the cook is usually a localite, and wil cook as per his/her habits. Not the 'home food' you were looking for. Also, you wil not find those simple elegant foods that you miss from home in this setup.
Of course, you also get to waste a lot of money by their wishes of buying vegetables you dont eat, and even though you need to oversee theircooking once in a while, it is still not like home. And, eventually, it is also repetitive.
So, eventually, most people I have known, have taken the famous task of cooking for themselves. By now its a personal choice, and considering all available choices, to cook for oneself is a pleasure. Everyday is an experiment with something. First time ever of making this, and improving the taste of that! Continental one day and Indian the next. Wild concoctions which would have never seen any kind of light, including gas light, in your home kitches come to the fore.
The best part then remains the tasting of these delicacies, which are dont by the creator, the virtues of which are expounded then to the world in general. Of course, if cooking has to be done for others, it is by will and wish, and good timing. however, for own self, there are no pretentions. A way to ease off the load of the day, a time solely to gratify self, through the most primitive way - the stomach.
When it was said the way to a mans heart is through his stomach, it was "Man" of humanity. I am yet to find an interesting person who did not appreciate good food.
[OK, I amend that. I have to account for
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sashdude Ha ha, no offense ;)]So it is that after years of experimenting many a bachelor has found, the next best thing to Mom's Kitchen is My Own Kitchen. I speak for my frnds, my seniors, and by future vision, my juniors. Soon they too will see the light.
PS - who said men dont like cooking? Cooking is an art, a creative enterprise. Especially when cooking for self. Because then, you eat your own mistakes ;) literally. And more men than women love to experiment with that.
So it was that I finished my conversation with my friend after his claiming his food to be the best ever, and comparing notes on pressure cookers (mine has stopped whistling for some reason :( ) and how that can make inferior food types.
And of course, the efficacy or irish coffee over a single malt after a hard days work in a cold cold office and braving the monsoons of India.
- Mood: amused
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So today is Vasant Panchami, also celebrated as Saraswati Puja back home, in-house. Nice weather out there, slightly nippy, dry, but enthusing. The sun feels nicce.
For some reason felt pretty hungry in office...my usual state of affairs nowadays. So I suggested to a colleague, lets go eat something. Hmm, suggestion was well taken. But where was the question. My boss is not in office, so I was free to go. However, hers is here. To hell with him. hes a Bong, I could talk him into allowing her. Infact, can call him along! ;)
So where do we go? This being Gujju-land, beakfast places are few, and unlike the other part of the city, there are no sandwich wallas near here. Cafe Coffee Day will not be stocked now, and Fun Republic eateries...nah. So, it was Mc Donalds.
First she withdrew some money...the ATM was at a distance of an auto ride. The guy got on our nerves. Not only did he look and dress like Himesh Reshammiya (gah) but also acted like an irritating prick. However, he charged extra, which we refused to pay, and since he refused to take the justified amount, he decided to drive off witout money, which as we concurred, is perfectly fine with us.
So we had a hearty, totally unhealthy, calorific breakfast at McDs. Probably my first visit to a McD so early in the day. I took a coffee, had i taken a coke, it would certainly have been a high-end replica of the days V and I used to have hot spicy Dabelis followed by sharing a pepsi t the roadside sandwich-walla outside the office of Torrent. Totally sinful beginning to a day (as M used to say). But immensely satisfying. Makes the day at work so much better.
(Aside: Now if only this idiot here stops the stupid debate he has started with me, on a topic he is unsure of, or is shifting with every turn of conversation. I find it very bugging when people lose track of why they wanted to talk in the first place, shift the topic of conversation with every turn of talks, and debate just for the heck of it.)
Now Im wondering when will be the day Ill be home for breakfast and can gorge on toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, juice, loads of butter and yeah...honey. Ummm, been ages. Last was when I was in my last house I think.
Enough to last a lunchtime :D
- Mood: chipper
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So My Mom is here for a few days. She arrived on tuesday (the day after Christmas), when I saw her enter home and left for office immediately thereafter. Took a hol for the next two days instead of staying over at the manufacturing facility for some work. (Yes, I know thats bad, becaue I would have learnt a lot there, and it would have been interesting, but still.) It has been quite some time since I met her, and calcutta is pretty far away, and she does come only once a year. But oh! how long that visit seems. I love my mom. But 24 hours multiplied by however many days shes here can get to be a little too much for the two of us in each others' company. Infact so can 12 continous hours. Nerves fray and tempers rise.
Both of us are quite used to living on our own terms, and private spaces. Sitting in each others company after so long can be fun, but also draining. We are, afterall used to a few minutes' conversation a few times a week!
