The Celebrations of Those Who Left Home

     6^th of October, 2011, Thursday, was the last day of this year’s Durga Puja. We call it VijayaDashami (Bijoya Doshomi...keeping true to the Bong pronunciation). I was whiling away time, sitting inside the pandal of the Pune Camp Durgotsav, watching the colourful mayhem. (I don’t think “Pandal” is a proper English word...its one of our many lingual gifts to the Queen’s language. The English word for Pandal is “marquee”)

The ladies were busy stuffing the divine Goddess’s mouth with sweetmeats and smearing vermillion on Her hair parting, so that She doesn’t forget the hospitality She received at Her parent’s home and that She remembers Her marital status and behaves in a manner becoming of a married lady with Her forgetful, ash smeared, tiger skin clad, yogi of a husband. And then, after the ladies promptly reminded each other that they all are married too (by smearing vermillion on one another - Shindoor Khela), it was time for our dear Goddess to leave us and embark on the journey back to Her husband’s place. (She must have had a gala time with us here, in this beautiful mellow October weather,away from the freezing peaks of Kailash, where She lives with her absentminded husband Shiva.)

     Here in Pune, along with the Goddess, it was time for Mansoor Dhaaki, who beats the dhaak (the dholak like instrument, only bigger, which is an integral part of all Durga Pujas and has amazing potential of making you nostalgic & homesick as well as driving you mad, with its sound) to go back to his native place, Murshidabad (West Bengal).  Satwant Singh, the tall and burly Sardar, who was in charge of managing the queues at the Pune Camp Durgotsav for these five days, will now return to his duties. Dr. Khan will get back to his clinic, attending to people’s teeth (for he is a dentist) and Mr. Iyer will now resume his desk job at some important state government office. Mrs Pandey, who chopped kilos of fruits meticulously, every single day during the Puja and blew the conch shell whenever the purohit (who arrived all the way from Calcutta) asked her to, will now go back to her duties of playing the perfect wife and gracious hostess of the parties at the Army Officer’s club. She will also resume her role as an active member of the Pune chapter of AWWA (Army Wives’ Welfare Association). I too will return to my mundane life, till the Goddess comes to pay us a visit again next year.

Durga Puja is the one of the times in the entire year when I regret living so far away from Calcutta. But thankfully, there is no dearth of Durga Pujas, conducted in the most authentic fashion, here in Pune. 
However, the most noticeable part of the Durga Puja here in the Pune Cantonment where I live, is the immense involvement of people from all communities and religions.

     All the five evenings, from Panchami to Navami were replete with colourful, entertaining and sometimes downright hilarious programs. On Panchami evening Mr. Iyer, who hails from Tamilnadu, and somehow got associated with the group that organises this Puja every year , recited Chandi Paath (a beautiful Sanskrit invocation to the Goddess) followed by a musical soiree by the AWWA ladies. On Shashthi evening, the local Army band played popular songs followed by a hilarious skit, under the direction of Dr. Khan. (I missed Saptami as I was down with fever and Ashtami evening I went to another Durgotsav in the city). Navami night at the Pune Camp Durgostav was again full of songs and dances, this time only to make us hold our breath and clap our hearts out as the specially abled youngsters (who attend a special school run by a local NGO), presented a complicated Tagore dance drama, Shyama, with meticulous perfection!!

      Many of them weren’t Bengalis. Quite a few not Hindus either. What was it then, which brought so many people, who weren’t even related to each other, together, under the warm and gentle gaze of the Goddess, sharing a few moments of simple, wholesome and unadulterated enjoyment, before we all went our own ways till the next year’s Puja?

