It is so easy to like an apple. You grab one on your way to work from the fruit stall and at lunchtime you go crunch-crunch-crunch over a newspaper. Almost nine out of ten people like mangoes. I have seen people grow out of their jeans eating mangoes in the scorching Indian summers. Mangoes are the only solace when the tropical sun gets vapours out of your skin. Liking a banana is also one of those really common things but it takes men and women of character to like certain fruits.
I always wonder about the first man ever to discover that jackfruit is edible. I think he must have possessed sainthood of gigantic proportions to be able to see past the skin and the thorns and believe that there must be something inside that he could eat! Or he must have been really desperate for food.
Somehow I totally respect people who like Kiwis as well. I am intrigued by their desire to find something edible behind a brown ball that looks like an alien in its early stages of evolution. Some fruits are just so much work!
As a kid I always prayed that I could get a seedless watermelon. It is such a pain to eat one and throw the seeds out. There is a great joy however in saving the seeds in your mouth and spitting them out in a spray. ( The author must confess that this was an oft practiced ritual in the Keskar household and it has got nothing to do with the author’s upbringing). Papaya is another fruit that tests your superficiality.
I never thought that the juicy pineapple fell into the second category. I love pineapple.
It is such an exotic fruit! Crunchy and sweet with no seeds! Sounds like a fruit-lover’s dream come true.
In India, I had seen only two states of pineapple. The first being when it sits in the market in a cane basket, with it’s crown and scales, being advertised as a honey-soaked-piece of heaven( Yes, fortunately I was not one of those American kids who think Pineapple comes from a can). The second stage was when it sat on my plate, which the maid brought in at around four in the afternoon everyday in order to tick the box labelled “fruits” in my diet chart. :)
So when I saw a plump pineapple in the supermarket the other day, I jumped in joy and said “yey” in my fake little-girl-voice. My room-mate Riju tried to warn me of the probable knife mishaps we could have buying a pineapple at this stage in our lives but I defended my stand by telling her that even students deserve pineapples!
We got it home and let it stay in the fridge for a day. Today afternoon I walked the river walk with near romantic ideas about the pineapple. I remember giving a serious thought to the thickness of each slice, and the amount of pepper that would be required to get it sweet and spicy at the same time. I even thought about a suitable bowl to arrange the slices in so that when Riju comes home, she gets to pick them elegantly and have them as we have the “How Was Your Day?” talk.
When I got home I could hardly keep my hands off the pineapple. So I made a cup of tea and got down to work in between sips. At first I tried to cut it with the biggest knife. It kept slipping off the scales. So I thought maybe I need something sharper and I got another one. In my desperation to make things work I forced it in and then it refused to come out of the fruit. I banged the whole assembly on the sink and the pineapple was thrown off the knife a bit unceremoniously. I gathered it again and decided to get back to it after a few sips of tea. When I got back, I was equipped with two smaller knives and a peeler ( God knows why I included the $2 peeler in the army). So when I finally worked the procedure out it had numerous steps involving all the four knives put up for the job .I had to take care not to waste any fruit on the peel because if Riju got to know that there was more than three millimetre of pulp on the skin in the waste basket she would go down to the very last cent I had put to waste.
I finished slicing it up after a good forty-five minute long fight and when I did I had juice running down my elbows. I was triumphant though that after so much of hard work at least I get to eat my favourite fruit. I decided to let it cool till I finish with my jog.
I set out to jog and I felt like the whole of Brisbane was eclipsed by a pineapple juice leak. Everything smelled of pineapple. Pretty women crossing roads it seems had just had pineapple showers. My earphones smelled like they just had a pineapple snack. The river was not water! It was pineapple juice with ferries on it!
I figured that eventually my sweat would overpower all that sweet pineapple fever in the air but even my sweat smelled like pineapple!
I realized halfway through the jog that the skin on my knee was suddenly stiff. Being a hypochondriac I thought maybe I had suffered from a scraped knee without falling down but a bit of investigation led me to some dried pineapple juice that was slowly making my joint immobile!
On my way back the coffee shops smelled like they were selling pinacoladas in their coffee mugs. It seemed like the whole world was “Glad-Wrapped” with pieces of pineapple and cut off completely from the rest of the Universe.
When I entered the kitchen Riju was sitting at the table like this eager rabbit eating a slice of pineapple I left in the fridge. When she saw me she looked at me with evident pride for standing by my words and giving her the juicy pineapple that all poor graduate students deserve. She held out a cheesy yellow slice in her hand and I found myself saying, “ Oh no! I am sick of it”!
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
The Australian Zoo
I just came back from a trip to the Australian Zoo. :)
It is a privately owned zoo by the family of Steve Irwin who is more famously known as the "Crocodile Hunter"
It has been so many years since I went to a zoo and felt like this. My dad ( who by the way haunts this blog) will have stories of some four-year-old me making him do 'n' number of revisits to the Peshwe Baug which used to be very close to where we lived. Sometimes we went twice a day, especially if it was a lazy Saturday for baba. :)
I went with my workmate Bernadette and we had some serious fun.
" Never once in these past hundred years have you ever loved me the way I wanted you to!"
"I dont drink Beer..The Australian Attitude is contagious :D "
Yes. Even I take pictures in front of larger than life posters. Big deal!! :P
This is Steve-The Crocodile Hunter!
I also got one with a very cute Kangaroo and a Koala..but since I am technologically challenged I was not able to rotate them and get them up!
Cheers!!
It is a privately owned zoo by the family of Steve Irwin who is more famously known as the "Crocodile Hunter"
It has been so many years since I went to a zoo and felt like this. My dad ( who by the way haunts this blog) will have stories of some four-year-old me making him do 'n' number of revisits to the Peshwe Baug which used to be very close to where we lived. Sometimes we went twice a day, especially if it was a lazy Saturday for baba. :)
I went with my workmate Bernadette and we had some serious fun.
" Never once in these past hundred years have you ever loved me the way I wanted you to!"
"I dont drink Beer..The Australian Attitude is contagious :D "
Yes. Even I take pictures in front of larger than life posters. Big deal!! :P
This is Steve-The Crocodile Hunter!
I also got one with a very cute Kangaroo and a Koala..but since I am technologically challenged I was not able to rotate them and get them up!
Cheers!!
Monday, November 12, 2007
27 going on 28 :)
The other day our neighbor Robin looked postively grave.
Like we always do, we tried to coax him into talking about it. It took him a few long South Indian sighs and serious head nods to open up to us.
He broke into a squeak and then somehow harnessed his voice into a regular tone.
He began by saying, " Keskar I called my dad and he says that I am twenty eight and it is time I do something with my life!"
I do not have the slightest idea why he calls me by my last name but looking at his face I realized that I had more important issues to address.
So we had the following conversation
Robin : Keskar, I always thought that when I turn thirty I will stop working and start my restaurant!
Me : Yeah, but what's stopping you? You can still do it!!
Robin : No Keskar, but my dad said I am twenty eight and I have not done anything with my life.
Me: Well, yeah I agree on that! I always see you dozing off on the couch or smoking. I wonder what "doing something in life" means in your language.
Robin: Keskar! It is not about that Keskar! I had no idea that I am twenty eight. I thought like I am twenty six now and in January next year I will be twenty seven! Keskar, but my father says that I am twenty eight. It is like I lost a year of my life Keskar! Now I have just two years before I would want to stop working Keskar!
Yes, I agree that there is a near annoying appearance of my last name up there. That is exactly how it is. The word "Keskar" is said in all the scales that a bad singer could try before he hits the one that sounds the worst. All of this goes with eyes dancing in every corner of the carpet but never looking up at me.
Me : When were you born?
Robin: January 1981?
That is how a question is answered with a question.
Me: Then you are right. You will be twenty seven going on twenty eight coming January.
Robin: No! I will be twenty seven.
Me: Yes, but you will enter the twenty eighth year of your life
Robin: What do you mean by "enter the twenty eighth year of your life" Keskar?
Me: That means that you would be approaching the end of your twenty eighth year all through 2008.
Robin: ( With a disgusted frown) No Keskar!! I will be twenty seven!! ( Then he fishes for a paper and a pen from the eternal mess that he has made around the couch) Wait Keskar, I will count!
Me: There is no need to count Robin! You will only know what you already know because it will add up to twenty seven.
Robin: Then why do you say I am entering the twenty eighth year of my life Keskar?
Me: Did you go to school?
Robin : Shut up Keskar!!
Me: No really! How did you make it through Engineering?
Robin: I copied and fell at the lecturer's feet. Sometimes I begged Keskar!
Me: Okay. Do you know anything about 'whole numbers' and 'fractions'?
Robin: Shut up Keskar. Of course I do.
