Writing Challenge - Day 6

He hadn't expected this. I mean, he had, but not like this. In his mind he visualized her being wheeled into the labour room on the day their baby was due. He would stay next to her, help her breathe during her contractions. And then they would be in the labour room, she pushing and he encouraging her to push harder.

But then life happens when you are busy planning. And it did happen. The seventh month just gotten over and she had to be wheeled into the labour room. He wasn't prepared. This was not how he had envisaged it. This real life drama was more than what he could handle and all that pushing and encouraging that he had reserved for her was now being used on himself. He kept chanting,"You can do it! Of course, you can do it!" And there she was. That little bundle of joy. Their world. He held her in his arms. What an angel! This little blob of cotton will soon grow up and he'll teach her to walk. He'll teach her to ride the bicycle.

"Mr. Nair. Mr. Nair." There was a pat on his shoulder.

"ഈ ലിസ്റ്റിൽ കാണുന് സാധങ്ങൾ വാങ്ങി വരൂ." It was the nurse. She forgot to congratulate him. But he did get a list of items to be purchased.

He rushed to departmental store close by. He picked up a pack of baby powder, sanitary pads and a powder puff (how thoughtful). And being a man with foresight he picked up a pen to fill details in the document for the birth certificate, a punch so that the papers can be neatly filed at the earliest, a pen, a pencil, a paper weight and a box of his favorite Pringles, in case he felt hungry. Oh and paper plates for the friends and relatives who'll drop by to see the mother and child. And a bottle of perfume. The room may smell of pee and poop. Aah, some pins too. They may come handy to fasten the diapers.

Writing Challenge - Day 5

Powder, powder puff, pads, pins, Pringles, paper plates, perfumes, pens, pencils, punch, paper weight.

Writing Challenge - Day 4

Those mosques, they kept appearing in my dreams. The blue tiles, the mirrors on the ceiling, the pillars that stood showcasing their symmetry proudly. I wanted to touch them, breathe the air inside, soak in their timeless beauty.

Itinerary:

Fly to Afghanistan. Visit the Mazar-e-Sharif. Stand there mesmerized while the mosque staggers me with its beauty. And forget about the war.

Fly to Iran. Visit the Nasir al-Mulk in Shiraz. Lose myself in the gorgeousness of the Pink Mosque. Slip into a wonderland of colors from the stained glass windows. Stare in awe.

Fly to Turkey. Visit the Sultanahmet. Witness the reassertion of the Ottoman empire. Blow sweet nothings in the air so that they carry it to the minarets. Watch the sunset.

All done. Tickets booked. Hotel reservations down. Only insurance left.

"Hmmm…Afghanistan, Iran and Turkey."

"Yes."

"Sorry, we can't insure you for a journey like that."

Writing Challenge - Day 3

I don't remember a single incident in my life when I spoke without regard to what I was saying.

Period.

Writing Challenge - Day 1

But there would always be something to fix - like the monkeys' pigheaded insistence that all their children ride in car seats…

Here you can see that word 'pigheaded' has been used to qualify the monkeys' obstinacy of making its' brood ride in car seats. Pigheadedness means unyielding or stubborn. Now don't go googling pig head. Chances are you'll be tormented with recipes of 'how to cook a pig's head'. One man's vocabulary is another man's ingredient. Don't even start to think that I'm being funny. The fact remains that pig head  and pig-head are two very differently used words. While the former qualifies as an ingredient or very plainly an important part of the pig's anatomy, the latter is purely an adjective that defines an adamant, unrelenting, dogged, willful, stubborn behaviour.

I decided to trace the etymology of the word and was pleasantly surprised to know that it did not have the remotest of relation to the animal. Except for one story, that revolved around a Thai myth there wasn't much that i got to read about drawing a strong relation between the two. As a person who takes a keen interest in myths and mythological stories, this particular one did not invoke any feeling in me. It was more like a forced attempt to connect things. 

Does that mean that I leave the word and the pig alone? NO, not so soon. I can be very pigheaded about a lot of things, and the etymology of this word happens to be one of them. 

So here is another explanation.  

Apparently, this word has been in usage since the 17th century. Yes, you read it right. Perhaps blacksmith colloquialism. 

