Dunkin Biscuits

As I write my blog, I should warn you that I will take a short break somewhere in between my writing. Don't worry nothing serious! It will be to dunk in the last biscuit into my evening cup of tea and then finish off the remaining tea.

I don't know about other countries but I am sure most of the Indians love dunking their biscuits into their cup of tea. I love doing it. Today though I dunked in a few Oreos and mini Chips Ahoy, but my all time favourite is Parle G.

I remember earlier I used to not share with anyone my love for my biscuits dunked in. I mean, I used to take care that nobody other than my close family was around, when I relished my biscuits that way. So mostly, when I visited someone, I used to hate it when they served tea and biscuits. The reason being I used to miss my dunking ritual so much that the moment I returned home, I would rush off to prepare myself a cup of tea and then dunk in a whole packet of Parle G and enjoy. Everything wrong with it. Firstly, think of the amount of calories I had taken in when I ate those biscuits and tea at the friends place (and somehow most of the times Indian chai is nothing but milk and sugar boiled together with some tea leaves added to it), and then the double dose of calories I thrust into myself to overcome the urge that simple tea at the friends home had left behind. Sinful...

Over a period of time I developed different tastes of dunking, as per the mood. Like it was different to have it with tea, absolutely different to dunk in the biscuits into a glass of hot milk and if nothing else, very different to dunk it in a glass of water. Water is preferable if you don't want to mix any other taste into your biscuits. The moment you pull them out after keeping them dunked in for the right time, they will be soft enough to ummmmm melt into your mouth. And its an altogether different experience when your attention is diverted by a regular chit chatter and you over dunk the biscuit. Now, in the journey from the cup to the half open mouth full of juices ready to work on  biscuit, the over softened biscuit doesn't reach the target. It plops down into the cup and dejected you just get to gulp down the juices. But the next moment your mood lifts up again because as an experienced dunker you remember, that the last sip will be the best.

All said and done, a few years ago I seriously wouldn't have had the courage to write about dunking biscuits in tea. Then one lucky day I read a write up by Vir Sanghvi and my inner voice said, " OMG! he knows about it too? And he does it too? If someone like him, who has eaten out of the hands of the best of the chefs enjoys doing it, then why should I be hiding my skills of dunking?"  And since that day, I don't feel ashamed of dunking my biscuits into my tea. It's an altogether different issue though, that now I only drink black tea. But then, that again is a different experience, of dunking your biscuit into a hot cup of black tea.

My Sinful Indulgence

On the insistence of my younger son, I watched 'Cloud Atlas'. Not that I didn't want to watch the movie, but  I was just hard pressed on time and felt that this one thing can certainly wait. But since he was to go back to his hostel, he insisted that I watch it with him before leaving for my trip to Delhi. It was like watching all the beliefs I have grown up with, through the eyes of Hollywood. My gut reaction insisted, that we should be the one's making highly sophisticated films on this subject and not just twidling our thumbs and being mere spectators to the philosophies our land is seeped with. But as I write this, sitting at the airport my head involuntarily turns to the TV monitor and I cringe at the sight of the blood spurting out of the mouth of the goon as John Abraham lands a punch on his stomach. This is just the trailer filling in the break of the more disgusting Ramgopal Verma Ki Aag with senseless visuals. What a waste of his talent and skills by the director !

Why? Why? Why... are we stuck in the cliched. In fact our old movies were more progressive than what is being churned out at present. My constant introspection does not lead me to any answers, so maybe the  people and the land has to live its karma and grow into something consequential only in due course of time.

I started writing this blog while I was at the airport and by the time I got back to writing this paragraph, I have already landed in Delhi and caught up with my friends in Faridabad. Great sessions of catching up interspersed with breaks of great meals. I would certainly like to mention here the scrumptious home cooked meal I had at my friends place prepared by his spouse. At home while I am made to believe that I am the best cook in the world, meals like the one I had, give me a complex. And I also should not forget mentioning the jalebis and gulabjamuns I have relished.

