Just three days, three gorgeous days in South Goa, and I carry back a whole year’s supply of mirth. The ambience gets on to your skin, in preparation for a relaxed spa-like vacation coming up, in the warmest and most playful way possible. There’s no place like Goa to unwind they say, and it’s true to the hilt. There’s that something in the air, as the monsoons trail along, playing hide and seek with your senses. The tall palms swaying head downward, bushes bursting with petrichor, and innumerable waterways wearing a luxuriant look, glamorous after dry Gurgaon, embrace your every pore, even before you land. The drive to your hotel courses through languorous countryside bathed in warm sunlight, that seems to belong to Goa alone. We stayed in the Benaulim area, and for the length of our stay drifted along alleyways and gulleys, like two impoverished souls, soaking it all in. Some of what our beings absorbed is right here, in a feeble attempt to capture its blossoms, its seafarer robes, its very essence, as we strolled and biked around like two Junkie hipsters, high on Goa!
Hibiscus abounds and thrives in the landscape
a large Carp kinda fish couldn’t care less about the rest of the world
‘Gud, rmmbr my msg – r dnnr- the pics? So tht’s de latest, in hngo’er state lol ’
‘Ya, I saw. Lovly n all. Wassup? ’
‘Uh, since last nite? Nthng yaar, tryin to catch sum sleeeeep- zzzzz. CYL. TTYL.’
And so on and so forth- a minute to minute catching up, sometimes less, sometimes with longer gaps. But what’s there to catch up with- we are in constant communication. There’s not much curiosity left, is there? What are we talking about anymore, where are we headed, what’s happening to us? These are some of the questions that assail me time and again, and I’m afraid of cutting myself off at the same time. I’ll miss out…but what is it exactly that I’ll miss out on? Unclear. The sad happy jokes? The woman-centric video-clips? And not just those, all the information-laden articles, and the wisdom being passed around every morning via a Good Morning! And a Rumi or a Shakespeare quote from the greats promptly accompanies the cheerful greeting. I like, and I smile back. And there are more wise folk out there, so often, the quotation is a simplistic one by an Anon. person. I like and I smile back with equal zeal.
And just by the way, I woke up at 6, had a cup of tea and made awesomely soft idlis with onion-tomato chutney. Served it up with a flourish, and then….but really now, do you need to know all this stuff about my daily routine? Nah. I suppose not. But I insist on telling you, coz I have this aching need to constantly share. Again, is it my need, or is it something I caught, you know, like a virus out there? Everyone’s sharing, be it on FB (‘I feel so tired today’- c’mon guys, some empathy please, or at least ask why), ‘The Metro sucks, and it hasn’t rained today’….yea, right, it sucks and it hasn’t rained, we all know it. It’s out there, all of it, and a lot of it sucks. One feels obliged to check the Like box, especially if it’s someone you want to have on your side to check your boxes too, haah!
Hang on, let me just put up a photograph of the road I traversed this morning, strewn with potholes and make a noteworthy statement of the rather ailing state of our state….it does make good copy.
Otherwise, honestly, there’s enough of enough that is quite all right. I love looking at photographs of scenaries and birds, trees and flowers, and see people enjoying their holidays, Oh I do. However, I don’t particularly like watching people in front of buildings, and in poor light especially. I enjoy poetry and writing, but not when it’s abysmally written, hankering for praise, accompanied by – well, let’s not go there shall we, not right now!
Surely should an anxiety get hold of me first thing in the morning –
“Shucks, I missed a wonderful quote today- how will I pass my day wisely now!” it would be frightfully wrong, would it not? This being besieged by a feeling of guilt and remorse, not okay. I haven’t wished back, what would my friends think of me?
So what’s it that drives us to constant communion? What’s this madness that has us in its hold? Why the need to be in the know of every movement of our friends, or non-friends and belong to a myriad groups that chatter incessantly. When there’s a quiet in-between this mindless chuckling, there’s a void felt- one is compelled to shake the mobile’s face – there’s something amiss, or we put it on and off, like a sparkling diamond, to verify that its shine is intact, and not fading with the passage of the hours. One wakes up to this faithful companion, having charged it to life, and then before shutting our eyes at night, we feel this craving to put in a last word- out there, so as to sleep in peace. But do we? In our sleep-state we are overcome by a myriad communications, said-unsaid. We are living in times that are overwrought with words, images, both moving and still. Can one safely conclude that we are over-communicating, over-reaching and over-dipping ourselves in the mire of ‘too much of a good thing’?