Long long ago there was a head and the head belonged to a pig, just that the pig was not all blood and flesh but a raw ingot of iron. Hard to believe, right? But this is a convincing explanation. So pigheaded meant iron headed as the ingot form of raw iron was called 'pig iron'. 

If you wish to know more about the pighead you can visit this page. It has some helpful guesses, good ones too.

http://www.newton.dep.anl.gov/askasci/chem03/chem03354.htm

The 30-day Writing Challenge

I have not been doing anything interesting lately, or so I feel. With the homeschooling taking up most of my time, there's little to do or write about. Initially I thought of it as a phase that probably would fade away sooner or later, but it's been long and it is staying. And when my mind is busy wondering about what to do next, i get weird feelings. feelings that often are not associated with the kind of person that i am. i feel exhausted, frustrated, annoyed, irritated, tearing up almost everything and everyone. most of these emotions were arising from the fact that i was getting into a mechanical mode. i wasn't reading. i wasn't clicking, i wasn't standing in front of the mirror admiring myself, i wasn't baking, i wasn't traveling much. i wasn't writing. then what was i doing? or what am i doing? why an i feeling so crappy about life? why am i not creating anything? well, probably here i'm contradicting myself. i was definitely helping my brood to create. but the desire for my instincts to feel satiated was not met and hence the grumpiness. so i have decided to stimulate my creative juices by taking up the 30-day writing challenge starting tomorrow.

maybe if this was handwritten, it would have been an illegible piece of writing. but then i had to keep pace with my thoughts.

Footloose

I suffer from a foot fetish. So wherever I go, mandatorily I have to click pictures of my feet with shoes, without shoes, one foot, both feet, with anklets, without them...sometimes only the footwear. These are some of the shots.

Jim Corbett National Park, Uttarakhand, 2010. Our annual holiday.

SECMOL Peak, Ladakh, 2013. After an hour long trek we reached closer to the summit. A break was what we were looking for!

In Wayanad, 2012. My travel companion was in a not-so-nice mood and I decided to take a walk in the nearby tea estate. I clicked this picture because I didn't have much to do other that contemplating if I had to go ahead with my travel plans with him or march forward on my own.

Dubai 2014. Our first international holiday with the kids and I am shooting my feet, enjoying an abra ride on the creek. The weather was chilly and the cold breeze only added to it. 

Dal Lake, Kashmir, India - 2013. En route to Ladakh we halted at Srinagar for a day where we took a shikara ride on the beautiful Dal Lake.

Kottayam, India 2012. Taken on a canoe.

Karnataka, India 2012. We were at the Hampi ruins. Shot at the small pond inside Krishna Bazaar. 

Souq Photography in Dubai

The Saga of the Banana Cake

I love banana cakes. And to a great extent the husband's aunt (she's no more, and I am uncomfortable using any euphemism for her) takes away the credit for introducing me to this lovely dessert.

I was served with the yummiest of them on my first visit to her place as a new bride. She knew that I was a foodie with an extra pair of sweet fangs. So after dinner, she set out a dish with a few slices of a banana cake that she picked up from a neighbourhood store. One bite and I had fallen for the cake -and the aunt. What ensued was a gastronomic connection. Every visit of hers was an event to look forward to. She would get her famous spicy chicken Hakka noodles, her sardines cooked in coconut sauce and the banana cake. Every visit of mine saw me coming back with the cakes. After her untimely death, the banana cakes too stopped. And in all those years not even once did I ask her where she got the cakes from.

It's been two years. I still don't know where to buy those cakes from. But I can definitely bake one, thanks to a wonderful recipe that I found on Nigella's page. This is a tried and tasted recipe and I hereby proclaim that it is a toothsome one.

Ingredients:

• 5 oz butter
• ¾ cup sugar
• 2 eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla essence
• 2 cups flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• ½ teaspoon baking soda
• ½ cup milk
• 2 bananas (mashed)

Method:

1. Preheat oven 180c.
2. Melt butter, add sugar, eggs, vanilla essence & mix well.
3. Sift flour, baking powder & baking soda on top of melted ingredients in the pot. Mix carefully then slowly add: milk & mashed bananas.
4. Pour into well greased and lined 20cm ring tin and bake at 180 C for 30-40 mins (check after 30 so it doesn't go for too long and dry out).

