Chiffonesque

I think I have quite a gift for thinking up recipes. They may have existed before, but since I didn’t know of them when I thought of them, they’ll remain my discovery. Here’s my version of the egg paratha. Now, I eat a lot of eggs. Especially in the form of curry. Most times, I eat the regular egg curry with garam masala and tomatoes. But it’s easy to get tired of. So, sometimes, I have egg curry that is cooked in onions, tomatoes, and ginger to which a little soya sauce and/ or blackbean sauce is added. Then, once the egg curry is made, I like to chop up a few eggs from the curry into itsy pieces – the size of chopped onions when you slice them for an omlette. Then I use this chopped up egg as stuffing for the parathas . To make the paratha more flavorful, it’s good to add two or three spoonfuls of curry to the dough while you knead it. One could add chilli powder and coriander for the zing, but it works just as well without. This paratha comes out nice and thick and packs in all th

It’s Monday morning. This day comes after a lovely weekend in Pune – where we lay in dribbles of warm sunshine in crisp, cold mornings. And took a late night walk under a full moon. And got dressed to eat chocolate cake and celebrate J’s birthday. And snuggled under thick blankets and slept like children. This morning, perched on the window ledge of my office pantry, was a big eagle. Its lush thick feathers seemed to have rolled in a palette of taupe and russet and then gently dusted with flecks of burnt sienna and gold. It devoured a dead animal meticulously. Majestic - this cryptic harbinger for the week ahead.

A friend of mine recommended ‘The Glass Bead Game’ by Herman Hesse. I’ve tried reading Hesse’s ‘Siddhartha’ and it seemed like a sordid ordeal to me. Understandably, I was wary of picking up this book. So, googled the dope on Hesse’s work and, well, it will take some initiation before I take it up. It seems to be set in an unidentified period and involves a game that has specific rules, but these rules aren’t spelt out clearly, but only alluded to. The game involves an expert (Magister Ludi) and, as with other oeuvres of Hesse, there are plenty of philosophical mechanics to bring out essence of spiritual crises, travesties of soul-search in society, etc. etc. Suffice to say, I don’t think I can tackle the subject just yet. Although it did get me thinking on the dimension of time. The future, it seems, arrives too quickly. It’s funny when I think that at one time ‘1984’ was ‘futuristic’, and now, it is more than two decades ago. If I try to imagine the future and think of what sort of g

I was just talking to a colleague and she mentioned having a fear of confrontation. She presumed that this fear stems from some kind of self-esteem issue. I agree. I think the very notion that only like-minded opinions will please me stems from an esteem problem. I feel encouraged when people share my opinion, I feel discouraged when they don’t. If someone tells me that a particular task is not up my alley, or that I don’t have certain strengths, I would not discuss this further. It wouldn’t occur to me to ask the person, “Why do you think so?” Although there may be instances to the contrary, I think that people do not criticize to hurt. Most times, they are critical because they don’t understand. Not understanding another human being irritates us, and so we criticize. In recent times, I was very critical of people who disliked celebrities or good-looking people or any category that attracted reverse discrimination. It’s not that I particularly adore Aishwarya Rai, but I used to find t

I am feeling so ill. My throat is lumpy and sore. I can’t swallow anything, and I am feeling so groggy. I detest taking any kinds of medicines, but I did today. I should avoid doing that in the future considering it made me feel worse. Last night, I dined at Pop Tates, Saki Naka, with a friend from work. It was great fun, once we reached there. Before that, we walked for 45 minutes from our office as we couldn’t find an auto. I was a little squeamish at the prospect of walking through assorted browns of decay, dirt, and loud truckers. My pal, though, tromped confidently ahead, making way with nothing more than the force of her directed stride. I followed. Meekly. I was dressed in a sari and flat sandals that were selected to show off my pretty ruby toe-ring. Instead, I winced every time I stepped on a sharp stone. We reached PT, slightly sweaty and dirty, but oh..so relieved! I introduced her to Virgin Margarita (she had a peach, while I slurped a strawberry) and she really liked it. I