Benefits : we can be in touch with those far away from us, like our kids, our aging parents; we get to read some surprising thoughts & essays (seldom, but it is known to have happened), we are able to efficiently organize Ladies’ Night, and ensure that we don’t have to write the same message over and over; so far so good.
What else is good? Ah yes, the instant selfies and photographing…priceless.
Disadvantages : fewer surprises, less interesting stuff to share and an overriding need to outdo – be it in flavour, be it in humour, especially when it comes to reacting to whatever it is- fastest finger shows off a faster mind. And the emoticons- O lord, save my soul! I sit guilty of over-and mis-use of some very strange expressions and drawings. Many of us are. It replaces the word, and it sounds out the exclamation we would otherwise have used our vocal chords for. Wow! How does it get better than that!
It does, believe you me, it does. Not using them constantly will make them more meaningful and precious perhaps. I am yet to learn how not to. I am yet to understand how I got here, overzealously communicating day and night with people all over the world. I know I would save a few hours, were I to desist, and put them to far better use. Now what might that be, I do wonder, because, believe you me, I have this itch where I am fretting about how quickly I can finish this post, stick it on to my Blog, and share it via Facebook and Whatsapp and ….O all right, just these two for now. I’ve got to communicate my thoughts, and right about NOW! O the delicious tremor that seizes me as I imagine my world of people reading me and smiling, and shrugging their shoulders, saying, so what’s new? They will continue to ‘talk’ at a speed that both defies and defines time.
Is this going to change over the coming years? Are we going to embrace quietude and sometimes just go off the grid and become incommunicado? Do we really need to shed tears, or hair, or moods upon a screen- big or small? There are as many answers to these questions as there are people. Yet I have a sinking feeling that loneliness is on the rise, and the perils of communication are encouraging it, feeding it and permitting its dissemination like toxic weeds that grow unabated unless uprooted as quickly as they sprout.
Just saying :
Parthenium entered India with imported food grains in the mid-1950s. It is said to be one of the world’s seven most devastating and hazardous weeds and grows undeterred and wild left unchecked.
Facebook entered the world in 2004 and its invasion has transformed our world irretrievably.
Whatsapp was actively created in 2009, but it is in 2013 that it became really popular and had about 200 million active users and 50 staff members.
Some significant members of the Social Media Society :
There’s Snapchat- microblogging, Twitter (instant gratification via handles- what you write is instantly swallowed by the world and gregariously opined about), Instagram (more photographs anyone- photo-blog away!), Youtube (show off your own videos, – you name it, and watch short or long movies!), Pinterest (visual pinning of pictures/videos and follow others’ Pins), Tumblr (posts are living documents) etc. ….and social media is kept alive in its myriad forms by we the People.
And there we were, my man and I, ready to hit the road. Have car, will race, was the motto of my companion on our tour of Czech Republic – Prague, Bratislava (Slovakia), Budapest (Hungary) and Zagreb (Croatia). We were both raring to go, no doubt about that, after ten delightful days in Germany, we wanted to explore what lay on the east side of things. Needless to say, we did race at a 120 miles per hour as often as we could, stopping just once between countries to fill up.
Driving is charming when you have the quiet and exploring, curious mind. It wasn’t a charm though on our first leg, from Hochholzen, Germany, to Prague as we ended up encountering many road-works on the highway that carried us forth. It did put a spoke in our wheels, in a manner of speaking, eager as we were to reach our destination, but we were quick to remind ourselves that oftentimes it is the journey that’s the thrill, not simply the arrival at a given goal. That said, we did race every time the path cleared up. Signs were all good.
I could barely hold my breath when we crossed the toll booth, the entry point to Czech Republic, where we purchase a card for a certain amount to be brandished, whenever asked, to prove that we were legal entrants. The cloudy weather made it all seem very drab and uninteresting after the golden rapeseed fields of Germany. Yet we were exhilarated at crossing over.