So just barge into the kitchen, take out those dark skinned overripe bananas, mash them, blend it with flour and sugar and turn them to a delicious, moist working woman's cake. 

Another banana cake story here
An eggless banana cake for you here
Interesting history of the luscious banana

I did it!

'Tis that time of the year when you look back at all those months, days and hours that passed by. You peek into your bucket list, eager to tick off a few items, feeling elated that at last you were able to achieve what you set out for.
I have a rather lengthy list of 'to-do-before-I-die' still waiting to see the light of the day. But sad I am not. And there's no need to panic either, because a bucket list has a life and mind of its own. Just when you think you've done it all, it throws a new item at you. And you grab it tight, keep it stuck to your memory till you reach out for a place to note it down. So I have come out with this brilliant idea - why not a 'leap list' instead! Apparently, a leap list is more challenging as it comes with a time frame. So you have stuff to do before you take some kind of a leap in your life, like marriage or pregnancy or turning thirty or forty or fifty. Now does that mean that if you kick the bucket before you fulfil your leap list, your leap list automatically qualifies to be in the category of a bucket list? Confusing.
Never mind. I am glad that I was able to tick off a few things off my list.

1. Bake yummy cupcakes, right from scratch
2. Bake a cheesecake
3. Learn to play a musical instrument
4. Travel to Ladakh
5. Attend a photography workshop

I know, these were not Herculean tasks, but they were challenging for me. And I am ecstatic. Time to move on the next ones. My list please...

Food indulgences in Kerala

Boatman's Sardine Curry

Tapioca

Brown rice thali at Travancore Palace, Chertala

Fresh toddy

Coconut Chutney

Steamed rice, moru curry and sardines in fresh coconut, a staple in Kerala

Houseboat cuisine

Pondymonium

Long time ago, some time in the late nineties, my then-boyfriend-now-husband would make these official trips to a place called Pondicherry, an erstwhile French colony in the southern part of India. Every time he came back feeling rejuvenated and blissful. And every time he spoke of the French avenues, the churches, temples and the virgin beaches, I would turn green with envy. To put me at ease there were these beautiful promises that would appear out of nowhere. And all of them, all the time sounded the same, "I'll take you there once. We must go there together".

Now let's stop this right here. I don't want to risk anything by washing my dirty linen in public. But I think I am allowed to wash a little corner of the dirty linen. I am tempted to do so. The end of the story is that the promises were never kept and the trips never happened. So for me, Pondy ( as we know the place) was this distant dream which was not showing any signs of being fulfilled. Till one day, a French guy came into the picture. Yes, it took a guy from France to show me a former French colony in my own country. This was his first trip to India and he didn't want to miss this lovely city. Wait! Was this my chance too? Yes, it was. And I grabbed it.

I was FINALLY going to see Pondy!

It was not a lavish trip. We just had 48 hours, which included reaching Pondy from Chennai airport. En route we spent some time in Mahabalipuram, which is around 99 kms away from Pondy. A must do if you are around that place. I couldn't click any pictures there as I had forgotten to charge my camera...clumsy, ain't it? Well, Trouchky had his camera. So here are two pictures from the historic town of Mahabalipuram.

We wandered around amidst the megalithic and monolithic structures for around three hours and then hopped back into the taxi, tired and sweaty wanting to reach Pondy as soon as possible. Waiting there for us was a spacious room at the Anantha Heritage.

After resting for some time, we decided to step out. Pondy is all about lanes and quarters. And the hotel had provided us with a map, lest we lose our way and reach someplace else. So here we were, finding our way through the busy Nehru Market, dodging cycle-rickshaws and bikes, once in a while brushing against the customers who had thronged the place, while more kept coming. Finally we reached Baker's Street, a concept-store on Bussy Street that can take care of your hunger pangs. You can also buy some homemade preserves and chocolates from here for people back home.

Now, with the rumbling in the stomach all pacified, we decided to call it an afternoon. A short nap was awaiting. The Goddess of Sleep was beckoning. And the hot sun was not doing much to persuade us to stay out. But come evening, and we stepped out again. This time it was much better. The proximity to the sea ensured a good breeze as we kept discovering lane after lane in the French quarter and finally resting at the seafront promenade.