In the past 23 years or so  while I have become a true Mumbaiker, I still yearn for the gulabjamuns, jalebis and chole bhature's of this land. Last two days for three of my meals I have eaten Chole.....taking into consideration that I take only two meals in a day.....that is a little too much of Choles. For those who are wondering what this word means, it is an Indian preparation of chickpeas. So back to my having it in overdose!! But I am not complaining. I can still  eat more of them. With samosas and tikkis too. They don't make these things like this back in Mumbai. It's the same that they don't make Pao bhaji Mumbaiya style in Delhi. I cringe everytime I eat Pao Bhaji here. I want to shout at the top of my voice or better so have a Anna Hazare kind of morcha and tell people that this is not even close to the pao bhaji I get back in Mumbai. What we get in Delhi is a highly cinnamonised version and the regular sweet buns  replace the oh so delicately delicious pao's. I can estimate the intensity of the shock an old Parsi bakery guy can go through if he sees what is being passed off as the staple mumbaiya pao.

At times when I am shuttling between Delhi and Mumbai, I wonder if anyone can sympathise with the pull I feel between the two places. Or for that reason I can put my Bengal too in the bag of mixed parentage and upbringing. A transferable job held by my dad and then finally one day my karmas taking me to settle down in  Mumbai, exposed me to people from various cultures and religions. This has made me incorporate many things from different parts of the world into my life. I can not take sides or do justice to any particular state, or country, because for me we are all human beings with a set of good and bad qualities. That leaves me completely at a loss of reactions when I see people fighting so fiercely for their cultures, sticking to their beliefs. I personally feel that instead of making mundane laws, the bureaucracy of India should make a law  making it compulsory for people to move out of their birthplace and spend some years of their lives in different parts of the country.  Maybe they can pick up the regions they want to experience. And then the process of living life with people of different cultural ethnicities certainly will open up the minds of the citizens and make people more adjusting to the beliefs of other people. Half of our lives are spent in trying to make people change their beliefs because we all are driven by the egoistical belief that we know the best. Acceptance of our friends, relatives and loved ones just the way they are, is still a leaf in the pages of Bhagvad Gita and other inumerable books with preachings of various spiritual souls in the land of spirituality.... Don't you think so?

While you introspect let me just go and enjoy some tikkis because back in Mumbai, ragda patties though similar in looks do not taste  like tikkis Delhi people make.....

The Seeking Heart

The land of Whirling Dervishes and Rumi and Shams Tabrizi..... that is what Turkey is for me today. It took me a trip to the place to actually feel the ethnicity of the country. 

Sometimes a bit of suspense can unfold into something very exciting and that is exactly what happened with me in the past week. I hung on to the invite by a dear friend of mine, to join her on a trip to Istanbul. I could make out that it was to be a very non touristy trip. I grabbed the opportunity just to get away from the drab local news of Mumbai. The ever increasing taxi and auto fares....the onset of the unbearable October heat....and the ho hum about Arvind Kejriwal and his various expose staring at me from the local newspaper every morning.  Anything would have been good but unknowingly, a dream vacation was falling into my lap.

Istiklal Avenue

Inside the Blue Mosque

The thunderous rolling down of the trams on Istiklal Avenue and Divan Yolu, the chaos of the Grand Bazaar and the magnificence of the blue mosque will always stay fresh in my memories. The fact that I went to Topkapi palace and didn't enter the gates. Yes, I actually did that. A piece of history was there right in front of me and I decided not to enrich myself. That is so unlike me!  Deep inside my heart I felt, "will do it the next time at leisure".

Grand Bazaar

Sharing the same roof with the hippies of 60's

Walking down Divan Yolu

On recollecting now, that I was under the same roof as the followers of hippie culture of the 60's at the Pudding Shop, and was walking on Divan Yolu, a road laid down by Constantine the great somewhere in 300 AD, gives me a high without a drop of the local Raki going down my throat. The coming together of people from different parts of the world under one roof at Konya and the opportunity of understanding not only Sufism and teachings of Rumi through their eyes but also looking at the richness of my own country through their seeking hearts, leaves me fulfilled.

