It’s nice how some people have already pronounced me dead. I wonder if they’ve also found replacements.
Anyhow, it’s interesting to know that if I survive, I’ll have a severly curtailed profile. Wonder if the old authorities will have me back… worth a shot, I’d say….
July 30, 2007
July 29, 2007
Bukhaareshwari On A Slow And Suspect Mend
Bahut aarzoo thi, gali ki teri
So ya se lahoo mein nahaa ke chaley...
So ya se lahoo mein nahaa ke chaley...
July 26, 2007
The English Patient
Long time no blogpost. Have been struck by an unidentified illness that makes my temperature soar thrice a day to personal highs, and the paracetamol and ibuprofen are just about working their feeble magic on it. From an adventure-filled trip to a London hospital to long TV and book-filled days in wendigo’s pretty house, this is turning out to be an unusual vacation.
Watch this space for more. For now, this is about all I have the energy for. Take care of yourself.
Watch this space for more. For now, this is about all I have the energy for. Take care of yourself.
July 14, 2007
Phir Milenge!!!!!
Kuchh Khushbooein
Yaadon Ke Jungle Se Beh Chaleein
Kuchh Khidkiyaan
Lamhon Ki Dastak Pe Khul Gayin
Kuchh Geet Puraaney
Rakhey They Sirhaane
Kuchh Sur Kahin Khoye They, Bandish Mil Gayi!
Jaaney Ke Ishaarey Mil Gaye! Ticket, Visa Saarey Mil Gaye!
Yaadon Ke Jungle Se Beh Chaleein
Kuchh Khidkiyaan
Lamhon Ki Dastak Pe Khul Gayin
Kuchh Geet Puraaney
Rakhey They Sirhaane
Kuchh Sur Kahin Khoye They, Bandish Mil Gayi!
Jaaney Ke Ishaarey Mil Gaye! Ticket, Visa Saarey Mil Gaye!
July 13, 2007
It's 'Twas A Girl!
Got this from The Times Of India:
India plans a national mandatory registry of pregnancies and abortions to stem selective abortions of girl fetuses, a minister said, according to a report on Friday.
Ok. So forget for one minute about the complete insanity of thinking this a viable programme, and tell me this: Do we want the birth of girl children whose parents wish they were dead? Tell me about the right to life, and whether the right to dignity, or the right to happiness figures anywhere in it…
India plans a national mandatory registry of pregnancies and abortions to stem selective abortions of girl fetuses, a minister said, according to a report on Friday.
Ok. So forget for one minute about the complete insanity of thinking this a viable programme, and tell me this: Do we want the birth of girl children whose parents wish they were dead? Tell me about the right to life, and whether the right to dignity, or the right to happiness figures anywhere in it…
July 10, 2007
Maggi! Maggi! Maggi!
NehaVish (I always think of her like that, for some reason) posted about Maggi when I am sick and Maggi is the only raw material in the house. So Maggi is now officially occupying 100% of my brain space.
Earliest Childhood Memories of Maggi: When the strictly rationed half packet a fortnight, and that too cooked with healthy beans, without Masala tastemaker, and served with ketchup managed to brave the odds and still be the favorite food. Of course, many healthy lunchboxfulls were secretly swapped for congealed Maggi blobs in school. (Note to Mommy: Whatchya gonna do NOW?)
Worst Memories of Maggi: When one childhood upchuck was blamed on Maggi and the Era Of The Blanket Ban began, and lasted for about ten years (The shrink uses this as the explanation for my….condition) The ban was removed when my Sis and I discovered the facts of life, the primary one being that we were two and mom was one, and we were loud and mom could give up under certain decibel conditions.
Best Memories Of Maggi: At the Chhota Canteen in MICA, eaten every Thursday during lunch because the mess made, well, a mess on Thursdays. Made with onions and tomatoes, and cooked just right in a pan that was, in all respects, absolutely wrong. And oh! The discovery of Sakthi Stores in East Ham (again courtesy NehaVish) with 25pence Maggi packets! Maggi ki hai jo khushboo, tu kaise bhulayega…..
My Worst Maggi Experiment: Maggi with sprouted moong dal. Never, EVER, try this at home. Either guilt trip yourself into a healthy meal or have Maggi chupchaap. Ne’er the twain shall meet! Damn! Just thinking of it killed my appetite!