The Air-bnb we arrived at without much ado thanks to our efficient GPS. Our host, Peter, was a kindly gentleman with a beautiful mansion boasting off a large garden and a cosy apartment meant for us. A fabulous welcome. I, for one, just couldn’t get my head around the fact that the entire apartment was all ours for our two-night stay. I ran around like a headless chicken into the garden, back into the apartment, scouring every nook and corner. It felt great, it felt right. The air was cool, and we headed out the moment my hubby found me trying to catch a breath.
We were in Prague- east Europe, and everywhere we looked, people smiled back at us. Our first evening was spent walking around the castle and just taking in all the sounds that fell upon our ears. No English. There was a language in the air that we were not accustomed to, adding an allure to the experience. We stood agape at the top of the hill that gave over the city- boasting a wide vista of steeples and thick clusters of homes and roofs that seemed to belong to another era. It took painful hunger pangs to draw us away and back downhill to search and ultimately find a restaurant that would satisfy both the meat-eater, me, and my vegetarian partner. We were the only ones in that eatery, and we discovered that the food on our plates was less than satisfactory. I decided that cooking might be the more palatable option.
The following morning we reluctantly left the confines of this beautiful ground floor apartment with a garden, armed with a map of both the metro lines and the city to take on our roles as tourists.
With help in broken English from a mother and her toddler, we found our way, quite easily to the town-centre which was teeming with holiday-makers from around the world, and we joined them – to be entertained and to enjoy whatever Prague offered in terms of history and beauty- both wrapped up in each other quite seamlessly. A hop on-hop off bus gave us the ride of our lives, allowing us to get a peek of all of Prague, or so it seemed. The fresh air, the continuous chatter in our ears, of the guide via headphones, and a blue sky above, rolling along with the bus- was perfect. The sun shone brightly. We were two content people. Our ride ended at the quay, where we descended into a motor boat that swayed, just so, and we were blown away, by the sights of innumerable steeples, and verdant hills that bowed to us. We barely heard the guide, as the waters of the Danube splashed about, beating relentlessly, the body of our boat.
Later we had a far more sumptuous meal at our temp home. Prague had hosted us generously enough, and we were not about to ruin our evening with yet another struggle for a good meal for two very hungry tourists.
Slovakia – Bratislava
The ride to Bratislava was an uneventful one, but we rode fast and arrived by lunchtime at another lovely apartment, which was fitted with both expensive and modern equipment, sporting the look of a designer home. We did not meet the owner, but were handed over the key by a friend, who left us in peace for the days to follow. It was quite a contrast to Peter’s home in Prague. We felt we needed to keep it as ‘delicately perfect’ as it was, and me being me, I feared soiling anything I touched. The centre room had designer sofas and a rather ‘cool’ centre table, and aesthetically lined porcelain vases adorned the corners. It was like walking into a magazine that displayed homes for the rich and famous. Being neither rich nor famous, it took all of my energy and self-belief to roam unfettered in this apartment.
Our evening was spent in the local quarter, shopping and eating ice-cream cones, and just roaming around, taking in the feel of the people and the land. We felt we were being watched, since we happened to be the only Asians in that area. It was ok, and truth be told, I felt a bit of a celebrity who hadn’t quite made it in the big league. Back in the apartment we gorged on local fare, which was a bag of Bratislavan chips and local wine. We ended this high caloried dine-in with grapes and apples. Not so bad eh!
The following day we did visit the Castle, whose gardens were more attractive to us, sprawling as they were. They immediately drew our attention away from the lofty castle itself, as they gave over the city’s riverside, and its skyline. We wandered around like two lost souls, soaking in the greens, the large number of couples that lounged on the benches, taking in the sun’s warmth – just allowing it to wash over them, even as we deftly marched on the shaded areas. We marveled yet again at the rising steeples, the hanging bridge across the vast Danube, and gorged on a delicious Italian meal- playing it safe paid off, and we were richly rewarded by some excellent service and tickled tastebuds. A strong double expresso rounded off the meal quite impeccably.