Once she comes she rearranges my house as per her preferences, thereby meaning I travel through the whole house, room to room looking for that pair of jeans which eventually I find either in the washing basket or neatly folded and piled under some random pieces of clothing. The easily locatable object from the random reckless higgeldy-piggeldy pile is quite difficult to find in an arranged setup. I enter the kitchen and cannot for the life of me locate a spoon to pour the coffee into the missing cup!
Yes, she does make life simpler on some counts. things I had forgotten the existence of are taken out because, well, in a running household they are commonly used. And yes, thankfully she is not the type who goes around arranging everything. Only a few places, but even those tend to add up to a small timber in my steel-spoked tyre. My maid is extremely happy though. She finally htinks the house is being used when my moms here! As if I dont!! I live here!! She visits here!
We both like quiet moments on our own, and after a full day in each others company, well, all I wil say is, it is good that I go to office.
The best technique therefore that has been implicitly agreed upon by us is that we shall entertain ourselves, out of home. We shall go out, tire ourselves, and suitably enjoy each others company without getting too wishy washy over the whole thing. grab a bite out most of the times, sometimes junk, sometime a good meal, and be home for the parting words before sleep.
Lack of places to go to was adjusted last time when we went to the trip to Jamnagar sanctuaries, and before that short trips to Lothal and Mothera and the Calico Museum. Which effectively left nothing this time round. Especially considering my absence of leaves and preoccupation with this stupid new job, where not only does the bb not give leave, but also postpone the stupid budget meeting to a sunday morning which also happens to be the last day of the year! Talk about ... Sadism?! So, anyway, I could not/did not plan/make an effort to plan anything this time. WHich is OK enough actually cosidering her long touring this winter (if I can call it one) including my brothers in Cal.
The trips not been too bad however, with me more or less prepared for her whims on her trips, and her being tired. Sudden realization struck as to how time has flown since the days of sitting at home after finishing schoolwork to sitting in my house after office work...well, not quite after.
Sunday evening she leaves, and though it will be sad to say bye for another long tenure, and a return to my regularly irregular routine, it will also be kind of nice. Moms are nice. They really are. But in short doses. And then again, she will leave just in time for me to get ready to celebrate 31st December.
PS - I really should thank sashdude for the Yes Minister tv series CDs on my request! Awesome. Brilliant piece of comic writing. Every time I read the books (Yes Minister and Prime Minister) Im filled with admiration and delight. The acting in the TV series is almost faultless, you cannot imagine the minister, private secretary and personal secretary to be anybody else. The puns and jokes, the deep sarcasm and the innocence as well as cunning of all of them while continually mocking the govt system, not to forget using the drivers network is just too good and realistic. Reading it is a delight. A lot of take aways and a lot of humour, the Yes Minister series can easily be classified amongst my favourite comedies between the Blandings Series of PGW and Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K Jerome. Almost perfections!
I am reading Catch 22 (still) and that cannot cannot, simply cannot be missed in the above list, but then its American, probably the few American humors that are funny. Hence a different line dedicated to it.
And before I complete, I must say Guy Ritchie is one hell of a director. Lock, Stock and two smoking barrels is wonderful. Snatch does not compare. Right up there with Rodriguez' Sin City, and Tarantino's Pulp Fiction. Hmm.. I think I have a taste for idiotic gangsters who (accidentally) kill a lot of people cold bloodedly. And are cool.
- Mood: pleased
- Music:Echoes of "Yes Minister" music
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I went to sleep last night after 1, and the weather was fine.Usual. Lovely almost-full moon, dark clouds intersperced by patches of clear sky... cool-ish wind. Normal. My window, verandah door were open. Fan on full speed.
And then I wake up in the morning. I look out and it looks like a fog. Fog!? In Ahmedabad? At this time of the year?! It does not sink in properly. I get off the bed, and the floor is covered by a thick film of dust. I wonder how come, considering the maid had cleaned the room, and then think at least she will come today ebvening to clean up the mess...must be because i left window open in afternoon yesterday?
I tie my hair, and it feels gritty.
Slowly things start sinking in. I look out, and realise its no fog, but Dust Hanging in the Air .
Simply suspended. The whole world is hazy with DUST. And no explanation forthcoming as of now.
Not yet any reports of a dust storm here. Corridoors of office are hazy...cant see more than a few mtrs in front clearly. Wierd weather phenomenon.
Trust Ahmedabad. Nothing like this happened to me in desert weather of Rajasthan.