View across the Bosphorous from the Asian side

I have to go back to Istanbul, to visit places around it, to enjoy a sumptuous meal of fish by the Bosphorous, to shop in loads at Istiklal Avenue, to eat Baklava, to see the whirling dervishes and to catch up with a couple of friends I have made there in so less a time. The list is endless. I want to have Simit with Cheese, walk down the cobbled streets or sit at any of the beautifully landscaped parks and do nothing. It was exactly the way I had always wanted to experience the flavour of a country.  Be on the roads, trying to figure out where to go with the help of maps.....getting the name of  the bus stop we wanted to go to absolutely wrong, but still land up at the right place. Trying to communicate with people on the streets without a common language and still manage to explain ourselves and understand what they wanted to say in their language. Everything from the weather, the ambiance,  the helpful people of the country and the stimulating discussions on the Sufism and its message of peace to the world and the vast  history of the country has done wonders to my heart. 

Turkish Coffee served with style

One more time someday in the near future I wish to share a cup of Turkish coffee with my dear friend sitting in the same restaurant, the name of which we didn't bother to find out. And the beautiful trip can again be wound up with one more coffee cup reading for me. The only difficult decision I have to make till then is whether I stay on the Asian side or the European side of Istanbul. 

MEMORIES

I had to write today, to look back at those beautiful memories I cherish of my brother, to look back at all those fights I had with him and to just try to reach out my hand into thin air and try to feel his physical presence. The last part, my heart knows, is absolutely impossible because when people move on to their onward journey from Earth, they never return back......

Fourteen years ago on this very day, early in the morning I was staring at his motionless body, waiting for him to jump up and start behaving like himself. He didn't.... and after all the rituals had been taken care of, I got to hold his ashes in a small urn and I kept on thinking all the way to Haridwar that, "Is that it?" And as I mulled over the incomprehensible secrets of life and death, somewhere inside me my reflexes told me not to look back AT ALL......as looking back meant breaking down and that would have been a hindrance to the tasks he had left behind for me......I had to keep running his company as long as I could, and had to take care of his young sons, and to try and heal his mother...our mother....who must have been absolutely shattered after losing a part of her, but refused to show her grief to anyone.

But how long can I hold myself back.....as I started treading towards the ensuing dawn of my life, I one day just turned back and looked... and there, I could see myself riding with him on his bicycle, being brought back from school after waiting for a harrowing one hour outside the school gates, while everyone else had left. I was dying to reach home and complain to my mother and satisfy myself with the scoldings being bombarded at him.

My ears were ringing with his voice singing all the great melodies of Kishore Kumar, while I was sitting there on the bar of his bicycle. Till today many times I listen to Kishore Kumar songs to feel my brothers voice kissing my ears. His was a voice exact copy of the legendary singer and very few people know that he was a trained classical singer.

I can hear him recollecting the mishaps he had had with me because as an infant being 11 years younger to him I was absolutely at his mercy. He would tell me how, inspite of being a frail clumsy boy, he would love carrying me around in his arms and one day just dropped me into a gutter full of..........well you can guess what gutters are full of!!!! I would go urghhhh.....and he would enjoy my displeasure with his full throated laughter.

He was the first boy to pull at my long plait and though it hurt me, he always enjoyed it. Maybe that is why in the past years I have preferred to have short hair, because there is no one around to pull at the plait anymore. We fought like animals, like many other siblings, but the strange part is that I always won the fights instead of being so much younger and smaller than him. He got me into the best school of Chandigarh, after dad thrust the responsibility on him.  And I enjoyed him coming to pick me up from school, because my friends found him handsome...they never said it, but I could see it in their eyes.

Oh for those long sessions of playing cricket...and hockey and football. I always preferred playing cricket though...and sticking around with him wherever he went. He would get tired of me at times. Which young teenaged boy wouldn't, with his sister, sticking around him like a sore thumb, when all he wanted to do was enjoy with his friends and flirt with the girls on the street. That too a sister who would spurt out all what he did to mom and dad, the moment we returned home. Wish I had the decency of keeping his secrets.