We ambled along and found our way to the Slavin memorial after losing track of both time and tracks. However, it afforded us quite an insight into other areas of the city, which proved to be the best part of our day yet. Later, on the insistence of the partner, we drove out of the city to visit the Devin Castle, dating back to the 13th century, which definitely stands out as the highlight of our tour of Bratislava.
This ancient stone castle, stands just inside Slovak territory on the frontier between Slovakia and Austria.
It is quietly positioned upon a hill and casts its vision upon undulating prairies and quaint villages. I reminded myself that this was one rare occasion when I felt not an ounce of regret at having listened to my partner’s obsessive persistence to drive all the way out of town.
On learning more about Devín : since the 19th century its history inspired several romantic poets. It became an important national symbol for the Slovaks. It featured on the reverse of the former 500 Czechoslovak koruna banknote. Now that’s something!
This was heaven- we stood agape on the side of a broken castle wall and watched the sunset. The sight of the confluence of two wide and strong rivers wormed its way into our hearts, forever more. Two water bodies- the Danube and the Morava rivers flowing into one another to form a third wholesome body. In the mellow light of the setting sun, what met our eyes was nothing short of mystic. We had to tear ourselves away on being told that time had run out and we might miss our boat back to town. A half an hour later, we were aboard a humming boat-bound to arrive at Bratislava port in an hour, celebrating the union of Morava and Danube then and now. We were naturally quiet as cold winds whirled around us, and allowed us the time to absorb recent images we now carried.
Gaping at what shone in the light of the setting sun
Grand old Budapest where we spent time shopping, eating gourmet food and riding the river. This time though, the air-bnb quarters were neat but windowless, and our bed had a strange blue light that it emitted ceaselessly. It was eery and exceedingly claustrophic. We managed to survive the night, and rushed off to Zagreb thereafter.
Buda-Pest – two sides of the same coin bespeak history, much like most east European countries, and has clearly lived through many a war to claim and stake its place in the scheme of things. It is a bustling city and there were a large number of tourists combing the city by any means at their disposal. We walked, well mostly, until we embarked on a water cruise. It is a truly lovely city, with hills, waterways and yes, steeples meaning church-goers aplenty. But from what I understood from our Hop-on, Hop-off (yep, best way to rush through a city to pick and choose for later, that which is more attractive), only thirty percent of the country is a regular God-fearer. Surprise, surprise, yet no surprise there! With so much bloodshed and war upon war, what would you have one believe, that God’s all love and kindness? I suppose not.
People here were exceedingly helpful and kind. Walking permitted us to really observe them, their behavior in general up close, and grab a bite – falafel wrap, on the way. There is much to buy in this city, including handcrafted crystal-ware, which we dared not- delicate and heavy as it is.
ZAGREB – Croatia
The following day, was clearly distinct in its ethos. How, you might ask- it was the air, its folk, so much simpler and that much more curious. We spent two luxurious days at Screcko’s home, and were given a small but well-appointed apartment. It overlooked a large park abundantly lined with trees and the cheery patter of happy feet. On our first evening we just hung out in the local marketplace, which reminded me of Gurgaon’s Vyapar Kendra, minus the discomfort of it being likened to a maze. It had all sorts, and we were instantly made comfortable on entering a sandwich shop (imagine a rather large Pita stuffed with chunky tomatoes and goat cheese, sprinkled with salt and pepper) and being told that ‘India does gooood cinema!’ English is rarely spoken apart from this young person who had started with English at school as a third language; as for the rest, ‘No inglis’. We managed just fine- charming information out of unsuspecting Croatians. The weather was glorious, and we wistfully observed a large variety of dogs being walked on leash. It is our favoured domestic pet, so the delight was all ours, remembering ours back home, now gone.
Zagreb is a very pretty town- with great places to eat and shop. Its air is clean as are its people. For us the highlight was both shopping at Müller, a large department store, and spending over two hours at the Musuem of Broken Relationships. The latter displayed items that held deep significance in a narrative that recounted the fabric of a broken relationship. It was not just deeply moving, it also told us how a common thread binds all relationships – be their tying or their untying. Some items on display included a hammer, a high heel shoe, a gum wrapper and even a little bottlette that once carried drugs like Ecstasy. Even as I read the accompanying tale, I felt a tremor rise within me. Each one left me either with a teardrop, or a quickened pace, on to the next one.