      Mansoor Dhaki, pulls a rickshaw for most of the year in Murshidabad, but came all the way down to the Pune Camp Durgotsav in Pune, this year to play the dhaak. He has learnt the art of playing Dhaak from his father who in turn picked it up from his...and so on. It runs in their family, he says, playing dhaak at Durga Pujas. He doesn’t even remember what his actual family surname is, for they have been called Dhaki since the time of his great grandfather. He has been to the Durga Puja festivities in Allahabad, Kanpur, Jodhpur and Indore, beating the dhaak. Now, he’ll go back to Murshidabad. Till, next year, some other association organising Durga Puja, will need his services and summon him to another state.

      Auntie Agnes is a widow. So old that probably you can’t get any older. Yet, I have never failed to notice her each year for the last 8 years that I am here, sitting by herself in the Pune Camp Durgotsav pandal on Dashami morning. Looking like a small white mouse in her paisley printed calf length dress, she carries a rather English looking cookie tin in her old hands. She hails from Panjim, Goa. Her son, Percy Fernandes,has just got a job here in Pune. He dutifully brings his old mother along every year. This year Percy volunteered to help in managing the crowd during the Thakur Boron (farewell to the Goddess by married women) and immersion.

Though I have never done so myself (a little odd behaviour in a 25 year old, I think), after the Goddess is taken for immersion on Dashami, I have noticed that children playing around in the pandal playfully say “Shubho Bijoya” to Auntie Agnes, probably thinking she won’t understand what they are saying and it’ll be a great joke to laugh about. But every year, she hands out chocolate cookies to all the kids who wish her VijayaDashami.

     Mr. Roy, who is a civil servant, currently posted in Pune, has been sponsoring one entire day’s Puja here, for the last three years. His family is in West Bengal. There is no doubt that he misses them sorely. But he can’t take long vacations and visit them often. So it is this Pune Camp Durgotsav, which makes him feel a wee bit closer home, with all its loud camaraderie, sights and sounds.

     This, perhaps, is the harmony fostered by transferable jobs that pull you out of the comfort zone of your hometown. The pain of separation from your hometown and your own people and the feeling of loneliness in a strange city, perhaps, binds you even tighter to all those who you find to be in a similar situation. And then, perhaps, your definition of “own people” starts changing and broadening. (Is this what those ancient people, who had laid down the rule that the Durga Puja will be an “open to public”, social celebration and not a do-it-yourself affair in the remote corners of individual residences, had in their foresighted minds?).

     May be, what makes staying away from Calcutta during our biggest festival endurable are these small but meaningful intermittent interminglings we have with one another - like when my mother greets Beejal auntie (a newly married Gujarati lady who comes to the Pune Camp Durgotsav) and smears vermillion on her hair parting, exchanging sweets made of milk..........like when another lot of unruly kids run to Auntie Agnes and say “Shubho Bijoya!” in a singsong tone and she merely blinks, smiles and hands out chocolate cookies.........like when Arindam Mukherjee, a young IT professional , helping others with lifting up the heavy clay idol of Durga for immersion shouts out to his fellow mate “ Rahman, pull the idol up from the left, yaar! Move it, man!”

I think this is one of the reasons why She comes to us year after year. To make sure we all are bound tightly to each other, in bonds of mutual comfort away from our homes.


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PS-  As a very young girl, in Calcutta, watching from the balcony of my residence, I would burst out crying when they took the idol of Durga away for immersion. The year long wait seemed impossible. I always asked my mom, “Why can’t we just keep her all year round, like they keep idols in a temple? Why can’t we have Durga Puja for the entire year?”. My mom always replied, “How can she come back if she doesn’t go away?" 
Today I know, She is the perfect Atithi (guest). She will come, charm everybody, fill everyone’s lives with joy and celebrations while she is here and demand everybody’s attention....but under no circumstances will she overstay her visit. She goes so that we yearn for her to come back...for your return is only significant when you first go away. 

The Head that Wears the Crown of Thorns

Team Anna has won. Though there's still a long way to go and this is just half the battle won, Congratulations! It is a great victory of the ruled over the rulers.

But this article is not about  the glorious revolution and its dramatic conclusion we all have witnessed.