Well, so saturday was the Bong New year. Shubho Nobo Borsho! or else, in details Poila Boishakher priti O shubhechha janai
[Meaning "Happy New Year", or, "my love and best wishes for the First date of the year"]
What did I do over the "weekend"? Heres a detailed account. now Im warning you, itll be LONG.
Friday
It got late at office. There was farewell of a colleague. From HO. rather, frnd i should say.
Rushed and went. No matter how hard I tried to leave early, was unable to. Finally made it to the venue late, after buying a gift with DK on behalf of the rest of the gang.
Had a great time. Laughed like I havent for ages. We had stiches in our stomach. ROTFL cannot even come close to defining it. Started ordering etc at 930 pm and were sitting there till after midnight!
The day had begun day after a 4 hour sleep. Was tired.
Had tried ordering the famous samosas from nnear my house for office ppl - on public request. Those ppl dont make them till after 10 in the morning. Out of the question. Not even on special request will they make them by 8am.
Very unique samosas...and the chutney made of peas and dal is thick and very tasty. the samosas themselves are bite sized and are of 3 varieties - potato, dal and peas.
Anyway, bad luck to colleagues.
Saturday
So in the morning I reach office without the promised samosas. DAy went fine enough, with phone calls for new yr greetings in the morning.
Lotsa work. Meeting in evening. At last finished stuff in HO. Sent a long awaited courier, and got news that the new disc that was being launchwd has been postponed.
Made plan for Bong Dinner. THere was a bong new yr special dinner at Pride, a new 5star hotel here. Went with P. Was amazing. ate so much. and bong food. That too in Ahmedbad. I knew the chef there, and it was great. We ate for around more than an hour. Concentrated eating. The buffet was well worth it at INR420 per head, including taxes. Menu was all you can think of right from radhabollobi-alur dom, macher paturi, mochar ghonto, posto boda, bati chorchori, shukto, murir ghonto, chingri macher malai kari, kosha mangsho, chanar dlana, and i think 4-5 things more, apart from salads. Sweets started with lengcha, peethey, patishapta, payesh, mishti doi, roshogolla...and 2 things more. Accompanied by aam panna.
Couldnt get up after that...till the live band decided to strike up in Himesh Reshmiya songs! (Why?!)
P had never had a hookah. So we went to Mocha after that. Had soemthignt o drink...to settle all that food.
Not enough, P was adamant we go for a drive. Went to the highway, full speed!
Came home, decided to watch a movie, and went to frnds place.
Eventually, Drove a Yezdi.
A Yezdi. Awesome. Couldnt start it, but thereafter I managed the gears and all pretty well. Whatta-bike! Cant beat the bullet (Enfield) though, but still. I mean, it comes second only to that. Out of production nowadays, its a pure bike, not a part hollow, heavy, beautiful machine. Gleaming metal. Pure metal.
Wow. Ill soon learn to start it also :)
Sunday
Haaa! Slept late. At last. Woke up leaisurely. No phone calls. sat and looked out of the windeow at the sky. Rather, at the cumulo-nimbus cloud tops. For more than 30 minutes.
Shifted focus nearer, and looked as the pigeon preened itself. Another half hour.
Amazing to do just that. Stare. Not a thought in my head...nothing of relevance either way. Cool.
Went for lunch at 3, and then tried to go shopping. Dint like anything, so went to try rock climbing only to find it closed. So did Go-carting. Good enough fun.
Called mid-way by frnd in town (news!) and joined him for dinner. was too tired actually ot go enthusiastically, but the dinner went off well enough.
BAck home, spent time with M for a while, finally.
Awesoem saturday evening, calm sunday finally becoming rather tiring, and confusing monday morning (weather).
But you know the best part of today? Boss is in another location. :) Mondays should be like this.
still got lots of work...but, we can hope for the best cant we? Besides, some 'bad' mails have unexpectedly turned out not so bad :) Lets wait till the evening telecon ebfore counting chickens I think!
Finished Sunset at Blandings - the last and unfinished P G Wodehouse. INteresting notes. Gives an idea of how he worked, and how serious the writing of funny books was to him. Intro by Douglas Adams. And his appreciation of PGW has appreciated him in my eyes. somehow I think of him as the guy with lots of time and wild imagination who got lucky to publish his books. His book is penning down of the conversation we have. well.