Zagreb to me, was the best part of our four city tour. I would have liked to stay for another two days- not so much to see anymore on offer, but just to be. We both, hubby and i, felt similarly, and we both will continue to feel the need to return to Croatia, inshallah we shall!
This trip was unique in many ways for us, but that would require another post. So long for now!
Can the weather make a town as delightful as it is? Can the swaying canopies windsweep away all the dust that can collect around your ankles, in your nostrils and in your home? I don’t know how this works, but a love affair, especially one that is renewed, can begin at any time and does leave an indelible mark upon one’s soul…even if it fades away in time. Mine didn’t.
My affaire d’amour with Bangalore began years ago when i visited with our 1 yr old daughter and stayed in a hotel. I recall the cool, crisp air all through the day as we switched from auto-rickshaw to cab to friend’s vehicle. I remember the smells – varying from freshly ground coffee, to sambar, to frying vadas to spices. I do recall with delight the avenues lined with large-canopied trees and marvelled at the shade they cast, their beauteous leaves swaying along with us. I also remember some pollution but largely the impression i carried back to big, busy city of Delhi was of inner delight. Would i ever live here…nah, not possible-i could never get this lucky! I envied our friend’s luck….However, as a young parent, i imagined life to be rocksteady and dedicated to parenting and wifehood in one single city- and that was some twenty odd years ago. It has been anything but steady, and possibly even rocky. Even so, were life a game and one had to choose from among rock, paper and scissors, we would still choose rock and give it the meaning we have. Within the confines of constant change, we found our rocks…that held our fall. Today, that rock is Bangalore, or with respect to the Kannada language, Bengaluru.
I have lived here not once but twice, and the love affair has sustained, and not of my asking or yearning. Here, I’ve been both lonely and over-indulged, happy and sad, i’ve been sober and deliriously drunk, and have both entertained and been entertained. Bangalore never leaves you alone, not in any simplistic, bachelor kind of way- it wraps itself around you stealthily, it grows on you and finally, you are captive- you bind yourself to it willy nilly . From minor to major, from andante to allegro- the music plays on. One learns how to pronounce some of the most lengthy, unpronounceable Indian names of places and people and roads. The process can be quite delightful really, once you get the hang of it. You end up feeling ecstatic especially if you get the key Kannada phrases thanks to delightfully long rides in your car, with the radio on full blast. “Maja maadi!’, “Sakkath hot”, “Nannu …hogthini” and so on and so forth. Enjoy maadi, as one constantly hears young folk say out loud- meaning, “have a ball!”
For the names- I’ll start with Deve Gowda- Jala Halli – Baanaswadi – Gubbara Halli – Bomanna Halli – try this one: Baya Panaa Halli (tongue-twister eh!), Ramagondana halli and its international airport at Devana Halli..phew! I will not even start with the Pura-s. Halli means village and pura means settlement or township. Going by the number of Hallis in Bangalore, one can safely deduce that Bangalore has risen from village or small town and has become India’s Silicon valley! Wow! I love it- not so much the growth into a multi-township but the fact that the inherent charm of the city arises from its humble beginnings. I live in Ulsoor, which is Halasuroo as it goes by its original name spied at its Metro station. From Bangalore to Bengaluru- a sketchy backward and bumpy ride, since the politics of Karnataka keep coming into play and pull out their stops to remind its vagrants, that while what meets the eye is a modern, upwardly mobile city- offering all the brands one can bring out of a hat, it is still Karnataka’s stronghold, and they won’t rest till one sits up and notices. When i use the word backward, all i mean is that it’s all in the name : Bengaluru- a call to return to its root, a worthy reminder of whence and whither, no more and no less. For example a few years back, the resto-bars had been categorically told to shut shop by 23 hours. I wince as i remember a police jeep waiting outside the Resto i was at with my friends, with lathis (sticks) lest the manager had refused to comply. We were out at 23 hrs sharp. So notice one does.