My Safe And Best Maggi Recipe: Sliced onions, tomatoes, capsicum, chilli sauce and chili flakes from Pizza Hut. No frying just boiling in the water. Guaranteed to bhulao most gham. Not for the fainthearted, obviously.
Favorite flavour: Masala
Favorite Consistency: Non-watery
Favorite Eating Equipment: Bowl and fork. (Marriage is all about adjustment, so now plate and fork)
Now this is looking like a meme, and I dunno if anyone reads this blog anymore, but if you do, please take up this meme if you want and leave the URL in the comments box!
Earliest Childhood Memories of Maggi: When the strictly rationed half packet a fortnight, and that too cooked with healthy beans, without Masala tastemaker, and served with ketchup managed to brave the odds and still be the favorite food. Of course, many healthy lunchboxfulls were secretly swapped for congealed Maggi blobs in school. (Note to Mommy: Whatchya gonna do NOW?)
Worst Memories of Maggi: When one childhood upchuck was blamed on Maggi and the Era Of The Blanket Ban began, and lasted for about ten years (The shrink uses this as the explanation for my….condition) The ban was removed when my Sis and I discovered the facts of life, the primary one being that we were two and mom was one, and we were loud and mom could give up under certain decibel conditions.
Best Memories Of Maggi: At the Chhota Canteen in MICA, eaten every Thursday during lunch because the mess made, well, a mess on Thursdays. Made with onions and tomatoes, and cooked just right in a pan that was, in all respects, absolutely wrong. And oh! The discovery of Sakthi Stores in East Ham (again courtesy NehaVish) with 25pence Maggi packets! Maggi ki hai jo khushboo, tu kaise bhulayega…..
My Worst Maggi Experiment: Maggi with sprouted moong dal. Never, EVER, try this at home. Either guilt trip yourself into a healthy meal or have Maggi chupchaap. Ne’er the twain shall meet! Damn! Just thinking of it killed my appetite!
My Safe And Best Maggi Recipe: Sliced onions, tomatoes, capsicum, chilli sauce and chili flakes from Pizza Hut. No frying just boiling in the water. Guaranteed to bhulao most gham. Not for the fainthearted, obviously.
Favorite flavour: Masala
Favorite Consistency: Non-watery
Favorite Eating Equipment: Bowl and fork. (Marriage is all about adjustment, so now plate and fork)
Now this is looking like a meme, and I dunno if anyone reads this blog anymore, but if you do, please take up this meme if you want and leave the URL in the comments box!
July 03, 2007
Template for an iPhone Worship Website
I’ve seen so many of them in the last few days that I think I have cracked the code.
1. Clean Apple-y interface with minimum clutter, big text, and the apple logo discreetly used somewhere.
2. Early entries should be links to Apple’s publicity of the iPhone. All the ads are wow and nobody thinks otherwise.
3. Then have pictures and interviews of people queued up for the iPhone. This must include variants of the following:
a. The man who has been sitting in the queue since the first ad came out…he is seventh in the queue
b. The man who has been in the queue since Steve Jobs was born. He is second in the queue
c. The woman who is sitting in the queue in place of Lindsay Lohan, who will replace her as soon as the store opens.
d. The family that is reconnecting after twenty years of separate dinners. They are almost together now: numbers 13, 15, 19, and 327 in the queue.
e. Interview with the guy who thinks this is the soup kitchen queue and nobody bothered to correct him.
4. Then there will be some pics of the Apple store with people checking out the phones, getting their fancy bags, and everyone looking very happy. Later, someone can download these pictures, Photoshop in an alien or celebrity, and host the pics on their blogs, from where other people will pick it up and Photoshop in a Zune or something instead of the iPhone, by which time people will be queuing up for the next-gen iPhone (iPhone With a Vengeance? iPhone and the Order of the Phoenix? iPhone and the Dead Man’s Chest?)
5. Token photograph of you holding your iPhone in your hand. In your excitement, you’ll forget your crush reads your blog and is right now staring at your unkempt dirty and geeky fingernails. That’s the end of that! To sound cool, say that you disapprove of the too-close-together onscreen keys and the lack of copy-paste (which is the foundation of your career in the IT industry), but the fingernails have done the damage.