This place is too less to go on talking about what we shared and what all we disagreed upon. But still after so many years, I am happy I made the attempt to refresh his memories and I am sure he is smiling up there. I wish he could give me his bear hug and pull at my plait once again....oops! I forgot I don't have it anymore.

But today I want him to  be at peace wherever he is and to be in the best of his spirits, no matter if he is in any physical form or is a divine soul. And as I look at his two young sons and try to find him in them....I wish to get one more chance to tie Rakhi to him and look forward to him reminding me to touch his feet, because he was older to me and we happened to be Bengalis. The only difference being, that this time I would throw myself at his feet to pay obeisance to all that he has done for me and to hide those tears rolling down to cry over the fact that his was a life of a genius cut short by the game of destiny. And more so a life today not remebered by many which otherwise,  had he been alive, would have attracted loads of appreciation because he was on his way to reaching out for the skies.......

DO WE ACTUALLY CARE....?

A couple of months ago when the rains were about to set in,  a public awareness campaign by the BMC caught my eye. The corporation had requested the citizens not to throw plastic bottles, and plastic into the nullahs......But did we care...?

Its been 7 years since Mumbai suffered the deluge. We all blamed the administration for not cleaning the drains. But since then have we personally stopped using plastic?  We had criticised so much after the deluge that it's the overuse of plastic which clogged the drains and resulted in the loss of so many lives. Today the administration has levied charges on each plastic bag that we use in malls and supermarkets. But do we ever falter before asking for a plastic bag? Is it so hard for us to carry a bag of our own?  How demanding can it be to keep a few bags in our cars? 

Is it difficult to reuse the envelopes or the back side of the used papers supposed to be thrown away? I sometimes even use the bills given to me  to take notes. I don't care if someone thinks I am stingy. For me, I am trying to pass on a better world to the generations to come. I hate to throw an empty paper into the dustbin. 

So many times I have noticed that the window of a swanky car is rolled down and plop.... a bag full of garbage is thrown out or a mineral water bottle is tossed out with the expertise of a seasoned bowler. It breaks my heart to see even a small piece of paper being thrown out. Does it ask for too much to carry the paper with us and throw it in the waste bin at our home???

I wonder how most of the international cities are kept clean by the administrations. Obviously it's the citizens as well, realising their part and not littering. Actually, I shouldn't be wondering about this  since I have been brought up in a city like Chandigarh. I have always had problem settling in other cities basically because of the high standards that city set for me. I never saw people throwing their rubbish on to the streets. In the mornings around six when I would be cycling down to school, the streets were being cleaned. In Mumbai the municipality people get down to work only by around 11, when the traffic is already at it's peak. When the citizens themselves don't have place to walk peacefully, the BMC guy struggles to collect garbage. I look at it and think, "What a farce ........?"

I have thought over it again and again, and only a few days ago my positivity gave in to the sad feeling ,that there is no way out of all this mess. It is all like quicksand...the more we try to come out of it, the deeper we sink...!!!!

Still....still...I will keep on carrying the trash back home and putting it in my garbage bin and stare back harshly at  anyone who opens the door of his swanky car and spits on the road....and I invite you all to post your comments, photos and anything that you notice that knocks at our conscience to keep the city clean, on the page of this group started by someone with the same dreams as me but more proactive and bold than me ...https://www.facebook.com/groups/280350462071313/members/

Served With Love

Phew!!!! last two weeks have been erratically busy.  When there is loads of stuff to be taken care of within a stipulated period of time, one just loses track of time. But one thing that was worthwhile about the busy fortnight was that I was mostly immersed into my second love : cooking. After a long long time I had friends come over, and this time for brunch. I loved everything about it. The setting, the drinks prepared by me....  Of course they were mock tails. I have still not been able to graduate to cocktails though. No no no, not that I don't know how to prepare alcoholic drinks.....it's just that the old time middle class girl, used to a teetotaller dad's home has not been able to incorporate alcohol completely into her day to day routine. Although, I have learnt to use it in my pastas, risottos and tiramisu. Anyways.....what I was talking about was the menu of the brunch. Well, it comprised of waffles. bagels, cinnamon rolls , carrot squares etc. etc. I love preparing dishes for my friends and fortunately they appreciate my dishes and are ready to be the scapegoats to my experiments. I love baking. Its therapeutical. Now I know why all the chefs have such a serene expression on their face. Serving food to people is a de stressing exercise in itself.