Did you watch the live telecast from Lok Sabha on Saturday, when the Parliament unanimously agreed to Anna's terms? Were you watching Finance Minister Pranab Mukherjee's heroic attempt to inject political statesmanship and spirit into the LokPal debate, while basically conceding to the public's demands?
Who do you think was cutting the most sorry figure out there, sitting quietly with his arms folded, on the left hand side of the finmin? Who is the one man who is completely out of place in this entire spectacle? If you still haven't guessed it, its our honourable Prime Minister Dr. ManMohan Singh. A man whose personal record is as spotless and neat as the bright white clothes he wears. Honestly, my heart goes out to Dr. Singh...a man caught in the wrong job.

For a few moments let's forget...or try to forget...the many scams and scandals that have grabbed headlines during all these days of Dr. Singh's tenure. Lets just simply look at this highly educated, globally respected 78 year old gentleman (and gentle he definitely is) who happens to our Prime Minister...a position which no one wants to touch with a barge pole today.
A gold medallist in Economics from Panjab Univeristy,a PhD scholar from the University of Cambridge, a Professor of International Trade at St. John's College, Cambridge,a DPhil from University of Oxford, Honorary Professor at DU'S prestigious Delhi School of Economics and at JNU, Delhi, Chief (Financing for Trade Section), United Nations Secretariat, Economic Adviser to the Ministry of Foreign Trade and Ministry of Finance, GOI, Director and Governor of Reserve Bank of India, Director of IDBI, Deputy Chairman of the Planning Commission of India, Finance Minister, Leader of the Opposition in the Rajya Sabha and finally...the honourable Prime Minister of India. A globally renowned Economist, "one of the world's most revered leaders" and " a man of uncommon decency and grace" (as The Independent describes him), "a virtuoso among Economists" as Nobel laureate Amartya Sen calls him.......... Tell me, is there any other Prime Minister or even any Head of State (including Presidents, Kings, Queens, Sultans, Princes, Chancellors)  in the world who can match upto this man's educational qualifications or job experience?
And I have not even included Dr. Singh's 30 odd honours and awards including a "World Statesman Award", an "Outstanding Parliamentarian Award", a "Padmavibhushan", a couple of "Finance Minster of the year" awards.

Today, Dr. ManMohan Singh has been slandered in every possible way. Social networks are full of hate messages for him and people have very very serious doubts about his leadership. He has long been criticised as a puppet PM and the recent scams and scandals have bruised Dr. Singh's image very seriously in the eyes of the common man. Young IIT graduates spurned him publicly at their convocation and refused to receive their degrees from him. (Now, that was bad!). How could a group of fresh college pass outs mock a totally untainted man of his academic and scholarly calibre?
Today when things have gone wrong, when the gutsy storm of public awakening is rocking the foundations of the Government, Dr. Singh has been made the scapegoat. Public ire is focussed like a laser gun on this man and his glorious past record has been blissfully forgotten.

Rewind to 1991, when Dr. Singh was chosen to be the Finance Minister of the PV Narsimha Rao government. When he stepped in, India was in a deep deep deep fiscal deficit of around 8.5% of the GDP. The Balance of Payments was too much for us to pay back.(Balance of Payments accounts are an accounting record of all the monetary transctions between a country and the rest of the world).The nation had a foreign reserve of only..ONLY USD 1 billion!!! (for an entire country..that's peanuts). That amount was just about enough to pay for only ONE WEEK of imports. Cutting out the complicated economics of it...the country was in deep debt and facing grave financial crisis. It was Dr. ManMohan Singh who was instrumental in bringing in relief in the form of LPG (Liberalization, Privatization and Globalization), ending the infamous Licence Raj (a system that inhibited the prosperity of private businesses) in India and bringing in the desperately needed IMF (International Monetary Fund) cash to bail us out of our poor economic situation. Dr. Singh, along with his associates, opened India's doors to Foreign Direct Investment and thus, brought the country's markets closer to the global playing grounds. Dr. ManMohan Singh liberalized India's economy and opened us up to the world. Even as a PM, Dr. Singh has always been pro globalization.
If you were the monitor of your class and few students were caught cheating in the exams,would it be your fault?
True, this government has probably been the most corrupt since independence, but the PM is not.Definitely not.