6. Then pics of people opening up their iPhones to figure out what’s inside. The following procedures MUST be documented
a. iPhone opened up to line up all component parts in a single line
b. iPhone opened up by curious toddler
c. iPhone thrown under a moving truck to see what happens
d. iPhone put back together creatively to make it look like Steve Jobs
7. Then stats from the users, a.k.a the iPhone Awards
a. The first iPhone accidentally flushed down the toilet
b. The first iPhone thought to be lost or stolen
c. The first iphone thought to be lost or stolen but actually left at home. Duh!
d. The first iPhone broken unfixably. Preferably by throwing under moving truck.
e. The first iPhone used to take naked picture of self.
f. The first iPhone to play a Himesh song. That’s it!
8. Then you can have market anal-ysts fighting it out over how many iPhones sold over the first weekend. Vary the numbers wildly: “Microsoft-R-Us refuses to acknowledge that more than three iPhones were sold over three days”. “Exageneration claims 3 billion iPhones were sold, about twice as many as were manufactured.” Nobody reads these articles through. I bet YOU are so sick of the iPhone that you stopped reading this blogpost ages ago.
1. Clean Apple-y interface with minimum clutter, big text, and the apple logo discreetly used somewhere.
2. Early entries should be links to Apple’s publicity of the iPhone. All the ads are wow and nobody thinks otherwise.
3. Then have pictures and interviews of people queued up for the iPhone. This must include variants of the following:
a. The man who has been sitting in the queue since the first ad came out…he is seventh in the queue
b. The man who has been in the queue since Steve Jobs was born. He is second in the queue
c. The woman who is sitting in the queue in place of Lindsay Lohan, who will replace her as soon as the store opens.
d. The family that is reconnecting after twenty years of separate dinners. They are almost together now: numbers 13, 15, 19, and 327 in the queue.
e. Interview with the guy who thinks this is the soup kitchen queue and nobody bothered to correct him.
4. Then there will be some pics of the Apple store with people checking out the phones, getting their fancy bags, and everyone looking very happy. Later, someone can download these pictures, Photoshop in an alien or celebrity, and host the pics on their blogs, from where other people will pick it up and Photoshop in a Zune or something instead of the iPhone, by which time people will be queuing up for the next-gen iPhone (iPhone With a Vengeance? iPhone and the Order of the Phoenix? iPhone and the Dead Man’s Chest?)
5. Token photograph of you holding your iPhone in your hand. In your excitement, you’ll forget your crush reads your blog and is right now staring at your unkempt dirty and geeky fingernails. That’s the end of that! To sound cool, say that you disapprove of the too-close-together onscreen keys and the lack of copy-paste (which is the foundation of your career in the IT industry), but the fingernails have done the damage.
6. Then pics of people opening up their iPhones to figure out what’s inside. The following procedures MUST be documented
a. iPhone opened up to line up all component parts in a single line
b. iPhone opened up by curious toddler
c. iPhone thrown under a moving truck to see what happens
d. iPhone put back together creatively to make it look like Steve Jobs
7. Then stats from the users, a.k.a the iPhone Awards
a. The first iPhone accidentally flushed down the toilet
b. The first iPhone thought to be lost or stolen
c. The first iphone thought to be lost or stolen but actually left at home. Duh!
d. The first iPhone broken unfixably. Preferably by throwing under moving truck.
e. The first iPhone used to take naked picture of self.
f. The first iPhone to play a Himesh song. That’s it!
8. Then you can have market anal-ysts fighting it out over how many iPhones sold over the first weekend. Vary the numbers wildly: “Microsoft-R-Us refuses to acknowledge that more than three iPhones were sold over three days”. “Exageneration claims 3 billion iPhones were sold, about twice as many as were manufactured.” Nobody reads these articles through. I bet YOU are so sick of the iPhone that you stopped reading this blogpost ages ago.
July 02, 2007
Bruce Almighty
Saw Bruce Willis ka naya dhamaka - Die Hard 4 - yesterday. There was a time when wild horses couldn’t have dragged me for a movie with that kind of name, but this weekend I stood in a queue for half an hour to procure the tickets, and went in for the movie jumping with joy and anticipation. That’s what marriage (and the guilt of having watched Shrek-3 without the husband who was equally keen) does to you.
I had tested the waters with Die Hard 3 to brace myself for the big screen onslaught, so I was expecting lots of flying cars and bullets, lots of wit and lots of fights and blood. I was not disappointed. It was a smashing movie in all senses of the term!