- Mood:
working - Music:System of a Down - Toxicity
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Rare is the occassion I have such strong words about canteen food, but today takes the cake, bread, butter everything!
there was simply nothing to eat. The menu sounded standard/ok enough:
sarson ka saag
makke ki roti
some dal
rice
gur /ghee
amla ka murabba
apple+beet
achaar
papad
bah!
only thing edible: rice.
the dal was some brown coloured liquid without salt and lotsa masala...and remnants of dal. the 'sarson ka saag' was lots of greenery...looked like chopped up rice, cooked without anything. not even salt. no other veggie. not even curds! the 'amla ka murabba' was goodnes-knows-what. and the roti- lesser said the better...yuck! it looked like it had some filling, was def not bajra, v thick and ..well bad.
and whoever heard of diced apples and beetroot making up the 'fruit' portion of a meal?!
If this is their special 'winter' fare...ill live without it!
saving grace today..breakfast was sev-khaman...a decent light preparation, and also....yessss! its the bday of a colleague. so come late afternoon we shall gorge upon Pizza and Ice Cream!
Viva Le Birthdays!
- Mood:
bitchy - Music:Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit
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'If the people dont have bread, let them eat cake'!
Mary Antoinette. That was eons ago...before someone even thought I will exist one day (I dont think many people still know I exist, yet...), but it mentions the two most eaten staples of breakfast and tea-time in India today, and not just France. She may have thought that but natural, but other more un-impulsive, world-wise people would have disagreed. Till today.
For who would have thought that one day that bread (or pav as it is called with different inflections over the country) will be the staple food present in almost every household any time of the year?! Yes, you may blame it on the British and their food habits, which they passed on to their colony, yet it is indisputable that bread is now very much a part of Indian food habit.
When M, V and I used to live in Samrajya, we didnt have any cooking device - not wanting to cook etc - so for the sake of eating something before office, we used to get bread, and butter, till we were sick of it. Then after a gap of a few days we started having Sandwiches from the lari-wallah outside office offering such delicacies as veg sandwich, cheese sandwich (yum!), alu sandwich, dabeli..etc. And on the other side, The Queen of England still swears by her Toast with Tea.
Right from being the standard breakfast in the form of Bread-Butter to the vada-pav and the bread with sabzi/ curry, the Bread is something the Beggar and the Birla's (eg. of rich Indians) share.
A form of staple food which will last for a fairly long time without preservation, it is the ready-to-eat, bland, yet tasty food, freely available. What better than bread for a journey/ picnic? Afterall it is not messy, does not spill, and can be eaten without need of additional accompainments - no pickle, veggies etc required here! The best part is, you can make a complete meal out of two slices (with lots in between of course), and there is no need to heat it!
Now that we have reached picnics, the other favorite to carry around is the Cake. Cake in its different forms. From elaborate pastries to the simple vanilla pound cake, from birthday celebrations to tea time snack, from rum cakes to eggless ones, the cake has now found itself in a niche in the home recipe book. Every house has its own 'best cake recipe', and 'Moms cake'.
When my mom was thinking of coming over, she was sure she will at last get one thing - a cake. For it cooks itself (apart from beating the batter), will last long enough, and is tasty enough to satisfy my pangs for 'home stuff'. When M's mom came over guess what she brought? You guessed right - a box full of home made chocolate cake.
A day or so ago when we had finished dinner, guess what made M and me change from our nightclothes to somethine a little more presentable, and board an auto to the nearest bakery? yes, cake....brownies to be specific. It is not unusual for me to stop on the way back from a movie in the middle of the night to eat/ buy a pastry from a restaurant which makes a small variety, but very well.
As much as the usual Indian cuisine, today amongst the many other things, Bread and Cake have become an integral part of everyday Indian life. Everyone has their favorites amongst the vast variety available, right from flavours, to innovative combinations. Perhaps today India has more confectionaries made based on these basic names than many parts of the world (but that of course is my un-statistical statement). Ive been told that what we call 'Pastry' in India is not found in USA, but is available in UK...though not in as many mind blowing and sumptious varieties. In Gujarat they have taken bread to heart, and forms the basic meal..in the form of vada-pav and pav-bhaji, the trademark of any Gujju. The Shahi-tukda a tasty sweet-dish which seems very much Indian in its origins, if no Mogul, is nothing but toast, tempered out of recognition!
While leaving for somewhere, with lack of time, with hunger pangs, one hand of mine holds the key, and the other either a simple sandwich, else a slice of cake!
When my Mom arrives here tomorrow, it is going to be with a box of her own famous variety of the Sponge cake, I only hope is it plain vanilla...I've been having a craving for one of those for some time now (too much chocolate around)!
- Mood:bouncy
- Music:Sting - Brand New Day, The Troggs - Wild Thing
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About Me
Regurgitations of my mind. Specific, Vague, Memorable, Forgettable, Thoughtless, In-depth.
More variegated than your dreams or colours off a crystal. More than I can pen down. What I can, you can read.
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