I’ve had to wind my way from Whitefield into town on many a hard day- with reference to the above, Bangalore or Bengaluru – its new moniker, has narrow roads reminiscent of its humble, peasant past- and the Silicon Valley needs cars and buses and all the transport represented by the modern world and speed it up! I belong to the latter- so i drive my own car- big or small it wouldn’t matter because a narrow road can take only so many cars, one way or another. I’ve suffered incessant noise, pollution and chaos. I continue to. Yet the place is all mine to own. It is not insignificant, by no means whatsoever , that Bangalore welcomes folk from all over the country- from every direction and more than just its own country. There are people and there is nature, both surviving side by side. Harmoniously? Absolutely. The lake opposite my apartment stands testimony to that- it has been cleaned up- its body shimmering under the sunlight and the kayaks that float by every now and then look mighty pleased to me, as do the army men who adorn them.
Bengaluru …its beauty, stamped upon my heart with its indelible and unique pathways, turns, pot-holes, irreparable roadways and some very interesting areas that need revisiting. What i cannot resist sharing is that in contrast with any northern town like Delhi, Bangalore’s restos, pubs and innumerable take-aways or Eat-ins offer the most delectable south Indian fare….today it has also done justice to North Indian tandoori food, so one really has it all. Its outlets are willing to, more than ever before, deliver and bring home all sorts of foods to your doorstep if you wish. The body has its needs, and hungers for more than just a plate of edibles. A wise man’s tummy wisdom is measured in his need for gourmet fare, for aperitifs and for aesthetics. And a wise woman, even more so. A lot happened here in our 3 year hiatus.
Bangalore seems more powerful, more empowered, more giving even as it takes from you – your energy and your time, sometimes your dedication. I have a feel for the place. I am visiting more directions, am feeling more of it and wondering where everyone is headed. I observe the cars from my verandah, and listen to the rush in their honks – the restlessness tangible. I watch with equal zeal the motorbikes and scooties- two-wheelies- countless heads rushing in one or the other direction and continue to believe that there’s a nook for every person in this city. I am also certain that when i get behind the wheel, someone is watching me. Where are we all headed after all? For the moment, loving Bangalore is not a mighty task at hand, and i intend to keep nurturing this affair….flirt with it, keep playing with, and if it won’t listen, i’ll sulk and make it listen to my needs. So far so good.
Name an Indian language, it’s spoken here, so communication is not an obstruction; the buildings keep rising, housing is as upward as you wish it to get. Am i an emigrant, a vagrant or a permanent member of the Bangalore club- only time will tell but for now, i am looking to deepen my knowledge of its history, its current affairs and take a shot at predicting its future, which to me looks brighter every day, even if in adagio mode.
Will this be an affair for my kids and grand-kids to remember me by?
Every single day of the week has looked like someone or something for the longest possible time, each representing a sentient being. I feel compelled to share how i feel about each day, since in my mind’s eye, Monday’s a bloke- a handsome young man, whose fresh visage harkens to the day’s calling. Monday is refreshing, Monday is daunting, Monday is an irresistible man whose call is soft yet lucid and clear, whose voice is short of a baritone that says, “here i am, now take me as i am….i will always be here, after your Sunday party and relieve you of all the stress you are forced to undergo during the weekend!” And i go for him, and embrace this beautiful, beautiful Day that most folk fear. Oh! dreadful Monday, bloody Monday, horrible Monday- oh i hate Mondays! Me, i love my Mondays…and now you know why.
Tuesday – a mellow, yet unopened blossom (only till midday), a genteel persona…a lady. She bursts into full bloom around the time that i stretch my limbs and realise that the rush of Monday is over…and it’s time to breathe deeply and inhale, something i forget on Mondays!
No miseries on Tuesday – it’s a gentle, sweet, un-abrasive kind of scented day, that carries you with it in its arms, nestling Monday’s urgency and acting upon my senses like a balm. Tuesdays, i am good, i am settled and generally happy.