Perhaps Dr. ManMohan Singh should have never stepped into the murky world of politics. The soft spoken, blue-turbaned economist should have stuck to academia...or at least the RBI. Why did he get spurned by a handful of kids at the IIT convocation? Is it because between a prestigious chair and an uneasy throne, he chose the latter? And now that circumstances have changed, the air is charged with the electricity of a nation rising in revolt, the youngsters see him more as a politician than an academic and intellectual of note.Till everything was fine, he was a great economist and a fine man. And now, he is just a mute representative of a group of corrupt people.
His lifestyle is frugal and he is an embodiment of highest personal integrity. Considering this is India's Prime Minister I am talking about,just so you know, the private car Dr. Singh owns, is a Maruti 800. (Every single person I know, has a far more expensive vehicle.)

When Dr. ManMohan Singh, economist, philosopher, thinker, teacher, chose to become a politician...he deprived the academia and intelligentsia of a great scholar and a rare gem.

I feel sorry for this man...caught in the wrong job...with a crown of thorns on his head.

Oh! Calcutta

Before you say anything...yes, Calcutta is where I come from and I am totally, unabashedly partial to her. That said, let's begin the blog.

Bengalis love to call other Bengalis who live outside West Bengal (like your's truly) "Probashi". Either its some kind of class differentiation and they smirk at us secretly or it just makes them feel good and glamorous to say "My dada has come from Bombay (or Boston or wherever)". I have noticed that the resident Bongs (the non - Probashis) are perpetually complaining about..well...everything...weather, Government, politics, movies, literature, social and moral fabric of the city...you name it. 

But Calcutta looks so different to my Probashi eyes.....here's a verbal glimpse..

Howrah station or NSC Bose International Airport, no matter how you approach Calcutta, its a splash of nostalgia, colour and warmth every time. She is a Mother. That is what I call her. Glamorous and gorgeous she may not be...but motherly, charming, graceful, warm and caring she most certainly is. From the days of Rabindranath Tagore's Kabuliwallah, where Kolkata was the abode of a Pathan from Kabul, to these days of the transient IT public, Calcutta has never turned anyone out. She has place, employment and food for the richest and the poorest. Not only has she lovingly laid her doors open to every community from India, other minorities in India like the Chinese, the Armanians, the Bohris, Tibetans,Greeks,Nepalis, Parsis, the fast disappearing Anglo Indians and many others, call Calcutta their home and contribute to her heritage. You will find their presence stamped all over the city in the architecture and culture...British, Gothic, Baroque, Roman, Oriental, Mughal....we have it all!

Prices of basic commodities in Calcutta are still not high enough to give you a myocardial infarct, unlike some of India's other Metropolitans and even some non Metros.Travel and day to day living are still comfortably affordable for pockets of all sizes.Calcuttawallahs (I know the right word is Calcuttans, but I felt like using this one), have time for all your questions, discussions, arguments and philosophies.We are genuinely interested in your life and your troubles and will not bat an eyelid before recommending a solution (solicited or otherwise) that we think is appropriate. If you don't understand Bengali, the Calcuttan will sweetly switch to broken (and hilarious) Hindi or English (with a strong Brit accent).Your local grocer will happily give a "home delivery" and also throw in things he/she thought you need but you forgot to write in the list. The school bus driver will not only drop your kids to school but also keep a watchful eye on them. Ask for directions at the corner Pan shop of some gully and there is high probability that one of the seemingly useless looking fellows will take you to your desired destination let alone just giving verbal directions. There is no hurry or rush in the average Calcuttan's behaviour and we have all the time in the world, while giving you our opinion, showing you the direction, telling you how to fill in a form or simply talking to you about life.