What was most peculiar and to me most amusing was the premise of the movie. Warning: spoilers ahead if you’re dumb enough to care for the larger plot. So some guy threatens to disrupt the traffic, take away internet and cellphone connectivity, shut down the power, spark off false alarms, and crash the stock market. BIG DEAL. What he’s doing is not finishing off America, he’s just converting it into India. Imagine if the movie were set in India. Instead of widespread panic, there would be widespread normalcy. In fact, Mister Villain should have considered stages four and five… pollution and population explosion. It’s tried and tested and whole countries keep going on despite this five-point programme. If Bruce Willis had not killed him off after so much running about and fighting, the disappointment of his plan would have finished him off!
Still, you should go for the movie if you wanna have fun. But if you’re gonna sit next to your boyfriend and giggle unstoppably at every smart line in the film, then please wait for the DVD… Patience among the audience is in short supply when there is a provocation for violence every second onscreen.
In other news, after seeing the trailer of Ratatouille, I’m wondering if there are others like me who find the thought of a rat as chef completely unpalatable. I’ve made friends with ants, bugs, and creepy crawlies for Disney-Pixar’s sake, but a rat in the kitchen is a bit too much for me….
I had tested the waters with Die Hard 3 to brace myself for the big screen onslaught, so I was expecting lots of flying cars and bullets, lots of wit and lots of fights and blood. I was not disappointed. It was a smashing movie in all senses of the term!
What was most peculiar and to me most amusing was the premise of the movie. Warning: spoilers ahead if you’re dumb enough to care for the larger plot. So some guy threatens to disrupt the traffic, take away internet and cellphone connectivity, shut down the power, spark off false alarms, and crash the stock market. BIG DEAL. What he’s doing is not finishing off America, he’s just converting it into India. Imagine if the movie were set in India. Instead of widespread panic, there would be widespread normalcy. In fact, Mister Villain should have considered stages four and five… pollution and population explosion. It’s tried and tested and whole countries keep going on despite this five-point programme. If Bruce Willis had not killed him off after so much running about and fighting, the disappointment of his plan would have finished him off!
Still, you should go for the movie if you wanna have fun. But if you’re gonna sit next to your boyfriend and giggle unstoppably at every smart line in the film, then please wait for the DVD… Patience among the audience is in short supply when there is a provocation for violence every second onscreen.
In other news, after seeing the trailer of Ratatouille, I’m wondering if there are others like me who find the thought of a rat as chef completely unpalatable. I’ve made friends with ants, bugs, and creepy crawlies for Disney-Pixar’s sake, but a rat in the kitchen is a bit too much for me….
June 28, 2007
June 26, 2007
just popped in to share a dal recipe...
1 medium sized onion halved sliced into pungent moons
2 medium sized tomatoes cut into stripped
Some shredded ginger and garlic
One baby bottle gourd chopped into about half inch cubes
Salt
Turmeric
Water: very little
Soaked arhar/tuur dal: ½ cup
Dump all of the above in the pressure cooker and go whoosh, and then simmer for 10 minutes and switch off the gas. The contents should be gooey, not flow-ey
In a katori, put
A tablespoon of desi ghee
Mustard seeds/Zeera
Asafetida
Red chilli powder
Curry leaves (if you use mustard)
Sputter sputter and add to the cooker.
Add a bit of garam masala if you want, a bit of chaat masaala or lemon juice, and fresh chopped coriander if u did not already do the greening with curry leaves.
Quick and healthy!
2 medium sized tomatoes cut into stripped
Some shredded ginger and garlic
One baby bottle gourd chopped into about half inch cubes
Salt
Turmeric
Water: very little
Soaked arhar/tuur dal: ½ cup
Dump all of the above in the pressure cooker and go whoosh, and then simmer for 10 minutes and switch off the gas. The contents should be gooey, not flow-ey
In a katori, put
A tablespoon of desi ghee
Mustard seeds/Zeera
Asafetida
Red chilli powder
Curry leaves (if you use mustard)
Sputter sputter and add to the cooker.
Add a bit of garam masala if you want, a bit of chaat masaala or lemon juice, and fresh chopped coriander if u did not already do the greening with curry leaves.
Quick and healthy!
June 17, 2007
Hi-Ate-Us
Away having an existential crisis.
Back soon... or someday...whatever.
Meanwhile, kicking about to get another glimpse of khaliballi khaliballi yaar ki galli (cf. RDB if you dunno awready)
Back soon... or someday...whatever.