The next day's itinerary was already in place, thanks to Doorways Pondicherry. For a city that's all about avenues, temples and churches what could be better than enjoying them sitting in a cycle-rickshaw. The ride covers all that one needs to see in the quaint setting of Pondy and it's done at a smooth pace. One gets to see the French, Tamil and Muslim quarters of Pondy whilst enjoying the gates and doors and yellow walls that present a delightful treat to the eye.

We deliberately did not add Auroville to our 'places to see' list. From whatever little I had heard and read about Auroville, I realized that it would be foolish on my part to cover all of these when we were facing a time crunch. But nevertheless, that distant dream of visiting Pondy did materialize and I am glad that I got to see the city with huge archaic doors and yellow and white walls of Franco Tamil villas with the effervescent bougainvillea vines elegantly draping them.

This definitely was my first time in Pondy, rest assured, it won't be the last.

On discovering Brillat-Savarin

For the last few days I have been trying all possible ways to stay away from the stove and I so wish there was a scullery somewhere far away. Just so that I didn't get to set my eyes on the naked stove staring at me like a hapless victim while i did the cleaning of the cutlery and the take away containers.

I swear, this is not the real me. The usual me loves cooking.

But hey, don't people change? Of course they do. I didn't feel like boiling, I didn't feel like baking, I didn't feel like sauteing, I didn't feel like roasting, I didn't feel like mixing, I didn't feel like seasoning...

I have been excusing myself from the kitchen giving the most obscure reasons anybody would come out with. But this year is going to see a change. The recipes in the books stacked away in my kitchen library will see the light of the day. They will come to life. And all thanks to Jean Anthelme Brillat Savarin.

Say who?

Never mind.

I hadn't heard of him for the longest of time in my life. Considering my love for wine and cheese I should have been one of his ardent followers. No, he doesn't have a twitter handle :) He bade farewell to the world much much before my ancestors were born and is probably now sipping a glass of wine with the Greek god Dionysus. But yes, I am glad that I heard of him. And at this critical point of my life where I have to depend on all kinds of motivation to push myself into the kitchen, it is his funny quotes thats doing the trick.

"The discovery of a new dish confers more happiness on humanity, than the discovery of a new star."

"Cooking is one of the oldest arts and one that has rendered us the most important service in civic life."

Oh, you haven't heard these quotes?

Never mind. 

Ever heard of Savarin cheese? Yeah? 

Same chap :)

When I think of how I discovered this brilliant gastronome and his work I start to believe in things like destiny and karma. It so happened that I was at the supermarket around Christmas, in pursuit of ingredients that would go into the making of a plum cake. And this was two years back. The hunt was on for a cake mould, when a soft voice asked me if I was from Bombay. I turned back to see a very pleasant looking lady with an urge to know something. I replied in the affirmative and she looked relieved. But the relief wasn't going to stay long as the next question was a perplexing one for me that threw a string of quests back at her..

"Can you tell me of a place from where I can pick up a savoring mould?"

"Sorry, I didn't get that. What mould?"

"A savouring mould!"

My mind started wondering while my eyes wandered. Is she referring to some kind of fungi that is edible and tasty? Is she looking for a peculiar variety of mushroom? Should I feign knowledgeable or tell her upfront that this was never-heard-of term for me? I chose the latter, telling her that I didn't know what it was. 

"It's a baking mould", she said.

"Ohhhh, a baking mould!?!"

I already knew that the first thing on my to-do list, after reaching home, was to put Google to work. And I did. And as usual Google threw a question back at me. Here it is:

So, it wasn't savouring, but Savarin mould and it was named after Brillat-Savarin (not that if she'd pronounced it right, i would've got it). 
The same  chap who was famous for the famous maxim:

"Tell me what you eat and I will tell you who you are".

I am not going to write too much about him as the internet already has a lot of information.  But, someday I would love to own a copy of 'Physiologie du goût (The Physiology of Taste)'.

 P.S. Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are. I am Pasta, sometimes Pizza :)


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I am back!

"Slothfulness casts into a deep sleep, and an idle person will suffer hunger." - Bible

I haven't been penning down my thoughts for the longest of time now. Excuses aren't plenty either. Nothing but pure indolence. Have been a sloth in the past few months. That's what happens when you are a pampered mother, a pampered daughter-in-law and a pampered wife. And continuously staying from writing has developed a serious case of writer's block. I am trying to come out of it. The only respite is that I am not liable for the multitude of readers who don't throng my blog for more stuff. Hence I can afford to shirk writing. 