Me: So say you turn twenty seven on the 9th of January. How old do you think you will be on the 9th of February?
Robin: 27 years and one month?
Question for a question again!
Me: Yes! Exactly! So you have lived one month of the twelve months you are supposed to live to turn twenty eight. Do you get it now?
Robin: Keskar, but I am still twenty seven right? If someone asks me how old I am on the 9th of February 2008, I say twenty seven right?
Me: Yes but you are going towards twenty eight.
Robin: Naaaaw Keskar!! Why does that number have to come into my life in 2008?
Me: Okay you can say that you are twenty seven. Imagine twenty seven rooms that you enter and exit for each new year of your life. In January 2008, you will lock the twenty seventh room behind you and you will enter the twenty eighth room where you will stay for a year.
Robin: Yes Keskar. That is a nice way to put it. So do I tell people that I am twenty eight? Since I am in the twenty eighth room?
I used to worry about my pathalogical urge to hit people with frying pans but at such times I thank God that I feel that way.
Me: No Robin. You can tell people that you are twenty two. No one cares how old you are anyway. You hardly make a difference to anyone. So you can just choose your age each year.
Robin: No Keskar! I really wanted to stop working when I turned thirty Keskar!
Me: Look Robin, if you cannot calculate and state your right age when you have lived more than a quarter of your potential life there is no meaning to anything you want to do with it anyway. So just pick a number and be happy. What is it with not working after thirty? It is such an American Dream! You should work all your life. Work is the only salvation.
Robin: Shut up Keskar! You with your vacuum-cleaner philosophy. I wanted to become happy when I turn thirty but everyday I realize that I become more and more unhappy.
Me: Hmmph. I reckon that is because you have some issues with dreaming the right kind of dreams.
Robin: (Speechless for a while) ( A solemn and quizzical expression on his face) ( Neck turned sideways like an alert bird) Yeah maybe Keskar. All I dream is about earning money and becoming rich! I think that is the only happiness in life.
Me: Yeah for you that is a lot of effort. I am so glad you are at least a bit greedy about money. That is a fairly decent dream. I think you should chase it now that you have just three years left.
Robin: Promise Keskar!!? ( His usage of the word 'promise' closely translates to the word 'really' in normal human language) That means I am twenty seven right?
Me: Yes Robin your chronological age is twenty seven but I have serious doubts about the linearity of your emotional age.
Robin: Keskar you are so mean! How old are you Keskar?
Me: I am twenty four
Robin: That means you are twenty four going on twenty five Keskar?
Me: Oh My God! Naw!! You are not supposed to use that number till next July!!!
Like we always do, we tried to coax him into talking about it. It took him a few long South Indian sighs and serious head nods to open up to us.
He broke into a squeak and then somehow harnessed his voice into a regular tone.
He began by saying, " Keskar I called my dad and he says that I am twenty eight and it is time I do something with my life!"
I do not have the slightest idea why he calls me by my last name but looking at his face I realized that I had more important issues to address.
So we had the following conversation
Robin : Keskar, I always thought that when I turn thirty I will stop working and start my restaurant!
Me : Yeah, but what's stopping you? You can still do it!!
Robin : No Keskar, but my dad said I am twenty eight and I have not done anything with my life.
Me: Well, yeah I agree on that! I always see you dozing off on the couch or smoking. I wonder what "doing something in life" means in your language.
Robin: Keskar! It is not about that Keskar! I had no idea that I am twenty eight. I thought like I am twenty six now and in January next year I will be twenty seven! Keskar, but my father says that I am twenty eight. It is like I lost a year of my life Keskar! Now I have just two years before I would want to stop working Keskar!
Yes, I agree that there is a near annoying appearance of my last name up there. That is exactly how it is. The word "Keskar" is said in all the scales that a bad singer could try before he hits the one that sounds the worst. All of this goes with eyes dancing in every corner of the carpet but never looking up at me.
Me : When were you born?
Robin: January 1981?
That is how a question is answered with a question.
Me: Then you are right. You will be twenty seven going on twenty eight coming January.
Robin: No! I will be twenty seven.
Me: Yes, but you will enter the twenty eighth year of your life
Robin: What do you mean by "enter the twenty eighth year of your life" Keskar?
Me: That means that you would be approaching the end of your twenty eighth year all through 2008.
Robin: ( With a disgusted frown) No Keskar!! I will be twenty seven!! ( Then he fishes for a paper and a pen from the eternal mess that he has made around the couch) Wait Keskar, I will count!
Me: There is no need to count Robin! You will only know what you already know because it will add up to twenty seven.
Robin: Then why do you say I am entering the twenty eighth year of my life Keskar?
Me: Did you go to school?
Robin : Shut up Keskar!!
Me: No really! How did you make it through Engineering?
Robin: I copied and fell at the lecturer's feet. Sometimes I begged Keskar!
Me: Okay. Do you know anything about 'whole numbers' and 'fractions'?
Robin: Shut up Keskar. Of course I do.
Me: So say you turn twenty seven on the 9th of January. How old do you think you will be on the 9th of February?
Robin: 27 years and one month?
Question for a question again!
Me: Yes! Exactly! So you have lived one month of the twelve months you are supposed to live to turn twenty eight. Do you get it now?
Robin: Keskar, but I am still twenty seven right? If someone asks me how old I am on the 9th of February 2008, I say twenty seven right?
Me: Yes but you are going towards twenty eight.
Robin: Naaaaw Keskar!! Why does that number have to come into my life in 2008?
Me: Okay you can say that you are twenty seven. Imagine twenty seven rooms that you enter and exit for each new year of your life. In January 2008, you will lock the twenty seventh room behind you and you will enter the twenty eighth room where you will stay for a year.
Robin: Yes Keskar. That is a nice way to put it. So do I tell people that I am twenty eight? Since I am in the twenty eighth room?
I used to worry about my pathalogical urge to hit people with frying pans but at such times I thank God that I feel that way.
Me: No Robin. You can tell people that you are twenty two. No one cares how old you are anyway. You hardly make a difference to anyone. So you can just choose your age each year.
Robin: No Keskar! I really wanted to stop working when I turned thirty Keskar!
Me: Look Robin, if you cannot calculate and state your right age when you have lived more than a quarter of your potential life there is no meaning to anything you want to do with it anyway. So just pick a number and be happy. What is it with not working after thirty? It is such an American Dream! You should work all your life. Work is the only salvation.
Robin: Shut up Keskar! You with your vacuum-cleaner philosophy. I wanted to become happy when I turn thirty but everyday I realize that I become more and more unhappy.
Me: Hmmph. I reckon that is because you have some issues with dreaming the right kind of dreams.
Robin: (Speechless for a while) ( A solemn and quizzical expression on his face) ( Neck turned sideways like an alert bird) Yeah maybe Keskar. All I dream is about earning money and becoming rich! I think that is the only happiness in life.
Me: Yeah for you that is a lot of effort. I am so glad you are at least a bit greedy about money. That is a fairly decent dream. I think you should chase it now that you have just three years left.
Robin: Promise Keskar!!? ( His usage of the word 'promise' closely translates to the word 'really' in normal human language) That means I am twenty seven right?
Me: Yes Robin your chronological age is twenty seven but I have serious doubts about the linearity of your emotional age.
Robin: Keskar you are so mean! How old are you Keskar?
Me: I am twenty four
Robin: That means you are twenty four going on twenty five Keskar?
Me: Oh My God! Naw!! You are not supposed to use that number till next July!!!
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Letters That Sing
There is nothing more refreshing than getting a hand-written letter. You come home all drained and tired and there it is!
Staring at you, half winking, on the table with an "India-Bharat" stamp on it!!
It just turns the day around for me. Sometimes it is written by my granny and sometimes by Ameya or Aai. It contains nothing spectacular. It talks about this and that and sometimes ( especially if Ameya writes it) it goes on and on till you fall off to sleep on it!
There are other kinds too. They have been teaching me how to sing, or at least how to listen to Good Music. :)
Music has introduced a few very good friendships to my life.
I get the same refreshing happiness when an email comes with an mp3 attachment.
I listen to all kinds of music. I have no strong opinions about music.
( Which kind of makes me wonder if I have strong opinions about anything else either!)
Over the past year or so however I have made a conscious attempt to listen to a lot of music and widen my vocabulary. In this conscious attempt I have unconsciously made a few very good friends. :)
So I think I should tell my readers about my most influential Music Gurus.