People from other Metros may well scoff ,"Thats because everyone is whiling away time and have nothing better to do".....but ask me, that is just an excuse they have invented to comfortably hide their complete lack of warmth and kindliness towards others..at least in the times of peace.We are friendly folk.

Though Calcutta was inhabited over two millenia, her recorded history begins from 1690, with Job Charnock and the East India Company.With the construction of Fort William complete in 1702, Calcutta was declared Presidency City..the capital of British India. So, we have been there and seen it and done it..before Delhi!! :P
And this can be said without the hint of a doubt, that no race in India is as anglicized as the Bengali Babu.
We have to have our daily dose of "The Statesman" or "The Telegraph". We absolutely love our Victoria Memorial and St. Paul's cathedral, Howrah Bridge and GPO, National Library and The Indian Museum, Presidency college and the utterly snobbish Calcutta University.We are tea lovers and can distinguish between our Assam and Darjeeling and Earl Grey with a sniff and a whiff. We still throng the theatres for plays (even in this era of multiple multiplexes) and value intellect above anything else.Calcutta remains the cultural capital of India.The birthplace of India's artistic and literary thought and the land of  social reformers and many great men of science.

Our girls, in the similar fashion of British ladies of the bygone era, must be accomplished in more than one way...we have to necessarily take lessons in music or dance or painting (or sometimes, all of the three) besides routine academic education. And interestingly, I have never seen any Bengali family very keen or desperate to marry off their daughters in their early twenties. Daughters discussing and debating on politics, social structures, history,literature, finance etc with their Dad and Uncles is not an uncommon sight in the City of Joy. Little girls are as cherished (and may be a li'l more) than little boys.If any state achieved women's liberation before the world even thought about it, it was West Bengal (don't believe me...read up about the heroines of Tagore and Sharat Chandra and Bankim Chandra). We are a Goddess worshiping community and love our beautiful Maa Durga...but we aren't scared of her...she is worshipped on a grand, lavish scale every year as a symbol of the strength of a woman. She is pampered as a daughter who has come to meet her Earthly parents and loved as a mother who protects her children. We have managed to turn  a divine Goddess into a family member! :D (and this, is one of the reasons, why Kolkata is the only city, in the world, where a young girl is not looked upon as an object for pleasing the eyes, but respectfully addressed as Maa, bestowing upon her the honour of the Divine Mother.)

I have missed many points which anybody writing about Kolkata should never ignore...like the Rossogolla, Macher Jhol and the Mishti Doi. like the permanent rivalry between East Bengal and Mohun Bagan Football teams, like the city's permament craze with Rabindranath Tagore, Satyajit Ray, Uttam Kumar-Suchitra Sen and Saurav Ganguly. Like Marxism and Communism, like the way Calcutta is depicted in movies, like the number of Nobel laureates the City alone has given the world...but thats ok....you may have read about all this over and over again. I just wanted to give you a glimpse of a place Dominique Lapierre lovingly christened The City of Joy, through my "Probashi Bangali" eyes.

Yes there is poverty that lines the sides of some Calcutta streets, and people do go on strikes at the drop of a hat and yes, it has taken us very very long to have a radical change in the state government. Yes, we still have Ambassadors and Premiere Padminis running on the same roads with the Mercs (not to mention the public buses that look either murderous or suicidal) and the private sector is yet to open its gift bag of obscenely high paying jobs...but the Calcuttan bears all these little hiccups of life in the most cheerful manner possible, with a few loud complaints and a sigh of affectionate resignation. Calcutta slowly seeps into you, creeps on to you, boos you from behind, laughs and cries with you, hugs you warm and tight and...by the time you think of leaving her, you find, she has stolen your heart!

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Zara hatke zara bachke yeh hai Bombay meri jaan!

Little did I realize how true these words were, when I heard this famous Rafi-Geeta Dutt song aired on Vividh Bharti numerous times! You see, I had never been to Bombay (Mumbai, as they call it these days) till last Saturday.