Meanwhile, kicking about to get another glimpse of khaliballi khaliballi yaar ki galli (cf. RDB if you dunno awready)
May 28, 2007
Gastrology
Somewhere between accurately predicting when there will be a traffic jam in Bangalore, and suffering tummy aches because of bad food, I figured out I had a para-scientific gift. Ladies and gentlemen, hold your breath (chiefly because of the stink) and bow before the greatness of: GAStrology.
Something between a gastronomist and an astrologer, I call myself a gastrologist. It’s in my email signature and on my business card. I’m two steps away from quitting my job and taking it up full time, with a board in front of my house:
Ink Spill
Gastrologist
Love? Money? Health? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind…
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not gonna go about sniffing out people’s problems (eeeyuck!)… I’m just going to predict their ordinary future in conjunction with their expected flatulence, assuming a direct relationship between the two.
Also I think it’s quite a challenge to come up with twelve sets of predictions according to the zodiac, so I’m gonna just come up with seven according to the day of week on which you were born. I am sure most people know which day they were born on, because they would have taken the trouble to find it out when they heard this poem by the famous poetess Mother Goose about how those born on Monday are gora hotties and those born on Sunday prefer lovers of the same chromosomal configuration:
Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
I am Thursday’s child and I have far to go…but I have been unable to understand what that means so far, so it probably means that I have far to go before I understand nursery rhymes….
So here is a sample prediction to test the waters before I make a commitment to my new science:
Monday:
You will be surprisingly efficient at work today, as all the meetings you attend will end ahead of schedule, leaving you lots of time to do work. It has to do with your well-honed decision-making skills as much as with the fact that you will be burping up the garlic chutney you had for breakfast.
Tuesday:
Your relations with the family will be strained and past problems might be raked up again. Expect tensions at home as your loved ones constantly bang on the bathroom door while you’ve locked yourself in and are creating bum music.
Wednesday:
Something between a gastronomist and an astrologer, I call myself a gastrologist. It’s in my email signature and on my business card. I’m two steps away from quitting my job and taking it up full time, with a board in front of my house:
Ink Spill
Gastrologist
Love? Money? Health? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind…
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not gonna go about sniffing out people’s problems (eeeyuck!)… I’m just going to predict their ordinary future in conjunction with their expected flatulence, assuming a direct relationship between the two.
Also I think it’s quite a challenge to come up with twelve sets of predictions according to the zodiac, so I’m gonna just come up with seven according to the day of week on which you were born. I am sure most people know which day they were born on, because they would have taken the trouble to find it out when they heard this poem by the famous poetess Mother Goose about how those born on Monday are gora hotties and those born on Sunday prefer lovers of the same chromosomal configuration:
Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
I am Thursday’s child and I have far to go…but I have been unable to understand what that means so far, so it probably means that I have far to go before I understand nursery rhymes….
So here is a sample prediction to test the waters before I make a commitment to my new science:
Monday:
You will be surprisingly efficient at work today, as all the meetings you attend will end ahead of schedule, leaving you lots of time to do work. It has to do with your well-honed decision-making skills as much as with the fact that you will be burping up the garlic chutney you had for breakfast.
Tuesday:
Your relations with the family will be strained and past problems might be raked up again. Expect tensions at home as your loved ones constantly bang on the bathroom door while you’ve locked yourself in and are creating bum music.
Wednesday:
According to the rhyme you are full of woe so I’m giving you an easy time. You’ll have a great day, but do not expect to catch up on lost sleep in office meetings if your boss was born on a Monday.
Thursday:
Thursday:
You will finally have your chance to talk to that someone special when the two of you will find yourself alone in an elevator from the ground floor to the fourth. However, you will “blow it”…do I need to say more? Chances of romance remain slim after that. Do not vent your frustration on food. We do not want an encore if you’re in the elevator again….
Friday:
Friday:
You will suffer low self esteem today as you could be the butt (I love the way everything has a double meaning here) of jokes as you furiously (and rightly) try to explain that the aroma cloud was not emitted by you. (It was Tuesday’s fault, actually). You might give in to anger and this will have an adverse effect on your health today.
Saturday:
Saturday:
You will have to take a day off from work to deal with the street food you had yesterday. Enough said. And oh, please leave the exhaust fan on!!! Sheesh!