Charu
He is the guy who always leaves a bitter-sweet comment on my blog. Sometimes he gets upset about my grammar and sometimes about my punctuations. Sometimes he thinks I am just putting up an act and sometimes he praises my writing without any reservations. He taught me Pink Floyd and Jethro Tull. Well not just that. He taught me a lot more about good music. Sometimes he made me listen to a song and then we had this discussion about why I like it. Then he used to go into a sermon about the singer or the band. He is the kinds who knows composers like average guys knows football players and their clubs. He will give you a comprehensive summary of everything the band has played. :) It wont be just statistics though! he would be equally passionate about every song. :)
He gave me some of the songs that are always on repeat on my playlists.
He gave me all of the Steve Miller Band which I listen to at least once a day. :)
Sukhbir
He posts comments as "Intendo" on my blog.
He is one of the very few authentic Rockstars I know. He has a class of music that he likes. He picks his favorites with great care and shares them I guess, with even greater caution. He has a band of his own called " The Spacebarres" and I was fortunate enough to attend one of his performances in Pune. He introduced the blues and the jazz to my collection. Every song he sends has a mind of its own. He seems to be more of the introspective kinds so his collection is always soulful and classy. :)
He has sent me Mark Knopfler,Norah Jones, Eric Clapton and Yanni!
It has been one of the happiest music lessons I ever took!
Although when I was in India, I could never talk to him at length when we met because of my near-atrocious Hindi. :)
Then there are a few very good friends I have who always attach a song with their emails. Sometimes, we try to outwit each other by sending better songs with every email. Music has helped me salvage a few good friendships too.
When you run, your music plays in your ears without expecting a lot of attention from you. A few days later however when you take the same walk or go by the same river you hum along the song that you so furiously played when you went past it the last time. :)
Just like that people who talk Good Music become a part of your life too!
Cheers!!
Staring at you, half winking, on the table with an "India-Bharat" stamp on it!!
It just turns the day around for me. Sometimes it is written by my granny and sometimes by Ameya or Aai. It contains nothing spectacular. It talks about this and that and sometimes ( especially if Ameya writes it) it goes on and on till you fall off to sleep on it!
There are other kinds too. They have been teaching me how to sing, or at least how to listen to Good Music. :)
Music has introduced a few very good friendships to my life.
I get the same refreshing happiness when an email comes with an mp3 attachment.
I listen to all kinds of music. I have no strong opinions about music.
( Which kind of makes me wonder if I have strong opinions about anything else either!)
Over the past year or so however I have made a conscious attempt to listen to a lot of music and widen my vocabulary. In this conscious attempt I have unconsciously made a few very good friends. :)
So I think I should tell my readers about my most influential Music Gurus.
Charu
He is the guy who always leaves a bitter-sweet comment on my blog. Sometimes he gets upset about my grammar and sometimes about my punctuations. Sometimes he thinks I am just putting up an act and sometimes he praises my writing without any reservations. He taught me Pink Floyd and Jethro Tull. Well not just that. He taught me a lot more about good music. Sometimes he made me listen to a song and then we had this discussion about why I like it. Then he used to go into a sermon about the singer or the band. He is the kinds who knows composers like average guys knows football players and their clubs. He will give you a comprehensive summary of everything the band has played. :) It wont be just statistics though! he would be equally passionate about every song. :)
He gave me some of the songs that are always on repeat on my playlists.
He gave me all of the Steve Miller Band which I listen to at least once a day. :)
Sukhbir
He posts comments as "Intendo" on my blog.
He is one of the very few authentic Rockstars I know. He has a class of music that he likes. He picks his favorites with great care and shares them I guess, with even greater caution. He has a band of his own called " The Spacebarres" and I was fortunate enough to attend one of his performances in Pune. He introduced the blues and the jazz to my collection. Every song he sends has a mind of its own. He seems to be more of the introspective kinds so his collection is always soulful and classy. :)
He has sent me Mark Knopfler,Norah Jones, Eric Clapton and Yanni!
It has been one of the happiest music lessons I ever took!
Although when I was in India, I could never talk to him at length when we met because of my near-atrocious Hindi. :)
Then there are a few very good friends I have who always attach a song with their emails. Sometimes, we try to outwit each other by sending better songs with every email. Music has helped me salvage a few good friendships too.
When you run, your music plays in your ears without expecting a lot of attention from you. A few days later however when you take the same walk or go by the same river you hum along the song that you so furiously played when you went past it the last time. :)
Just like that people who talk Good Music become a part of your life too!
Cheers!!
Sunday, November 04, 2007
The People I Meet : Iowan
Last night something refreshing and funny happened to me.
I was feeling a bit lonely the whole day and I had to keep going at my literature review so I was positively grumpy.
It was one of those days when you have had your full share of fun and the 'Karmic Gods' want you to suffer as you toil at your desk. I studied half heartedly and came home to find my roomie Riju all doe-eyed waiting for me so that I could accompany her to her jog. Riju has recently been bitten by the fitness bug. Initially I thought I inspired her but then I realized that her inspiration had more to do with her new capri pants and workout tshirt.
I walked and she ran because I had had an overdose of swimming at the University. She got tired and we went to the end of river walk indulging ourselves in empty, unwanted conversations. :)
We sat down near the pontoons for a while and just as we were about to get up, a small, silver haired man popped from the darkness on the right.
He greeted," Hello there ladies!! Are you from the land of Raj Kapoor?"
It was Saturday night and he had a bottle of wine in his hand so we gave the usual we-are-reluctant-to-talk-to-you-because-we-were-told-not-to-talk-to-strangers-especially-on-saturday-nights reaction. Then he said that he lived on a boat which was anchored in the river and he was just clearing the garbage and that he never drinks alcohol! :) Talk about reading minds!!
We said that we came from the land of Raj Kapoor and to make up for our initial stiffness we asked him to grab a seat.
His name is Iowan and he is from Romania. He lives on a boat and sails to Sydney when he feels like it. He is a primary school teacher and knows nine languages.
He told us about the time when Russia split up. When he was a kid, and being brought up in a land that embraced communism as a religion, he saw unspeakable poverty. In that kind of poverty, as a teenager he used to walk all the way in snow to the cinema and watch "Awara" :). He said he watched Awara twenty times. Then he went on to talk about Shree 420 and Mother India. He sang 'Mera joota hain Japani' in a sweet European accent.
He thinks Rajesh Khanna is one of the most handsome actors he has ever seen and he was equally smitten by Dev Anand!
I was wondering at my luck to have met him and his ability to be so warm and happy at the same time.
He talked about the time he travelled to Cambodia and the genocide.
He told us about his sailing. About when he is sailing long distances sometimes fish jump on to his boat on their own. :)
He told us about his friend who sailed from Brazil to India. When he reached India, he was so worn by the wind and bad weather that he could hardly recognize himself.
We asked him if we could see him often but he was to leave. He said he will be going away on an island.
I don't remember how long we talked but it kind of turned the day around for me.
Sometimes you wonder why you meet some people at a certain time in your life.
Maybe it is just to shake you off the feeling of being very important. :)
I was feeling a bit lonely the whole day and I had to keep going at my literature review so I was positively grumpy.
It was one of those days when you have had your full share of fun and the 'Karmic Gods' want you to suffer as you toil at your desk. I studied half heartedly and came home to find my roomie Riju all doe-eyed waiting for me so that I could accompany her to her jog. Riju has recently been bitten by the fitness bug. Initially I thought I inspired her but then I realized that her inspiration had more to do with her new capri pants and workout tshirt.
I walked and she ran because I had had an overdose of swimming at the University. She got tired and we went to the end of river walk indulging ourselves in empty, unwanted conversations. :)
We sat down near the pontoons for a while and just as we were about to get up, a small, silver haired man popped from the darkness on the right.
He greeted," Hello there ladies!! Are you from the land of Raj Kapoor?"
It was Saturday night and he had a bottle of wine in his hand so we gave the usual we-are-reluctant-to-talk-to-you-because-we-were-told-not-to-talk-to-strangers-especially-on-saturday-nights reaction. Then he said that he lived on a boat which was anchored in the river and he was just clearing the garbage and that he never drinks alcohol! :) Talk about reading minds!!
We said that we came from the land of Raj Kapoor and to make up for our initial stiffness we asked him to grab a seat.
His name is Iowan and he is from Romania. He lives on a boat and sails to Sydney when he feels like it. He is a primary school teacher and knows nine languages.
He told us about the time when Russia split up. When he was a kid, and being brought up in a land that embraced communism as a religion, he saw unspeakable poverty. In that kind of poverty, as a teenager he used to walk all the way in snow to the cinema and watch "Awara" :). He said he watched Awara twenty times. Then he went on to talk about Shree 420 and Mother India. He sang 'Mera joota hain Japani' in a sweet European accent.
He thinks Rajesh Khanna is one of the most handsome actors he has ever seen and he was equally smitten by Dev Anand!
I was wondering at my luck to have met him and his ability to be so warm and happy at the same time.
He talked about the time he travelled to Cambodia and the genocide.