I was born in Calcutta (I prefer that over Kolkata), the undisputed culture capital of India (yeah yeah....Marxism too). I lived there till 15 years of age and then shifted to Pune, Mumbai's quieter and cooler cousin. Ever since, I have been living a quiet, happy, peaceful life in Pune. I do get shaken and stirred by the horrific attacks that rock the city,3 hours away from mine, year after year, but in the security of the selfish thought "at least we are safe here in Pune" (though the blast at my favourite haunt The German Bakery is making me rethink and reconsider). I love Pune...and given a chance, will never move myself out of this charming hill city.

But,on matters personal and professional, Lady Pallavi had to travel to Bombay the first Saturday of May. BOMBAY IS A VAMP.AN ITEM GIRL. Not the demure, shy, quiet heroine....Bombay is the tantalizing, titillating, seductive and glamorous vamp....promising you all the secret pleasures and then, leaving you to find it yourself, without help!
You can feel it the moment you set foot in Bombay. She's teeming with people who got seduced by her allure and left their own humble, modest cities to chase their dreams on the shores of the Arabian Sea.

From taxi drivers and road side stall owners mostly from of UP and Bihar, to Marwari business folk whose forefathers had great foresight and set up business in Bombay about hundred years ago, from the young B.Tech crowd who got placed in the various IT companies of Bombay and drink cheap beer in the name of "chilling out" and throng the malls on weekends to the good looking, beefy Jat fellows who want to become "FIL-MACTOR"  and run around in autos and BEST buses from one studio to another, from one audition to another. Sometimes you get fleeting glimpses of the dabbawalas, but they are always in a great hurry.
Another breed that populates the city is that of MBAs from some of the country's best Business schools. IIMs, XLRI, SIBM, ISB..you'll find a lot of them here...mostly in the plush offices at Nariman Point. These are the ones that'll bloom into the movers and shakers of India Inc. in a few more years.And if you ever happen to know anyone of this breed you'll notice that they think they are God's own gift to the world. However, they are interesting in their plight. With their kind of fat, lardy salaries, in any other city of India, one could own a neat little bungalow with a lawn and a Mercedes Benz parked in the personal garage. But Bombay is too merciless to allow such luxuries. Like a vamp, she seduced them into accepting offers that brought them to her...the dreams of unlimited opportunities, unlimited money and unhindered ascent.....but gave them the reality of limited space, unaffordable housing, crowded local trains and cut throat competition, with no one to call truly your own. Bombay allows luxury to only those people who have been with her like a true ally for decades and proven their worth...a Raj Kapoor could afford a Krishna-Raj, a Dilip Kumar will have a palatial bungalow...an Amitabh Bacchan will have Jalsa and Pratiksha....a Shahrukh Khan will have a Mannat....but other stars..even those who earn in hundreds of crores....live in apartments.

South Bombay is, in one word, beautiful! Flora Fountain, The Gateway of India, The Taj Mahal Palace hotel, Marine Drive...south Bombay makes you feel like you are in London. Bold facades of intricate British architecture! Looking at the Flora Fountain...you can actually believe Bombay was the part of the dowry of Catherine De Braganza, a Portugese princess, on her wedding to Charles II of England in 1661....a thought thats far from your mind when you are travelling through the mad crowd of Chembur, Byculla, LalBag, Dadar,  Malad (not necessarily in that order)

Writing about Bombay is tiring me...almost as much as getting stuck in the never ending traffic jams of Bombay in the scorching, sweaty heat. Bombay may titillate and tease as much as she wants, may promise me the skies or the heavens, may slither and wriggle like a vamp.....I prefer the quieter, cooler and more serene charms of my hill city Pune! :-)

Love


PS - Having lunch at the exquisite Taj Mahal Palace's Sea Lounge, sitting by the sea, being served by a handsome young man who has a wound on his temple from the infamous terrorist attack on the Taj, and is brave enough to come back to work in the same place....Bombay doesn't seem so bad after all!