Sunday:
Sunday:
Fame and fortune await you as more and more people learn that you can burp the alphabet. A change in career is indicated as you might be tempted to set up a burping academy. Your love life remains abysmal, but remember this was the choice you made when you first burped “I love you”.
May 18, 2007
Upwardly Immobile
Was at Forum earlier this week and saw what I have seen so many times before: Aunties (I should stop calling them that now, I have fifty whites in my head) draped ever-so-casually in crumpled but exquisite Kanchi cottons, flowers in their hair, poised at the foot of the escalator with Uncle, afraid to step on to the moving staircase that will do the climbing for them. They smile nervously: “of course I know this is safe and saves me the effort, but what if I miss? What is my foot lands between two steps? What if my sari gets stuck? What if I fall?”…all these questions play across their faces simultaneously.
Meanwhile, as more and more empty steps form and rise, form and rise, the queue of people behind them grows longer. Uncle moves from coaxing to annoyed to exasperated, and a loud scary encouragement or two is uttered. In most cases, it achieves what loud, scary encouragement generally achieves: Aunty backs out. Uncle either stays back, or heads the queue of patience-depleted persons up the escalator. In either case, Aunty smiles, she is embarrassed, but too afraid to trust the machine…
Aunty grinds her own masala, stitches her own blouses, cleans her own house, brings up her own children; how can aunty let the stairs do the climbing for her?
Never mind Aunty, when your Bala or Rajan or Smitha call you to visit them in America, you’ll get enough practice! For now, psst: there are steps in McDonalds for ground to first, in Landmark for first to second.
Meanwhile, as more and more empty steps form and rise, form and rise, the queue of people behind them grows longer. Uncle moves from coaxing to annoyed to exasperated, and a loud scary encouragement or two is uttered. In most cases, it achieves what loud, scary encouragement generally achieves: Aunty backs out. Uncle either stays back, or heads the queue of patience-depleted persons up the escalator. In either case, Aunty smiles, she is embarrassed, but too afraid to trust the machine…
Aunty grinds her own masala, stitches her own blouses, cleans her own house, brings up her own children; how can aunty let the stairs do the climbing for her?
Never mind Aunty, when your Bala or Rajan or Smitha call you to visit them in America, you’ll get enough practice! For now, psst: there are steps in McDonalds for ground to first, in Landmark for first to second.
May 08, 2007
May 07, 2007
Because It's My Blog And I Write About Whatever I Please!
On my latest trip to Coorg, I was greeted at the homestay by a bowl of kathal ki sabzi. The husband looked on in wonderment as I shrieked with joy, but pretty soon the Punjab Da Puttar was hooked to the dish, and we fought a polite informal battle over who gets to lick the bowl clean (well... almost).
All around Coorg we saw Jackfruit trees and I was torn between asking for an unripe one to be lopped off for me to take home and cook, and the realization that all I knew about cooking kathal was that is was a nightmare to prepare.
Back in Bangalore, the kathal pangs struck with renewed intensity this weekend, and I marched off to the local sabjiwallah demanding an enormous slice of unripe jackfruit. He said he stocked none, but pointed at a tree across the road where lots of jackfruit was growing in clusters, like batches of bloated porcupines learning tree-climbing. When I petulantly asked for one to be plucked for me, he said he did not have a sharp enough knife! I threatened to come by with mine the next day: now I would either have the jackfruit or this guy’s head!
I was at his shop demanding my pound of jackfruit flesh Sunday morning. Reluctantly, monsieur sabjiwalla brought me the smallest fruit from the tree, and I demanded that he skin it for me. His first attempt can only be called…. depilation. Thankfully, an elderly lady customer was looking on and guided the proceedings in kannada, all the while also advising me on how to cook the veggie. So at this stage I had the complete recipe…in a language that I do not know.
Mom and mom-in-law dispensed advice over the phone, and the sabjiwallah moved to oiling the knife and slicing off the thick rind with greater ease, all the while being guided by the panwallah on the exact angle at which to hold the jackfruit to facilitate ergonomic efficiency. Life went on as usual in the street, with a goat butting its thankfully tiny horns into my legs.
Icky white liquid that reminded me of shoe polish flowed freely out of baby Jackfruit. When my hand brushed against it, the stickiness engulfed me and soon flying bugs were caught in the trap of glue. This was the low point of the exercise! Soon however, the jackfruit was peeled and cut into pieces, the core removed, and it was all set to be cooked. The sabjiwallah refuses to take any money, and mumbled something about regretting the day he was born.