He told us about his sailing. About when he is sailing long distances sometimes fish jump on to his boat on their own. :)
He told us about his friend who sailed from Brazil to India. When he reached India, he was so worn by the wind and bad weather that he could hardly recognize himself.
We asked him if we could see him often but he was to leave. He said he will be going away on an island.
I don't remember how long we talked but it kind of turned the day around for me.
Sometimes you wonder why you meet some people at a certain time in your life.
Maybe it is just to shake you off the feeling of being very important. :)
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Between Maths and a Hard Place. :)
It is a rare honour sharing study rooms with Maths people on one side and Plant people on the other.
Mathematics people are one of their kinds. They will accept reality as real only when they break it down to a million tiny pieces first and prove that each one of them is real enough to be called reality. Their everyday conversations are garnished with words that seem to walk out proofs and postulates.
You overhear conversations like," If there was even a slim probability of that pretty French girl going out with me, I just reduced it to a big zero by goofing up the Fermat theorem when she needed a solution".
Mathematics men make you feel like they are looking for holes in everything you have to say. So when you have a conversation with them you can see both their eyebrows going up and down without each other's consent. They are always more than willing to help you for they always look for a "problem". So if you approach them with something you cannot figure out yourself they will pounce on you and use all the available white boards to clear your doubts. Initially they will ask you if you are with them on the solution and wait for you to nod. As the problem gets juicier (and you get bored), they will turn completely oblivious to your presence and go on solving it on their own. You get up and leave and come back in the evening to pack up to find your maths guy solving the same problem with dishevelled hair.
They would want you to prove everything. If you even casually say, " Oh God! Help me", one of them would croak in a clipped voice that can only mean that he is either a Mathematician or a Brit, " Can you prove that there IS a God?”
Maths women never get their eyebrows done.
When a Maths woman talks to a Maths man the conversation seems to take you out of your everyday torpor. Better still if there is a potential romance involved it puts the mating calls of all the animal, bird and insect species to shame. A Mathematics Man wooing (excuse me for using that word but it so goes with Maths) a Mathematics Woman by showing off his intellectual prowess is something that has yet to be taped and archived by the National Geographic. It is so melodious and methodical. The way their markers go "swoosh-swoosh" on the whiteboard and they prove to each other that they are not just capable of solving this problem but many more that they might face together.
On one hand I have these " We are atheists till X equals God" people and on the other I have the Plant Group.
They all work with plant genetics. So they believe in the "Ultimate Creation". They assume a lot of things that the Maths people want to shred apart and verify. They are awed by the Devine architecture and are merely trying to imitate in all humility. One day as I was busy trying to figure out what to read, one of the plant guys descended on me with the air of a "senior" PhD student.
He asked me if I had decided what project I wanted to work with and I replied that I was slightly confused.
Then he asked me if I had made up my mind about who is going to be my guide and I said I was slightly confused.
He asked me about the kind of work I really like and I was confused. He asked about the area I was curious about and I was still confused.
Then he told me how he always knew what he wanted to do because God helped him choose at every crucial point in his life. He went into this long ranting lecture about how God helped him choose Genetics over everything else.
Then he asked me about my faith and belief in God. I replied, "Hmmph I am slightly confused about that too"
The whole room went into a spontaneous laugh and I turned genuinely crimson that day.
Their decisions just grow out of their heads like the mint green worm-like plants that grow out of their flasks. Plant Men walk around the Graduate Room looking like messengers of God. They never bang their fists or jump up and down when they get something right. They never go back in circles, squares and pentagons to question everything again and again. They always have their minds made up. Plant women don’t really seem to have an urge to prove their equality to anyone. They are kind and affectionate and of course even they have alarmingly resolved minds.
I take a course with this Nigerian Plant girl and I asked her about her research. She looked through me into a distant Horizon and said;" I always knew I wanted to do something with Bananas".
Sometimes I think I am better off being confused. It is such a choking feeling to have fixed opinions on everything and if I figure out everything this early I would probably lead a very boring life. Then I think if I am confused, I should also be able to tear apart and question all that confuses me like the Maths people. I should be able to make sentences like, " If we presume a hypothetical scenario..." or "In this event it would be wise not to assume.."
Or at least be as sure as the Plant group and know that God (or Nature) has a plan for everyone and my life is not entirely my own responsibility. :)
I must confess that sometimes I am secretly glad to be trapped between these two disciplines. For watching them be themselves gives me a lot of time away from my own confusions. :)
Mathematics people are one of their kinds. They will accept reality as real only when they break it down to a million tiny pieces first and prove that each one of them is real enough to be called reality. Their everyday conversations are garnished with words that seem to walk out proofs and postulates.
You overhear conversations like," If there was even a slim probability of that pretty French girl going out with me, I just reduced it to a big zero by goofing up the Fermat theorem when she needed a solution".
Mathematics men make you feel like they are looking for holes in everything you have to say. So when you have a conversation with them you can see both their eyebrows going up and down without each other's consent. They are always more than willing to help you for they always look for a "problem". So if you approach them with something you cannot figure out yourself they will pounce on you and use all the available white boards to clear your doubts. Initially they will ask you if you are with them on the solution and wait for you to nod. As the problem gets juicier (and you get bored), they will turn completely oblivious to your presence and go on solving it on their own. You get up and leave and come back in the evening to pack up to find your maths guy solving the same problem with dishevelled hair.
They would want you to prove everything. If you even casually say, " Oh God! Help me", one of them would croak in a clipped voice that can only mean that he is either a Mathematician or a Brit, " Can you prove that there IS a God?”
Maths women never get their eyebrows done.
When a Maths woman talks to a Maths man the conversation seems to take you out of your everyday torpor. Better still if there is a potential romance involved it puts the mating calls of all the animal, bird and insect species to shame. A Mathematics Man wooing (excuse me for using that word but it so goes with Maths) a Mathematics Woman by showing off his intellectual prowess is something that has yet to be taped and archived by the National Geographic. It is so melodious and methodical. The way their markers go "swoosh-swoosh" on the whiteboard and they prove to each other that they are not just capable of solving this problem but many more that they might face together.
On one hand I have these " We are atheists till X equals God" people and on the other I have the Plant Group.
They all work with plant genetics. So they believe in the "Ultimate Creation". They assume a lot of things that the Maths people want to shred apart and verify. They are awed by the Devine architecture and are merely trying to imitate in all humility. One day as I was busy trying to figure out what to read, one of the plant guys descended on me with the air of a "senior" PhD student.
He asked me if I had decided what project I wanted to work with and I replied that I was slightly confused.
Then he asked me if I had made up my mind about who is going to be my guide and I said I was slightly confused.
He asked me about the kind of work I really like and I was confused. He asked about the area I was curious about and I was still confused.
Then he told me how he always knew what he wanted to do because God helped him choose at every crucial point in his life. He went into this long ranting lecture about how God helped him choose Genetics over everything else.
Then he asked me about my faith and belief in God. I replied, "Hmmph I am slightly confused about that too"
The whole room went into a spontaneous laugh and I turned genuinely crimson that day.
Their decisions just grow out of their heads like the mint green worm-like plants that grow out of their flasks. Plant Men walk around the Graduate Room looking like messengers of God. They never bang their fists or jump up and down when they get something right. They never go back in circles, squares and pentagons to question everything again and again. They always have their minds made up. Plant women don’t really seem to have an urge to prove their equality to anyone. They are kind and affectionate and of course even they have alarmingly resolved minds.
I take a course with this Nigerian Plant girl and I asked her about her research. She looked through me into a distant Horizon and said;" I always knew I wanted to do something with Bananas".
Sometimes I think I am better off being confused. It is such a choking feeling to have fixed opinions on everything and if I figure out everything this early I would probably lead a very boring life. Then I think if I am confused, I should also be able to tear apart and question all that confuses me like the Maths people. I should be able to make sentences like, " If we presume a hypothetical scenario..." or "In this event it would be wise not to assume.."
Or at least be as sure as the Plant group and know that God (or Nature) has a plan for everyone and my life is not entirely my own responsibility. :)
I must confess that sometimes I am secretly glad to be trapped between these two disciplines. For watching them be themselves gives me a lot of time away from my own confusions. :)
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Anouk
My flatmate Shruti promised to sweep me off my feet one Saturday morning.
She promised me that she would take me to a place in Brisbane that serves the best French Toast in the whole world.
That morning oozed into my room from the half broken blinds ( which our landlord refuses to take off) today and after a semi-serious jog by the river I nudged her into taking me to the place.
That is what the interesting name is all about. The place is called Anouk and seriously it did sweep me off my feet.
It takes about ten minutes of wait on the pavement to be able to secure a table in the cafe.