Dreams made of Chantilly Creme

I am a great cook! I mean, I think I am a great cook...my parents think I am a good cook, friends think I cook well, my grandmother (and GRAND she is) thinks I am ok-so-so-will-do cook....in this fashion, opinions on my culinary skills differ from person to person, mostly in descending order. :-)

I was never brought up in the normal Indian manner of bringing up a girl. I was a tomboy as a kid and would climb trees, cycle around and steal pickle from the kitchen. I used to do pretty decently at school...and was therefore marked for activities of more intellectual nature since my early days instead of learning how to cook...many of my friends, by the time they were 15 or 16, were experts at all household chores...not me...I was lost in the world of Shakespeare and Wordsworth, Tagore and Dickens, Austen and Bronte.College life in Pune did little to further my culinary training and once I was in B-school...fuhget it!!! Hardly had time to breathe...let alone indulge in the luxury of cooking. Fortunately my Mom has always been with me to take care of food...along other things like emotions, mood swings etc

The first food item, I ever learnt, flawlessly,from beginning to end, was Paneer Tikka Masala! And the credit must go to my sweet and dear friend Geeta who introduced me to the world of fine cooking. It is a complicated preparation if you want to make it the authentic way...and since it is my signature dish, I hand grind all my ingredients and don't go for readily available spice mixes. It was sheer magic the very first time onwards.....delicate, silky pieces of spiced cottage cheese melting juicily in your mouth. And that was my Eureka moment! It was the pinnacle of my feminine achievement...I COULD COOK!!! Like a married woman in our country, needs to mother a child in order to prove her fertility to the society, an unmarried one needs to know how to cook divine dishes without burning or cutting herself or leaving the kitchen in a rubble to prove her feminity.

After my grand success with my first attempt at cooking, at an age I am ashamed to disclose here, I kept learning one complicated dish after another. Next in line were Cheese Pasta with Mushroom and Broccoli (Italian style), dumplings, chicken curry, Biryani, Kofta, various rolls, salads, gulabjamun, many types of desserts......blah blah blah..and a happy cook was I.

My check with reality came when my Mom had to go to another city for a couple of days to attend a symposium.
Of course I was a great cook...and could manage on my own. I bade her farewell with a smile..I was the queen of the house for two days!!! La di dah!
I took out paneer from the fridge...and looked for curd...for thats an important part of the marinade....but there was no curd!!! HORROR! Couldn't make panner tikka masala. "Never mind...pasta may be", thought I...I had cheese, I had pasta, I had...wait a minute...I had no mushroom or oregano....OH NO! I can't make pasta without either.
Over those two days and endless plates of Maggi instant noodles....I understood I didn't know how to make Daal (lentil soup), how to make a delicious preparation of only paneer and potatoes and simple spices (which my mom can stir up in minutes), how to fry a piece of fish without rendering it charred and inedible....

I knew gourmet, I didn't know cooking! You cannot survive on Paneer Tikka Masala, cheese pasta, dark chocolate cakes with fondant, profitroles with chantilly creme..day in and day out.....you need your basic daal chawal!

Dreams with the theme of Chantilly Creme....are beautiful if they remain dreams....
Can't do without the soft, hot fulkas, daal and chawal..everyday!!

Love

When Night puts her curtain down.....and pins it with a star!

Yesternight, at 2:30 am, it was, quite predictably, pitch dark outside. Most of the people were deep in sleep, some may be making love, some trying to, employees at BPOs awake over endless cups of coffee and constant chatter in fake accents, really studious students dozing over open books...but I was doing none of these.