I ran home with the bag and cooked the kathal as best as I could! I boiled it, chopped it up, and then fried it in onions and tomatoes with random spices for hours… I had some sticky utensils, an aching arm, and a whole lot of yummy kathal at the end of the exercise. We hogged on it at lunch, and stashed the rest of it away.
So if you’re looking for a recipe or are planning to make this dish anytime soon, just drop into our house while we’re away and the kathal is in the big round steel box in the middle shelf in the fridge.
All around Coorg we saw Jackfruit trees and I was torn between asking for an unripe one to be lopped off for me to take home and cook, and the realization that all I knew about cooking kathal was that is was a nightmare to prepare.
Back in Bangalore, the kathal pangs struck with renewed intensity this weekend, and I marched off to the local sabjiwallah demanding an enormous slice of unripe jackfruit. He said he stocked none, but pointed at a tree across the road where lots of jackfruit was growing in clusters, like batches of bloated porcupines learning tree-climbing. When I petulantly asked for one to be plucked for me, he said he did not have a sharp enough knife! I threatened to come by with mine the next day: now I would either have the jackfruit or this guy’s head!
I was at his shop demanding my pound of jackfruit flesh Sunday morning. Reluctantly, monsieur sabjiwalla brought me the smallest fruit from the tree, and I demanded that he skin it for me. His first attempt can only be called…. depilation. Thankfully, an elderly lady customer was looking on and guided the proceedings in kannada, all the while also advising me on how to cook the veggie. So at this stage I had the complete recipe…in a language that I do not know.
Mom and mom-in-law dispensed advice over the phone, and the sabjiwallah moved to oiling the knife and slicing off the thick rind with greater ease, all the while being guided by the panwallah on the exact angle at which to hold the jackfruit to facilitate ergonomic efficiency. Life went on as usual in the street, with a goat butting its thankfully tiny horns into my legs.
Icky white liquid that reminded me of shoe polish flowed freely out of baby Jackfruit. When my hand brushed against it, the stickiness engulfed me and soon flying bugs were caught in the trap of glue. This was the low point of the exercise! Soon however, the jackfruit was peeled and cut into pieces, the core removed, and it was all set to be cooked. The sabjiwallah refuses to take any money, and mumbled something about regretting the day he was born.
I ran home with the bag and cooked the kathal as best as I could! I boiled it, chopped it up, and then fried it in onions and tomatoes with random spices for hours… I had some sticky utensils, an aching arm, and a whole lot of yummy kathal at the end of the exercise. We hogged on it at lunch, and stashed the rest of it away.
So if you’re looking for a recipe or are planning to make this dish anytime soon, just drop into our house while we’re away and the kathal is in the big round steel box in the middle shelf in the fridge.
April 30, 2007
The Return To Coorg
In our second Coorg jaunt this month (Hello! It was a different part of Coorg, ok?) we met certain fascinating people, and I’d like to introduce them to everyone around here:
1. Fiona the Labrador, pictured here: There was a time when “Princess Fiona Ugly” was the hottest Google keyword linking to this blog, and I’d deleted the relevant post and vowed never to mention her again, but what do you know? We run into this adorable lady with the histrionic skills that most Bollywood starlets cannot even hope to achieve. Ms Fiona hoodwinked my softie husband into feeding her his share of chikoos and then pretended she had not even tasted any when her owner walked by! He’d told us she’d eaten three already, so she wasn’t supposed to have any more. Also note that Fiona did not take very kindly to my singing to her, but then that is unremarkable because nobody ever does…
2. The priest bug: Ever since we landed in Coorg, we were assailed by something that looked like a cross between a bee and a “bhanwara” and this person muttered mantras under his breath and maniacally circled around me and the husband collectively, uniting us now and forever in the bonds of holy matrimony. For variety, it made “8” shaped loops around us, probably implying that the union had been sealed by it for infinity… In vain did I tell it that a pandit had already performed the rites, and that we had even got our registration form and were filling it for legal purposes in earnest…. We kept getting married for three days non-stop.
3. The punjabi bug: This gentleman was spotted near Irpu falls, which, by the way, is a beautiful place. It was unbelievable that something so tiny could look so flashy and make such a ruckus…you get now why we’ve dubbed it what we’ve dubbed it….We got this chap’s dhinchak audio on our videocam, and boy, it’s bugging!