Wednesday – back to male dominion. Wednesday is a strong, wilful day and businesslike. Wednesday, i am not just getting about my day, but attacking every hour with a pressing need to accomplish. So in my mind, Wednesday is a strong, muscular male person with less mind but more power. Go, go, go he says. I visualise Wednesday as a tall, dark and grand personality, not necessarily handsome and good-looking but you can’t look away from him either. Wednesday is compelling and i push and move and work on Wednesdays.
Thursday – homely, closer to Friday, partnering with an oncoming weekend, slower in pace, gentler visage and a woman of substance. I see a midsize lady, with a bindi upon her forehead, arms loosely by her side, determined yet not pushy. Thursday is a superb day- my favorite of the lot. Thursday’s language is slower….she is a contented person, happy with her lot and her place among the 7 siblings. I often am more relaxed on a Thursday and enjoy my own company. Thursdays are for meeting friends, chilling out and having long lunches. Thursday and i, we are good.
Friday – ah wonderful Friday! Now what do we have here, an older person- greying at the temples, wise with age, seen this, done that. Friday is mature, Friday has a slight, comely paunch, yet Friday is smartened up, wisened with the passing years and with a quickness to his steps.
Middle-aged but very smart Friday is a man to reckon with. Do i love Fridays? Not particularly….but i do like him. Friday evenings – they can be lonely and long if not planned for. Hate planning. . Man Friday is Fridays, everyone is partying and dressing down, but for me, end of the week, that wastolerable, Man Friday is needed, because we arrive at the weekend- but i would skip a Friday if i could, smart as he is.
Saturday- fine male counterpart to Sunday- the strong, broad-shouldered, capable woman.
Saturday meets Sunday at midnight, and they have a rollicking time just being who they are. They do very little in my vision to enhance their intrinsic personas….the fact that they stand where they do, at the edge of a week, gives them an overpowering, inherent quality and they smile and laugh. While Saturday, young man, robust and handsome, draws us into the two-day combine, and offers us goodies to enjoy…a picnic, a movie, an outing for the sake of it, some shopping, some catching-up; Sunday affords us freedom and spells joy and relaxation, while taking care of the rest of our lives. The mind is filled with sweetness as the body lets go of the tensions of the week, and she cradles our needs unbeknownst to us.
Oh yeah! i do love this partnership, i love this couple without whom i could not travel as often as i do. So if i have to rate my Days….this couple holds the 1st prize. Thursday follows close at its heels, and Monday, well, is a fine day too. Days are days, but when they take on the aura of beings…they are that much more special, are they not!
Life was offered to us at birth, and we chose to divide it up in days, months, years and such like. Why not create something more out of our own creation, eh!
The beauty of my country lies in its variety of rice …..in the way it treats the rice and what it does with its humungous variety of rice. What an incredibly edible item is rice.
Living in the south of the country truly makes you want more and more of each item. Warning though : the following items are all addictive in nature and i only live by example…..as soon as the desire to dig into one of these wells up within me, i remove all my inhibitions and dig deep into my rice cooker….however, i try to eat it only once or twice a week, so that i can do justice to my appetite and have no need of exercising any control whatsoever. So in a manner of speaking- i control my addiction! ahaa!
Today i wish to expound the number of dishes that have emerged to satisfy a variety of tastes :
Lemon rice – its ubiquitousness is legendary and seems to be loved by adults and kids alike;
Puli-rice (Tamarind rice) – even as i write the name, my mouth drools at the thought of its all-pervasive taste. It tingles, its tangy sweetness and the last morsel, coated with spice….mmmm, just leaves you wanting more. Eaten as is, or with a bowl of yoghurt, its king of spiced rice items;
Curry-leaf rice – made with love, when there’s an excess of curry leaves available, they are browned and roasted, some tamarind, some powdered spice, and the green leaves are a near-paste…cooked & curried, but never in a hurry. It is supposed to be the best cure for many a tummy ailment and unhurried desires that turn into passion when ingested with warm rice and some sesame oil, heaven at your fingertips i say!
Sambar-rice – some leftover sambar, some leftover rice and you have a delicious concoction freshly put together with dollops of ghee (clarified butter) and your tastebuds are tickled pink till your fingers are dowsed in this wonderful rice preparation, which is not quite a rice dish, and yet it’s what a lot of us would love to have just-like-that. If there be some crisp popadums (papads) to accompany it, why not!