But now I am back and have decided to put things in order. There has been a fair amount of travelling in the past few months and before my brain decides to do away with the true collection of events, I need to put it down somewhere.

On a seriously light note, it had been one heck of a year. Couldn't ask for more.

And before I rest on that chair in front of my laptop there are things to be taken care of. I can see the Christmas tree waiting to wage a war for making it stand on the deck way after working time. It's the 4th already and I am yet to get the jingbang down, the whole Christmas paraphernalia.

The ghost in my wardrobe is pushing clothes outside. No, no, no. Don't get me wrong. There aren't too many clothes in the house. The shelves aren't enough, actually. So I have to take care of all that's lying outside waiting to know what it looks like inside of a wardrobe.

And then there are those brown cartons. They look full, in fact they look like they have been filled beyond capacity. I don't know where these things came from. It is a little hard to believe that my house actually stored the things in those cartons before the paint job.

Honestly, I am comfortable living in mess. But the rest of family disagrees. And majority always wins. And majority also stays away from undoing the mess. That has to be taken care of by this poor, humble soul. And this soul has to enjoy the process of cleaning. 

For starters...where's the camera!?!

The cafés of Fort Kochi

There are a good number of reasons to visit Fort Kochi, in Kerala. One of them would be the quaint little cafés snuggling happily amidst the colorful houses and shops in the bylanes of Fort Kochi.

Kashi Art Café 

The omelette, rich in cheese and the sinful chocolate cake that melts in your mouth... yummilicious  is the word at Kashi Art Cafe. And a cup of hot chamomile tea.

Teapot Café 
Ehem! I am sorry to say this, but I don't remember what I had at Teapot's. I was busy admiring the tea kettles and the various other artifacts on display at the cafe, including the big round table in the centre.

Sometimes it is good to let go and immerse yourself in a cup of coffee/tea without any particular plan of action. 

Odisha Odyssey

We, my colleague and me had a day or two to kill before starting our next schedule at the KIIT Campus. Till then what we had seen was a miniscule part of the city of Bhubhaneshwar, the capital of Odisha - the crowded markets, the grimy city roads, the flyovers and the Mayfair. I remember spending an entire day at the Mayfair (dumb as it may sound) as we didn't have much to do. We were sipping tea after tea, relishing the confectionaries and the Oriya mithai before getting back to the guesthouse to be back again for the Mayfair nightlife. Monotonous!

Once the gang left, it was just M and me. Gladly, he was a travel zealot. Like me he didn't mind the gruelling heat or the arduous early morning travel for the sake of seeing new places. So there was a plan, a plan to leave our rooms at three in the morning to catch the sunrise at the Chandrabhaga Beach and the Sun Temple at Konark after that. We reached well before time. The sun was yet to say happy morning. It was dark and quiet with just a few people around a tea-stall. Perfect timing for us too. We called for two cups of tea along with a few cookies to munch on. The silhouettes of the fishermen and their families around their boats made for some great pictures. I was enjoying the sand under my feet waiting for the golden sun to rise.

The soft murmurs from a few tourists had grown now to loud banter from the fisher-folks readying their boats to tame the powerful sea. I had never seen anything like this before. There was a man, an aged patriarch who guided the fishermen with a long bamboo stick. The moment a big wave rolled to the shore, the men would thrust their boat on top of it giving it momentum for the rest of the journey. What amazed me was the number of locals who had gathered to witness all this action. Like us they too watched with wonder. There were fathers who had come with their little children, old men and women, couples - all looking in the same direction, the direction of the horizon from where came the rolling, gigantic waves ready to lead the men and their boats to earn their livelihood. Splendid!

The sun too had started making its appearance giving the beach a golden carpet look, a carpet that stretched all the way to infinity and beyond.

The Chandrabhaga, one of the sought after destinations in Odisha is a nice stopover before heading towards the Sun Temple. The pristine beach with its unassuming locals is a delight to the traveller's heart. After a good two hours we resumed our onward journey to the Sun Temple.