Today, as I was settling down to plan the menu for the various upcoming lunches, high teas and dinners, I remembered my initial attempts to preparing the so called exotic dishes. I have been cooking the Indian meals since I was twelve. My dad used to love my preparations. He was a blood pressure patient, still my meals were tasty while sticking to the regime of absolutely low fat in them. Even today, I can prepare the best of the Indian meals with very little oil and they are yummy. Indian food has variety in taste. Its altogether a different thing that Kim Kardashian finds it disgusting. My goodness! what a derogatory word to use for food. Even something like cockroaches and all those weird things which some parts of the world relishes, can't be termed as disgusting. After all it's food for people who are used to it. Nobody is being forced to eat it. I am sure it was just a slip of tongue and the rather derogatory word got blurted.

But what's wrong with me today? At the drop of hat, I am off shooting from the main topic. Seems my thoughts are all jumbled up. Let me get back to the point, which was about my initial attempts to making the so called exotic dishes. I remember once I tried making pasta for the whole family with a ready made sauce. Don't remember exactly the name of the sauce but it had basil in it. Everybody on the lunch table almost went hungry that day because,  there was no back up plan and the dish had turned out so bad that even I could not  pop it into my mouth. Just so that the food didn't go waste, I asked my nephew to go and give it to the stray dog in the building. That twelve year old came back and broke my heart by saying," Well the dog sniffed it. I think it wrinkled its nose and walked away. O yes! it did turn and look back once, with the question in its eyes, that how can you people eat such disgusting food?"

I conquered it and today I am quite good at what I make. One day I want to start my blog on cooking and then I will share loads of recipes with all. Till then..... they are just simmering in my heart and getting perfected because good food is not about how many ingredients one puts, it's simply the love with which it's cooked.

Clueless About Time

The concept of time with some people leaves me perplexed. Consider the scenario :  a meeting is fixed at 10 am or pm whatever....no one usually turns up before 10.30. You schedule your party for 9 in the evening, the guests start trickling in by 9.30. By the time everyone makes it, it will be 10 or 10.30. But Beware!! Don't try to be smart and schedule the party for 10.30 the next time. Because in that case it will start at 11.30.

If you are one of the rare punctual species, then you must have innumerable times faced scenarios like :

You have reached the meeting point and the other person hasn't reached. After you have been waiting for 15 minutes, you get a call or message saying, "Stuck in a bad traffic jam will be there in 15 minutes." What the person is not telling you is that he has stepped out of the home at the scheduled meeting time. After 15 minutes you call up to know the progress of the traffic jam. Your call certainly goes unanswered. After 5 minutes the message tone beeps and you are mocked at by the message, "Will be there in a minute." You will still be waiting for 20 minutes. But this time the call comes from the other end, and you get to hear, "I am just round the corner." As you put the phone down you realise that the person didn't specify whether its your corner or his corner.

God save you from statements like, "I'll be right there, I am just parking the car." You can be standing at the parking lot with no car in sight. 

You are waiting in your office for the person to turn up. Frustrated you call him up to find his whereabouts. "I have reached the gate and will be there in a second," is the answer you get, while in the background you can hear the trains rattling by and you very well know the station is good half an hour from the office. 

Every time I face a situation like this, I make a resolution that the next time I will call up the person I am supposed to meet, before leaving my house and will leave only after I make sure that he/she has left. But sadly, I remember my resolution only when I am fuming at the meeting point. GOD! WHY AM I SO CLUELESS ABOUT TIME?