It smells like well-cooked bacon, cappucino, cheesecake and crisp toasts all at the same time.
You can see a neatly labeled dessert counter which seems to get you a bit grumpy about your steely resloves and fitness fixations.
As we sat down with our first round of Earl Grey and Cappucino the waiter laid two plates of Brioche on the table.
One plump slice of golden brown French Toast with raspberries and mint on top. Garnished with two slices of succulent musk-melon and powdered sugar.
The Earth stopped spinning for a while and my mind went to all my favorite childhood memories.
It was indeed the best French Toast I have ever had in my life.
Another reason for staying away from junk and keeping away from carbohydrates on weekdays.
You can appreciate good food and let the artist and the poet in you out.Every bite fired up a love affair with my brain and made me grateful for all the forty-five minute jogs by the river!
I was looking for art in Australia for a very long time. I think I just found where the Artists really dwell.
We walked all the way back to the city and popped into a bookshop that sells rare books where I picked up John Donne for $9 for a bit of good poetry always goes well with good food. :)
Cheers!
PS: Please excuse my sense of photography AND for those of you who have been cribbing that I dont send home enough pictures now you know why! =P
Monday, October 15, 2007
The People I Meet : Robin
Well it is time to experiment with some caricatures. I have been a fan of some of the writers who describe people. I think it is a great skill to be able to paint a person using words. This is going to be some sort of a series. Please forgive me however for making this blog a potpourri of various things.
Robin
Robin is my next-door neighbour. He comes from South India and speaks singsong English.
There is something really peculiar about this man. I talk to him everyday trying to pinpoint what it is but it cannot be put into words.
He is tall and he is skinny with oiled hair that goes in about every direction that hair could go if you never bother to keep it neat.
His voice travels through a series of valleys and mountains before it reaches you. Sometimes when he is trying to be particularly emotive, it turns into a squeak. At others, it slides down a glacier and disappears into an incoherent mumble.
When you approach him with a bright "Hello Robin!!” he tilts his head at an awkward angle and gives back a damp "umm hullo" with downcast eyes.
He works in the railways. His job is to make drawings. From what it looks like, it must be a really boring job but you can find him trotting off into the elevator every morning at eight and trotting back exactly at five. Then he deposits himself on the couch and watches television indefinitely. He was too lazy to walk out of the non-smoking apartments so he used to smoke out of the window. Then one day, the landlord came in with a written complaint and asked him to get out of the premises if he wants to smoke. This kind of slowed down his smoking but he is still seen going down the fire exit with a pack of cigarettes and a mug of coffee a couple of times a day.
I believe people are like compounds and elements. We have our own reactivity and energies.
Some of us are highly electronegative and some of us are volatile. Robin would certainly fall into the class of inerts. He is just there. You can use him as a harmless and reliable carrier material whenever you want to. He will not opine, interfere or assert. He will never pick up a fight or even get along really well with anyone. He will just be around but sometimes he might turn out to be a big help. He is not detached for being detached needs some attachment too. He just is.
We often end up having a chat with him.
Being away from home makes you think about your parents very often. We all have rosy ideas about getting our parents to visit us. On one of such days we all were talking about our plans to get our parents to Brisbane. We asked Robin if he ever plans to get his parents to stay with him.
He went into this long contemplative silence. Then he said that he would prefer going back to India than ever bringing his parents to Brisbane for a long time. He has an unusual dream for a man like him. He wants to own a restaurant back in India where he can invest all the money he makes drawing plans for the Australian railways.
We asked him why he was so reluctant about getting his parents here and after a long intellectual looking gap he said, " What if I get them here and one of them dies? Then I would have to look for a place for burial"
Three minutes of complete silence and all of us burst out into peals of laughter.
Then we told him that the rate at which he smokes, it is more likely that his parents would have to look for a burial place for him.
He is a woman's nightmare coming true. He has already decided that none of the tourist haunts anywhere in the world is worth spending time and money on. He spends his weekends coiled up on the couch in the living room and only bothers to get up when he is hungry. He never goes out. He never works out. You get up in the morning and go for a jog. You come back and vacuum the house, clean the dishes, do the laundry, call up your parents and speak to them for an hour, you make your bed and go out for guitar lessons, you come back and cook dinner and all this while you will find him doing exactly what he was doing in the morning. Sleeping. He comes out of his shoes and they just wait there for Monday morning so that their rightful owners can get back into them and take them along the same pavement to the same building at the same time.
If by chance (yes it is really only by "chance") you meet him at the grocery shop and walk back, he would insist on crossing the road following all the traffic rules even if all the white people take it a bit easy. When you ask him why he is so finicky about it, he would reply in a solemn voice," Saee they would call me a bloody Indian if I cross it in a wrong way". As a matter of fact, no one will. None of us have ever come across anyone who would want to call us that!!
He talks about his early days in this country and he does have some really shocking stories to share. Stories about being left out and alone. Then making it on his own and being grateful to God. Finding his own way that led him to the kind of life he wanted to live. A life full of peace and pirated Tamil movies. Where there is no one to stop him from being himself.
At times you agree with his take on life. At times it puzzles you.
I meet him on my way back from the jog sometimes and he asks me what I am up to. Irrespective of what I say his reaction is always the same," You are the rich Indian girl with an attitude". I try to fathom what it means but then I always give up. Even if I tell him that I cleaned and mopped the kitchen floor today he still insists on calling me the "Rich Indian Girl with An Attitude".
I am amused by the word "Indian" in the description.
Robin is the kind of guy who teaches you that you can live your life using the bare minimum energy from what you can produce eating your food. He teaches you that you can exist on the screen-saver mode for all the forty-eight hours of the weekend and shake yourself to life only when your input is going to help your bank balance. He teaches you that there are back alleys and secret tunnels around your existence that can take you beyond the urge to move around and have fun. He teaches you the joy in being in a state of rest or of uniform motion as and when applicable. You realize that the peaks and valleys that you add to your everyday life by running around listening to your stupid iPod or by comparing the rates of vegetables in the grocery shop next door to the ones you get in the farmer's market are essentially not essential even though they make you feel like you are doing something really valuable with your life.
He makes you feel good about yourself when you are having a good day because you sympathize with his coiled-up-like-an-overfed-python state and he makes you feel really sorry for yourself when you are having a bad day because of his coiled-up-like-an-overfed-python state. In any case you are variable. He never changes.
Sometimes you wish you could inspire him but sometimes he almost inspires you!
Robin
Robin is my next-door neighbour. He comes from South India and speaks singsong English.
There is something really peculiar about this man. I talk to him everyday trying to pinpoint what it is but it cannot be put into words.
He is tall and he is skinny with oiled hair that goes in about every direction that hair could go if you never bother to keep it neat.
His voice travels through a series of valleys and mountains before it reaches you. Sometimes when he is trying to be particularly emotive, it turns into a squeak. At others, it slides down a glacier and disappears into an incoherent mumble.
When you approach him with a bright "Hello Robin!!” he tilts his head at an awkward angle and gives back a damp "umm hullo" with downcast eyes.
He works in the railways. His job is to make drawings. From what it looks like, it must be a really boring job but you can find him trotting off into the elevator every morning at eight and trotting back exactly at five. Then he deposits himself on the couch and watches television indefinitely. He was too lazy to walk out of the non-smoking apartments so he used to smoke out of the window. Then one day, the landlord came in with a written complaint and asked him to get out of the premises if he wants to smoke. This kind of slowed down his smoking but he is still seen going down the fire exit with a pack of cigarettes and a mug of coffee a couple of times a day.
I believe people are like compounds and elements. We have our own reactivity and energies.
Some of us are highly electronegative and some of us are volatile. Robin would certainly fall into the class of inerts. He is just there. You can use him as a harmless and reliable carrier material whenever you want to. He will not opine, interfere or assert. He will never pick up a fight or even get along really well with anyone. He will just be around but sometimes he might turn out to be a big help. He is not detached for being detached needs some attachment too. He just is.
We often end up having a chat with him.
Being away from home makes you think about your parents very often. We all have rosy ideas about getting our parents to visit us. On one of such days we all were talking about our plans to get our parents to Brisbane. We asked Robin if he ever plans to get his parents to stay with him.
He went into this long contemplative silence. Then he said that he would prefer going back to India than ever bringing his parents to Brisbane for a long time. He has an unusual dream for a man like him. He wants to own a restaurant back in India where he can invest all the money he makes drawing plans for the Australian railways.
We asked him why he was so reluctant about getting his parents here and after a long intellectual looking gap he said, " What if I get them here and one of them dies? Then I would have to look for a place for burial"
Three minutes of complete silence and all of us burst out into peals of laughter.
Then we told him that the rate at which he smokes, it is more likely that his parents would have to look for a burial place for him.