For the past few weeks, I have turned an insomniac.I simply cannot sleep!! (and I am not even in love, for God's sake) .When my parents retire to their bedroom at night, I too walk off to my room and pretend to go to sleep. But sleep evades me. I simply toss and turn on my bed, listen to soft romantic songs on my MP3 player, read text messages from old friends and once-important people, stare out of my window and gaze at the moon, determined to follow her silvery journey across the night sky, think of the people who have moved on from my life (by which I do not necessarily mean a boyfriend)....I count sheep and then I count stars, then I observe my room keenly for the presence of ghosts or spirits (a la horror movies)......but alas! sleep is something that avoids me meticulously. Old memories of things that could have been done and words that could have been spoken to avoid many unhappy circumstances come back to haunt me every night when the lights are switched off and night  tucks us all in her ink blue blanket...

This morning however, I forced myself to the swimming pool at the club (have been giving it a miss for many days now...because I am unable to get up on time...as I am unable to sleep on time :-) )....I splashed around in the pool for a good one and a half hour and then, I walked back home. I was tired. Then I took myself to office to slog for another  eight or nine hours with a 30 mins "power nap" in between. I didn't take the lift at office and went up and down all the seven floors by the stairs...my legs were aching.

Came home, had a light, hot dinner....sat down to write my blog...and...YAWN! am bleary eyed....all I want to do is hit the warm cushion on my bed and the soft pillow....and its about 11:00 pm! YAY!! I defeated insomnia today....the moon may go for a toss if she wants...I am happily exhausted and sleepy! Goodnight! Or as  the French have it..Bonne Nuit!

Red lipstick saves the day..and my mood!

There are times I just can't take it anymore.The high stress corporate job, the long hours, the messy relationship dynamics with various people,  being the perfect daughter, cousin, friend, agony aunt and what not, taking care of myself, my body, my mind, my soul and my room which is a perpetual junkyard...and fake lady-like behavior to top it all...how much is possible for a mere mortal? Fretting and fuming was of no use, when one fine morning I woke up to face such a day! Of course I couldn't sit at home..had to drag myself to office. But I needed to cheer up before I left. That opportunity came when, just before leaving, I suddenly spotted something in my make up kit (which is anyway half empty)....a tube of Maybelline Lipstick..in the most vivid shade of red. 


MY DECISION WAS MADE! 


I painted my lips with that beautiful, smooth, balmy red lipstick. And it immediately lifted my spirits. I have quite a pale, fair complexion...so you can imagine how vivid red looked on my lips...yes, I looked like a vampire out of some B grade Hollywood horror flick! And was I loving it!! 
That day at office, I completely forgot all stress, worries and pressures...and was only acutely conscious of the number of heads turning to see a very fair girl with ruby red lips!! If you are a man, you may not understand what exactly I am trying to say, but girls...you know what I am talking about,right?? :-)
My friend said "You look like a slut". And she got from me a bright smile, flashing all the flossed pearlies! I don't care! I felt attractive and powerful and divine...the worries and the manifold tensions were right there, each in its place...but that day , to my mind, they were all something to be resolved later, or things that would take care of themselves..while I basked in the glory of my ruby lips! 
Some were awed by my spunk of wearing a dramatic shade of lipstick to work, some bitched behind my back, some absolutely loved it, some absolutely hated it..some said it was a bold statement, some said a fashion faux-pas....but that day, the beautiful, vivid, alluring ruby red colour on my lips, made the day beautiful for me in a very inexplicable manner. 


That day I hadn't put on the loud lipstick to please anyone special...it was I who needed to be pleased. Do what you want to once in a while, it'll make you immensely happy and make the rest of the world wonder what's making you radiate! I am not someone who says you shouldn't be pleasing everyone every time...I think we must put in our best efforts to please the people who make our lives meaningful...but...you can't please others if you aren't happy yourself!! 

Go all out sometimes...wear that eye shadow you've always wanted to but thought its too loud, flaunt the brands, look beautiful only for yourself and do something you love doing without being apologetic about it....its one life after all! 


Love


PS - The next day, I spotted around seven ladies on my floor, wearing bright red lipcolour. :)