I am not in the best of moods now, so I think I will talk about my baby nephew, Karan, to lift my spirits. He is getting more spherical by the day and is rising to be his Ma and Pa's pride and joy. " He's a sporty sorts ", my cousin tells me. At barely two and half months, I don't understand how 'sporty' he can possibly get. But parents of new-born children get slightly dim, I think. My cousin told me that the two month old has taken up 'cheek fight' - where he pushes his plump cheek against that of any volunteering face, and then promptly pummels it with his soft, pudgy fists. " He always wins !", my cousin laughs. Right. So my nephew, who may in the future do something significant such as discover a planet or something, is currently being heralded as a formidable cheek fighter. What a champ! Really, parents! My nephew is so cute, though. A veritable carrot dumpling! Lighting diyas is an interesting experience. The wick is so sad and d

Today, I am wearing a black cotton saree with a sandalwood border. I was supposed to have worn an orange and purple silk one. But when Ma unfolded it in the morning, she realized that it was too small. I didn’t know one could shortchange a couple of yards of a saree. I don’t like wearing cotton sarees too much. They bloat around me and feel so crisp and edgy – like I’m living in the middle of a paper dosa. Chiffon is my favorite. Or Crepe or georgette. Silk looks nice, but it’s too formal for me. No, I think I would always go for chiffon. It drapes easily and I find it much easier to manage than a cotton float. My blouse is pretty sexy, but it is a fact I have taken care to camouflage for office. If I could manage my sarees better, I would like to not have it as occasion wear. It is not all that unmanageable. I think the last time I had trouble with an outfit was when I worn dungarees to someone’s house for lunch. Going to the loo was pretty complicated. By now, I think I have traveled

Sad and negative thoughts can be really tiring. They weigh down my spirits, I can’t sleep well, I can’t eat well, and everything seems bleak. (I know that’s exactly how negative thoughts are supposed to be, but still.) The thing is, if I firmly decide to snap out of it, then they become large films of cobweb that can be pierced and torn away. They cease to be huge boulders, too heavy to move. It is not easy to snap out of it though. Because most times, I just enjoy staring at the cobwebs. Winter time, and I suddenly become aware of the fact that I have skin. Ordinarily, I don’t apply sunscreen or any kind of lotion. But come September (I love that melody), words such as hydrate, nourish, indulge, savor become appealing tasks to undertake when it comes to caring for the cappuccino-colored skin that cloaks my bones. My mom is very much a potions and creams aficionado. She prepares some umpteen little bowls of pastes – honey and curd, grated apples, haldi, and cucumber, besan and milk, sq

It was a harrowing drive to Mulund this Saturday afternoon. I had to get to Nirmal Lifestyle for a shopping spree with a friend, and disregarding past experiences, I figured I’d zip through the roads at 2:00 p.m. I was wrong. Not because there were too many cars on the roads. But because they were too many cars and not enough roads. The Ghansoli/ Rabale bridge was a nightmare. I am mortally scared of getting stuck on a slope, and what I experienced that awful afternoon was an episode straight out of Fear Factor. One part of the road is being excavated (‘dug up’ doesn’t apply)- no doubt for a picture of an undug road from a bygone era; why else would they dig so deep? So streams of vehicles could go to and fro on only one narrow strip. There were almost 4 disjointed, skewed lanes on a strip that could barely handle 1. I was probably the smallest car in that agglomeration of grating metal and wheels, barring the autos. The autos, to their credit and my chagrin, made up with gumption what

Overheard in office between two women poring over Property Times and making notes of brokers: Lady asking her friend (looking up suddenly): How long ago did you get pregnant? Her friend: When the per sq. foot rate of that flat in Goregaon East was 6,500. Now, it is 11,300. Lady: Tch, tch.