He is a woman's nightmare coming true. He has already decided that none of the tourist haunts anywhere in the world is worth spending time and money on. He spends his weekends coiled up on the couch in the living room and only bothers to get up when he is hungry. He never goes out. He never works out. You get up in the morning and go for a jog. You come back and vacuum the house, clean the dishes, do the laundry, call up your parents and speak to them for an hour, you make your bed and go out for guitar lessons, you come back and cook dinner and all this while you will find him doing exactly what he was doing in the morning. Sleeping. He comes out of his shoes and they just wait there for Monday morning so that their rightful owners can get back into them and take them along the same pavement to the same building at the same time.
If by chance (yes it is really only by "chance") you meet him at the grocery shop and walk back, he would insist on crossing the road following all the traffic rules even if all the white people take it a bit easy. When you ask him why he is so finicky about it, he would reply in a solemn voice," Saee they would call me a bloody Indian if I cross it in a wrong way". As a matter of fact, no one will. None of us have ever come across anyone who would want to call us that!!
He talks about his early days in this country and he does have some really shocking stories to share. Stories about being left out and alone. Then making it on his own and being grateful to God. Finding his own way that led him to the kind of life he wanted to live. A life full of peace and pirated Tamil movies. Where there is no one to stop him from being himself.
At times you agree with his take on life. At times it puzzles you.
I meet him on my way back from the jog sometimes and he asks me what I am up to. Irrespective of what I say his reaction is always the same," You are the rich Indian girl with an attitude". I try to fathom what it means but then I always give up. Even if I tell him that I cleaned and mopped the kitchen floor today he still insists on calling me the "Rich Indian Girl with An Attitude".
I am amused by the word "Indian" in the description.
Robin is the kind of guy who teaches you that you can live your life using the bare minimum energy from what you can produce eating your food. He teaches you that you can exist on the screen-saver mode for all the forty-eight hours of the weekend and shake yourself to life only when your input is going to help your bank balance. He teaches you that there are back alleys and secret tunnels around your existence that can take you beyond the urge to move around and have fun. He teaches you the joy in being in a state of rest or of uniform motion as and when applicable. You realize that the peaks and valleys that you add to your everyday life by running around listening to your stupid iPod or by comparing the rates of vegetables in the grocery shop next door to the ones you get in the farmer's market are essentially not essential even though they make you feel like you are doing something really valuable with your life.
He makes you feel good about yourself when you are having a good day because you sympathize with his coiled-up-like-an-overfed-python state and he makes you feel really sorry for yourself when you are having a bad day because of his coiled-up-like-an-overfed-python state. In any case you are variable. He never changes.
Sometimes you wish you could inspire him but sometimes he almost inspires you!
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Chicken Curry For Graduate Students
Purpose:
To make out-of-this world chicken curry on a bright Saturday morning beating all the odds that plague the poor
Graduate Student.
Ingredients:
Chicken legs, yoghurt, lemon, whole pepper (about 7-10), grated coconut (half a cup), bay leaf, cinnamon,
Ginger- garlic paste, salt, red chilly powder, lots of tomato paste and three onions (vertically chopped).
Procedure: A] Marinate
For a kilo of chicken take around 500 grams of plain yoghurt. Add a spoon full of turmeric and about 2-3 teaspoons of ginger-garlic paste to it. Squeeze half a lemon and mix well. Wash the chicken and apply the above mixture evenly to all of it and leave it aside. This has to be left alone for at least twenty minutes so please make sure that you are well fed before you begin.
B] Spices
I believe that one should always make one's own spices. So I do not recommend the ready made chicken curries that you get in the markets. Take an average sized frying pan (hopefully non-stick but anything works if you are creative enough). Add about two tablespoons of oil to it. (Please refrain from using extra virgin olive oil. =|) When the oil heats up, try throwing a few mustard seeds when they crackle, carefully put in all the groups of spices individually and shallow fry them. Put in the pepper (and stay away from the frying pan as you do it because sometimes it pops up and goes into your eye!), the cinnamon and the bay leaf. Remove all the spices when they are light brown. This procedure gets out the flavour and you can smell them distinctly in the curry. In the oil that is left, fry the onion till it becomes light brown and squishy (Sorry, I really did not have a more accurate word than this). When all the oil is lost in the onion and the spices put in the coconut on the pan. Please watch it very carefully. Coconut oozes oil. So please do not add oil in the pan to fry coconut.
When all the spices are lined up in a plate (and you have realized that the 20 minutes of leaving the chicken alone are over) chop a tomato and in the heated pan, put about two teaspoons of oil again and fry the tomato and onion.
Challenge #1: Lack of blender.
Ideally the spices should be blended into a paste by addition of water. However not all of us are fortunate, rich or resourceful enough to have a blender around. It is okay to put in whole spices. I call it the "exotic" curry. Where you never know what is going to crunch under your teeth next. Sometimes it is pepper and sometimes cinnamon. :)
C] Cooking
Add in the marinated chicken to the tomato and onion and add the spices and the tomato paste. Let it cook for a while (under pressure if possible and if you are really hungry) When it is cooked (try forcing a fork through to check), add about 3 teaspoons of chilly powder and salt to taste. Please do not add a tumbler full of cold water if you need volume. Make sure you balance it with a thickening agent like tomato paste or coconut. It is an insult to the food if you indiscriminately add cold water when it is cooking.
Challenge# 2 Lack of time and the energy to do all of this in one go.
You can fry the spices and make a paste and refrigerate and only do the marinate and the cooking when you want to make it.
Challenge#3 "What is a bay leaf?" ..Innocent questions. Please go to the nearest Indian shop and ask the owner. He/she would help you to get everything that you need.
( Please do not fall into their traps and buy the larger packets because they are cheap. Both of us know that you are probably going to make this only once and then the spices are going to lie around over the kitchen counter)
Alternatively for my friends in America, you can just "Google it up" and get your answers. But please do not freak out the storeowner by calling it "Cinammomum tejpata".
Serving
Ideally you should garnish it with coriander leaves and serve it with tomato and onion salad.
With cardamom flavoured rice with saffron. These, I agree are luxuries. So just pour in plain rice in a bowl and have curry with it as you Gtalk with someone in India. :)
To make out-of-this world chicken curry on a bright Saturday morning beating all the odds that plague the poor
Graduate Student.
Ingredients:
Chicken legs, yoghurt, lemon, whole pepper (about 7-10), grated coconut (half a cup), bay leaf, cinnamon,
Ginger- garlic paste, salt, red chilly powder, lots of tomato paste and three onions (vertically chopped).
Procedure: A] Marinate
For a kilo of chicken take around 500 grams of plain yoghurt. Add a spoon full of turmeric and about 2-3 teaspoons of ginger-garlic paste to it. Squeeze half a lemon and mix well. Wash the chicken and apply the above mixture evenly to all of it and leave it aside. This has to be left alone for at least twenty minutes so please make sure that you are well fed before you begin.
B] Spices
I believe that one should always make one's own spices. So I do not recommend the ready made chicken curries that you get in the markets. Take an average sized frying pan (hopefully non-stick but anything works if you are creative enough). Add about two tablespoons of oil to it. (Please refrain from using extra virgin olive oil. =|) When the oil heats up, try throwing a few mustard seeds when they crackle, carefully put in all the groups of spices individually and shallow fry them. Put in the pepper (and stay away from the frying pan as you do it because sometimes it pops up and goes into your eye!), the cinnamon and the bay leaf. Remove all the spices when they are light brown. This procedure gets out the flavour and you can smell them distinctly in the curry. In the oil that is left, fry the onion till it becomes light brown and squishy (Sorry, I really did not have a more accurate word than this). When all the oil is lost in the onion and the spices put in the coconut on the pan. Please watch it very carefully. Coconut oozes oil. So please do not add oil in the pan to fry coconut.
When all the spices are lined up in a plate (and you have realized that the 20 minutes of leaving the chicken alone are over) chop a tomato and in the heated pan, put about two teaspoons of oil again and fry the tomato and onion.
Challenge #1: Lack of blender.
Ideally the spices should be blended into a paste by addition of water. However not all of us are fortunate, rich or resourceful enough to have a blender around. It is okay to put in whole spices. I call it the "exotic" curry. Where you never know what is going to crunch under your teeth next. Sometimes it is pepper and sometimes cinnamon. :)
C] Cooking
Add in the marinated chicken to the tomato and onion and add the spices and the tomato paste. Let it cook for a while (under pressure if possible and if you are really hungry) When it is cooked (try forcing a fork through to check), add about 3 teaspoons of chilly powder and salt to taste. Please do not add a tumbler full of cold water if you need volume. Make sure you balance it with a thickening agent like tomato paste or coconut. It is an insult to the food if you indiscriminately add cold water when it is cooking.