Turmeric rice : as the name suggests, its yellow colour, and the accompanying spice- turmeric- that yellow colour that seems to reign supreme in every kitchen- it can be nicknamed the Kitchen God…it’s dominating presence can turn any dull dish into a fine-looking specimen, then why should rice be left behind. One could sputter some mustard seeds in oil, add a little red chilly powder and few pinches of turmeric (haldi) into the oil itself- watch the perfume go up in the air, as your nostrils are pervaded with its raw smell…dump in any leftover rice with a little salt to taste. swish the rice and there till all grains are yellowed- serve with a generous helping of ghee. With no accompaniments- this rice will give you intense joy….just as it is.
Chilly Red Rice : healthy and fiery- can’t go wrong can we now! Boiled red rice on one hand, and fiery red chillies on another- can be exchanged for green chillies as well, some handpound fresh root ginger, and we’re good to go. Squeeze some fresh lemon juice before serving or eating, and mmmmm, there’s heaven to be had. You do need some yoghurt on the side in case the chillies are overwhelming…
Zeera Rice : cumin – the most wonderful whole spice there is. They are all special, but cumin remains my ever-favorite. Rice tempered with cumin, a little pepper powder, some coriander powder and then topped with fresh cilantro- yummy is the word. Let it rest a little before you grab spoonfuls of it. One can always add a little red chilly powder too, but pepper should do the trick. The tempering is best done in a little mustard oil…if you have the stomach for it. This particular preparation was one that i created for my kids’ lunch boxes with leftovers…so i would even end up adding bits of veggies into the rice, which they happily wolfed down, treating this preparation as their mom’s Veg Biryani! Both parties were delighted!
Waking up to the body clock is not a bad thing in itself- but 5.25 on a Saturday morning! I must be getting old…..and unable to turn in again, oh am definitely either ageing or getting to where i want to get to 10 years hence! Well, nothing like a headstart eh!
My ‘misery’ is compounded by the number of honks i am able to distill…and the birds have flown the coop too, so no chirps either…i hear a bike, in a tearing hurry, passing trucks with their creakingly heavy movements, and smooth and not-so-smooth cars. Life continues unabated. I also hear some workers in delightful conversations in Kannada and Tamil- not clear but there’s humour and joy in their tones. The language of contentment is delightfully pleasing, in any language. How do i know they are workers!? Oh, aren’t we all? I feel happy to be leaning back on my pillows, unable to catch a few winks before the day catches me, and i fling myself into daily chores, lesson preparations and what-have-you. The joy doesn’t last though…since i do so wish to close my eyes and just wander off into the land beyond the physical body. We shall see.
I felt thrilled to attend a young girl’s Arangetram last night- Ananya Suresh- a superb rendition and what amazed me was her stamina. SHe danced away- minute after minute, almost hour after hour. I had to hold my breath- cause she didn’t. Her eye-movements (Abhinaya) were stunning- and the neck so delicately moving from point to point. It was all an exercise in moving art-form- one of many our country boasts of. She was a perfect statuette- such a pretty picture, and then she was a goddess- a person, a local, a God, and so many other beings that i failed to grasp. I was completely taken in by her renditions- her portrayals of varied personas…it was the same Ananya, and she held her own, flowing seamlessly from one character to another, transforming and transformed. What a wonderful enterprise, when a young girl – thru grit, determination and discipline is made to learn an art form that’ll be all hers for the keeping- forever and ever more. I have learnt Bharatnatyam myself- many, many moons ago, and i realise that i also wanted to dance with her….i remembered each movement taught to me- i could easily have matched a few steps and that itself was heavenly, the thought that i could identify and feel from within, the abhinaya. Her mother Vidya is a wonderful collegue of mine and the hall was full of the community of teachers of French and such like. Everyone was delighted to be there, as were Raja and i. We all blessed the child and hope that she morphs into a professional dancer…realising that she has what it takes. However, life has so much to offer her, as she stands at the threshold of university life. God Bless!