4. The OINKs: These were the One Income Numerous Kids couples who were giving us company at the homestay. Let’s just say that because of me, none of these little ones got to sit on the swing, and they had to contend themselves with killing each other over a beach bucket and barking at Fiona. I remarked at the peace and quiet of the place: “This is DINK heaven”, to which the wise husband replied “DINKs are in heaven wherever they go!”
1. Fiona the Labrador, pictured here: There was a time when “Princess Fiona Ugly” was the hottest Google keyword linking to this blog, and I’d deleted the relevant post and vowed never to mention her again, but what do you know? We run into this adorable lady with the histrionic skills that most Bollywood starlets cannot even hope to achieve. Ms Fiona hoodwinked my softie husband into feeding her his share of chikoos and then pretended she had not even tasted any when her owner walked by! He’d told us she’d eaten three already, so she wasn’t supposed to have any more. Also note that Fiona did not take very kindly to my singing to her, but then that is unremarkable because nobody ever does…
2. The priest bug: Ever since we landed in Coorg, we were assailed by something that looked like a cross between a bee and a “bhanwara” and this person muttered mantras under his breath and maniacally circled around me and the husband collectively, uniting us now and forever in the bonds of holy matrimony. For variety, it made “8” shaped loops around us, probably implying that the union had been sealed by it for infinity… In vain did I tell it that a pandit had already performed the rites, and that we had even got our registration form and were filling it for legal purposes in earnest…. We kept getting married for three days non-stop.
3. The punjabi bug: This gentleman was spotted near Irpu falls, which, by the way, is a beautiful place. It was unbelievable that something so tiny could look so flashy and make such a ruckus…you get now why we’ve dubbed it what we’ve dubbed it….We got this chap’s dhinchak audio on our videocam, and boy, it’s bugging!
4. The OINKs: These were the One Income Numerous Kids couples who were giving us company at the homestay. Let’s just say that because of me, none of these little ones got to sit on the swing, and they had to contend themselves with killing each other over a beach bucket and barking at Fiona. I remarked at the peace and quiet of the place: “This is DINK heaven”, to which the wise husband replied “DINKs are in heaven wherever they go!”
April 27, 2007
ना हिसाब ना किताब बहिखाता भी खराब ...
I should mention that's pound sterling, as one astute flickr pal notes...
Just found this while browsing through "London Backup" on my laptop, and also found this conversation:
Me: i want chocolate eclair
She: i want unlimited money, brains and greek men
Me: i have those already. once u have those, u need chocolate eclair. skip a stage
She: ????? you never told me
April 14, 2007
A Typical Conversation In The Spill Household
Mr Spill: I am so hungry, I am Ravanous! I could eat with ten heads!
InkSpill: Hehe! Do you think Ravan ate with all ten heads?
Mr Spill: Yeah!
InkSpill: How? He put in food into one at a time? That would be tedious…
Mr Spill: No, he put all the food in a big plate and ran all ten heads across it and lapped up his food. (with actions)
InkSpill: He was rich. He could have had people feeding his heads… Achchha, do you think he ate roti with one and sabji with another? Or everything with each head? Or did his wife only make slop*?
Mr Spill: Can we please talk about something else?
*Slop: Frequent dinner at the Spill household: consists of veggies, daal and rice all cooked together and eaten with dahi, plum chutney, and good humored tolerance…
InkSpill: Hehe! Do you think Ravan ate with all ten heads?
Mr Spill: Yeah!
InkSpill: How? He put in food into one at a time? That would be tedious…
Mr Spill: No, he put all the food in a big plate and ran all ten heads across it and lapped up his food. (with actions)
InkSpill: He was rich. He could have had people feeding his heads… Achchha, do you think he ate roti with one and sabji with another? Or everything with each head? Or did his wife only make slop*?
Mr Spill: Can we please talk about something else?
*Slop: Frequent dinner at the Spill household: consists of veggies, daal and rice all cooked together and eaten with dahi, plum chutney, and good humored tolerance…
April 08, 2007
Closing The Door...
... on a three-day excursion to Coorg, full of long drives and walks, delicious homemade food, naps in the afternoon silence of the hills, and oh, lots of coffee!
Dear Job/Monday/Bangalore Traffic, here I come!
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