Challenge# 2 Lack of time and the energy to do all of this in one go.
You can fry the spices and make a paste and refrigerate and only do the marinate and the cooking when you want to make it.
Challenge#3 "What is a bay leaf?" ..Innocent questions. Please go to the nearest Indian shop and ask the owner. He/she would help you to get everything that you need.
( Please do not fall into their traps and buy the larger packets because they are cheap. Both of us know that you are probably going to make this only once and then the spices are going to lie around over the kitchen counter)
Alternatively for my friends in America, you can just "Google it up" and get your answers. But please do not freak out the storeowner by calling it "Cinammomum tejpata".
Serving
Ideally you should garnish it with coriander leaves and serve it with tomato and onion salad.
With cardamom flavoured rice with saffron. These, I agree are luxuries. So just pour in plain rice in a bowl and have curry with it as you Gtalk with someone in India. :)
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Happy Birthday PurpleMoon!!!
3rd October 2007
Although my readers cannot trace back the proof of this occasion ( owing to the fact that I keep renovating my page all the time) back home, in my lab in Pune, on the computer connected to the GC/MS system I have a folder by that date which was created in 2006. :) ( And that is an amazingly long sentence)
Initially I started writing because it was a much needed distraction from work. When you are a chromatographer and work on a Gas Chromatograph you get time between runs. I used to use that to write. Then I processed the chromtograms and went back to processing my blogs between the next two runs.
I cannot believe it has been a year.
To me, PurpleMoon was something close to an escape. A reverie that helped me color my life the way I wanted it to. To be able to remember the good things and to be able to bring out the pastles and the lights from the blacks and the greys.
I had written in leather bound journals with an ink pen before. I had written poems in an artistic hand. I had dozed off into books on the majority of Sundays that I ever saw since I started reading.
Writing was a new escape and being taken seriously was like an unexpected destination!
I think PurpleMoon has helped me grow beyond the limits of one chronological time unit.
When you look for escapes and they work out better the reality you wanted to escape from, it kind of gives you the feeling of being even with Destiny. :)
I have been through the Writer's block and learnt my Anger Management with some serious critique too. I have also had the pleasure of replying to my humble share of fan mails. I have loved it all and I think now that I am a poor graduate student, I might end up improving my writing skills when I am in the mood for some serious procrastination ( which seems to engulf me almost all the times these days)
I thank all my loyal fans for their constant feedback. :)
Now, before I sound like this self-concieted writer let me end this.
I wish PurpleMoon a very Happy Birthday and I hope it keeps me alive and positive like it has for the past twelve months.
Cheers!
Although my readers cannot trace back the proof of this occasion ( owing to the fact that I keep renovating my page all the time) back home, in my lab in Pune, on the computer connected to the GC/MS system I have a folder by that date which was created in 2006. :) ( And that is an amazingly long sentence)
Initially I started writing because it was a much needed distraction from work. When you are a chromatographer and work on a Gas Chromatograph you get time between runs. I used to use that to write. Then I processed the chromtograms and went back to processing my blogs between the next two runs.
I cannot believe it has been a year.
To me, PurpleMoon was something close to an escape. A reverie that helped me color my life the way I wanted it to. To be able to remember the good things and to be able to bring out the pastles and the lights from the blacks and the greys.
I had written in leather bound journals with an ink pen before. I had written poems in an artistic hand. I had dozed off into books on the majority of Sundays that I ever saw since I started reading.
Writing was a new escape and being taken seriously was like an unexpected destination!
I think PurpleMoon has helped me grow beyond the limits of one chronological time unit.
When you look for escapes and they work out better the reality you wanted to escape from, it kind of gives you the feeling of being even with Destiny. :)
I have been through the Writer's block and learnt my Anger Management with some serious critique too. I have also had the pleasure of replying to my humble share of fan mails. I have loved it all and I think now that I am a poor graduate student, I might end up improving my writing skills when I am in the mood for some serious procrastination ( which seems to engulf me almost all the times these days)
I thank all my loyal fans for their constant feedback. :)
Now, before I sound like this self-concieted writer let me end this.
I wish PurpleMoon a very Happy Birthday and I hope it keeps me alive and positive like it has for the past twelve months.
Cheers!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Glimpses of my "roomiehood"
My readers should excuse my obsession with writing about myself all the time. :)
There are phases where I want to comment on others ( mostly because my own life is really boring) and then there are times when I have to constantly check how much I go on writing about myself. So taking a bit of a risk I would like to write about the sunny side of roomiehood.
Refuting parental assumptions that I am some sort of a high maintenance snob, I think I am well ensconsed in a house filled with three (crazy) girls. :)
There is great joy in being with two girls, especially since I never had a sister who shared a room with me. So here is a list of all the good things about roomiehood
1. When three average sized girls come together, suddenly you have triple the amount of clothes you usually had. To add to it, if one of you is outdoorsy, one chic and posh and the remaining bohemian, you have a wide range of classy and funky clothes to pick up from.
2. The territorial demarcations fade in about two weeks. You start grabbing each other's makeup or rummaging through each other's drawers first thing in the morning to find the shirt that goes with your weekend shopping.
3. You get to know that there are people as paranoid about certain trivial things as you are. Like one of my roomies is a dishwasher. The moment you leave any thing dirty on the sink it gets squeaky clean and sits on the shelf before you can have a sip of water. They also tell me that I discover my own "Nirvana" with the vacuum cleaner.
4. Everything going on in your life is openly discussed and used over and over to make cheeky comments and embarrass you. You cannot maintain your usual "cold" and "reserved" image. ( Although I have no idea why I would make that kind of image anyways with so much noise I always make)
5. Sometimes you laugh so much on something that you fall off the bed.( Which kind of gives you a reason to go on laughing for another hour)
6. You pick up contagious diseases like digging into the big tub of ice cream when you see the other two licking their spoons and being indifferent towards your steely determination of staying away from sugar at night.
7. You tend to feel good about yourself when one of them suggests that you should make the carrot-groundnut salad again this week because it was yummy. :)
8. Three girls coming from three different backgrounds leaves a lot of room for retrospective talks that let you fade into the night on weekends.
9. It is completely normal to wake up at 5 AM for no reason and have breakfast and go back to sleep at 8 AM.
10. When you are planning to go out, you can conduct your own mini-fashion show to get your statement for the evening.
11. Someone makes you get up from your afternoon catnap because she is getting bored without you. :)
12. They scold you when you go on shopping spree and keep reminding you that you are a "student" now, but then they also get you $3 strawberries from the farmer's market because you like to have them with yogurt.
I thank all the people who encouraged me to step into this. Especially my best friend Ameya who always tells me the truth earlier than when it is due. :)
There are phases where I want to comment on others ( mostly because my own life is really boring) and then there are times when I have to constantly check how much I go on writing about myself. So taking a bit of a risk I would like to write about the sunny side of roomiehood.
Refuting parental assumptions that I am some sort of a high maintenance snob, I think I am well ensconsed in a house filled with three (crazy) girls. :)
There is great joy in being with two girls, especially since I never had a sister who shared a room with me. So here is a list of all the good things about roomiehood
1. When three average sized girls come together, suddenly you have triple the amount of clothes you usually had. To add to it, if one of you is outdoorsy, one chic and posh and the remaining bohemian, you have a wide range of classy and funky clothes to pick up from.
2. The territorial demarcations fade in about two weeks. You start grabbing each other's makeup or rummaging through each other's drawers first thing in the morning to find the shirt that goes with your weekend shopping.
3. You get to know that there are people as paranoid about certain trivial things as you are. Like one of my roomies is a dishwasher. The moment you leave any thing dirty on the sink it gets squeaky clean and sits on the shelf before you can have a sip of water. They also tell me that I discover my own "Nirvana" with the vacuum cleaner.
4. Everything going on in your life is openly discussed and used over and over to make cheeky comments and embarrass you. You cannot maintain your usual "cold" and "reserved" image. ( Although I have no idea why I would make that kind of image anyways with so much noise I always make)
5. Sometimes you laugh so much on something that you fall off the bed.( Which kind of gives you a reason to go on laughing for another hour)
6. You pick up contagious diseases like digging into the big tub of ice cream when you see the other two licking their spoons and being indifferent towards your steely determination of staying away from sugar at night.
7. You tend to feel good about yourself when one of them suggests that you should make the carrot-groundnut salad again this week because it was yummy. :)
8. Three girls coming from three different backgrounds leaves a lot of room for retrospective talks that let you fade into the night on weekends.
9. It is completely normal to wake up at 5 AM for no reason and have breakfast and go back to sleep at 8 AM.
10. When you are planning to go out, you can conduct your own mini-fashion show to get your statement for the evening.
11. Someone makes you get up from your afternoon catnap because she is getting bored without you. :)
12. They scold you when you go on shopping spree and keep reminding you that you are a "student" now, but then they also get you $3 strawberries from the farmer's market because you like to have them with yogurt.
I thank all the people who encouraged me to step into this. Especially my best friend Ameya who always tells me the truth earlier than when it is due. :)
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Thank You Aai. :)
It is not very easy to like everything about me. I was specifically worried about landing in an unknown land and fighting hard to be able to fit in. Fortunately my mom has taught me the most important thing that a woman ( or even a man) needs to know to be able to banish all the opposition. There have been women in my family, on my mother's side, who were known for their tempers and pinching sarcasm. Women who would expect you to be so formal in their presence that drinking tea out of a stupid china cup would be one of the most challenging tasks at hand. They were all known, almost as a rule for their extraordinary culinary talent. Everything they said to you was forgotten with the sour-sweet dal or velvety puranpoli. Even a simple tomato soup would taste like a delicacy. My mom inherits that talent ( although she is not as sarcastic) and she has been clever enough to pass some of it on genetically and through disciplined cooking lessons to me. :)
Cooking is something I truly discovered when I landed in Australia.
Everything I cook, always reminds me of my mom. I still remember the way we started out. I was reluctant and she was angry. It was around the time when I was fifteen. My "induction" into the kitchen was something I thought was a "plan" to culture me into being marriage material but it all vanished once the classes started.
Before making any elaborate Maharashtrian dish my aai used to explain to me the fundamentals of cooking. Like if we were making anything involving tamarind and buttermilk, she used to say, " You begin this by adjusting the pH of the vegetables". I used to giggle under my breath for having such a geeky mom.
She used to encourage me to imagine what I want to cook. Visualize the end result. Even when I make a simple dal, on my way back from college as I take the river-walk , I imagine what would go into it. Then I take a mental check if I have all of that in the fridge. By the time I come home I know what my dal would look like.
She used to tell me that cooking is more about creativity than just a tool for survival. You have to know instinctively what you would like to put together. Designing a menu is one of the most difficult things, but when my mother does that it looks like a ballet on ice.
If she is a chemist at work, she is an artist in the kitchen. She never uses excess oil, excess water or excess spice yet her food tastes like it was just ordered from heaven.
She can manage about five different unit processes in the kitchen without help. Then like a seasoned chef she gets everything together just fifteen minutes before the arrival of the guests.
She never gets tired of cooking. It used to amaze me a few days back but now I know how it feels to like cooking.
She taught me how to extract pepper and cloves into the oil before they are used in your preparation. She taught me how to handle saffron and make saffron flowers on rasmalai. She taught me the principle behind making good tea ( which was taught to me in the form of a mathematical formula in mass transfer years later).
She taught me how to be patient while the ground-nuts roast on the pan. Or how to add lemon at the very last moment to save it from a heat shock. :)
She taught me to experiment and ( more importantly) to clean up after each experiment.
She taught me to cook with a lot of love in my heart for it is the only secret ingredient she has never told anyone else about!
So now even though I have certain inherent shortcomings as a person, I know that people would always put up with me because I cook well. :)
Cooking is something I truly discovered when I landed in Australia.
Everything I cook, always reminds me of my mom. I still remember the way we started out. I was reluctant and she was angry. It was around the time when I was fifteen. My "induction" into the kitchen was something I thought was a "plan" to culture me into being marriage material but it all vanished once the classes started.
Before making any elaborate Maharashtrian dish my aai used to explain to me the fundamentals of cooking. Like if we were making anything involving tamarind and buttermilk, she used to say, " You begin this by adjusting the pH of the vegetables". I used to giggle under my breath for having such a geeky mom.
She used to encourage me to imagine what I want to cook. Visualize the end result. Even when I make a simple dal, on my way back from college as I take the river-walk , I imagine what would go into it. Then I take a mental check if I have all of that in the fridge. By the time I come home I know what my dal would look like.
She used to tell me that cooking is more about creativity than just a tool for survival. You have to know instinctively what you would like to put together. Designing a menu is one of the most difficult things, but when my mother does that it looks like a ballet on ice.
If she is a chemist at work, she is an artist in the kitchen. She never uses excess oil, excess water or excess spice yet her food tastes like it was just ordered from heaven.
She can manage about five different unit processes in the kitchen without help. Then like a seasoned chef she gets everything together just fifteen minutes before the arrival of the guests.
She never gets tired of cooking. It used to amaze me a few days back but now I know how it feels to like cooking.
She taught me how to extract pepper and cloves into the oil before they are used in your preparation. She taught me how to handle saffron and make saffron flowers on rasmalai. She taught me the principle behind making good tea ( which was taught to me in the form of a mathematical formula in mass transfer years later).
She taught me how to be patient while the ground-nuts roast on the pan. Or how to add lemon at the very last moment to save it from a heat shock. :)
She taught me to experiment and ( more importantly) to clean up after each experiment.
She taught me to cook with a lot of love in my heart for it is the only secret ingredient she has never told anyone else about!
So now even though I have certain inherent shortcomings as a person, I know that people would always put up with me because I cook well. :)
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Oh no..Not another blog!!!
Hello All!!
Readers are requested to take note of a new blog
http://saeekeskar.blogspot.com/
I am afraid PurpleMoon will still go on and I have no idea why this new thread. I hope we can all figure it out together as we go along.
Thank You!
Saee
Readers are requested to take note of a new blog
http://saeekeskar.blogspot.com/
I am afraid PurpleMoon will still go on and I have no idea why this new thread. I hope we can all figure it out together as we go along.
Thank You!
Saee
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
An Idle Observation. :)
What makes you feel home in a foreign land?
That when you happen to hear conversations
Across desks and cubicles
Girls always talk about weight loss
Or about insensitive boyfriends
Then they go on about the biggest sale
Or the shop around the corner of the street
That sells stylish bags
In public restrooms you always find them
Powdering their tiny, medium or almond eyes
Or brushing their golden brown or black hair
Giving each other tips
On how to not let your lips grow dry
And boys everywhere are the same
They talk about Cricket in India
And Rugby in Australia
Trying to solve the confusing riddles
Left behind with their girlfriend's perfume
Yet they are all so different
Like Mustard is from Cardamom
Like Olive oil from Peanut Butter
Same purpose, just a different flavor!
That when you happen to hear conversations
Across desks and cubicles
Girls always talk about weight loss
Or about insensitive boyfriends
Then they go on about the biggest sale
Or the shop around the corner of the street
That sells stylish bags
In public restrooms you always find them
Powdering their tiny, medium or almond eyes
Or brushing their golden brown or black hair
Giving each other tips
On how to not let your lips grow dry
And boys everywhere are the same
They talk about Cricket in India
And Rugby in Australia
Trying to solve the confusing riddles
Left behind with their girlfriend's perfume
Yet they are all so different
Like Mustard is from Cardamom
Like Olive oil from Peanut Butter
Same purpose, just a different flavor!
Thursday, September 13, 2007
How I started on the wrong foot and ended up having a good time.
I know I should keep my mouth shut. I always knew it.
It does not come into action that easily though.
I land in an unknown city with roomies that qualify as blind dates ( Yeah. Thanks to Google again)..but I should have taken it easy on being myself right away.
I started out with making rules right after I got over my jet lag.
So, I took up the task of writing Standard Operating Procedures for everything done around the house. They liked me for my neatness and cooking but like I always do, I overdid it slightly and one of my roomies blew up like an out of control reactor. :)
Let us not go into the details of what caused it. I think what I eventually did about it makes a more interesting story.
So she gets angry in Tamil and starts calling up all the Tamil people in Brisbane. I was upstairs in my room sobbing my homesickness away while my other roomie explained to her the new "code of conduct" ( That I had meticulously designed in the morning while my Tamil roomie was away).
I can understand when you have a language barrier in love. Sometimes it adds to the romance because both the parties invest special efforts in learning the other's language ( Thanks to Learn Gujrathi in Two Weeks) but when you have a language barrier in anger it ends up really complicated.
So I had to rush down as she broke down and started crying in Tamil. Since I had already offended her so royally she was unwilling to translate any of that into English for me. So I forgot my homesickness ( which had more to do with the bathroom floor in my current house not being squeaky clean than anything back home) and began consoling her in my ghastly Hindi. Then I switched to English. Somehow I sound more arrogant than I already am in English so I switched to the funny Hindi again and ran around behind her with a pack of tissues. The third roomie was away visiting her uncle in a suburb called Kenmore close by. So she was controlling the proceedings of our fight using our free Optus to Optus minutes. She kept hurling more Tamil lines at me and I suddenly found my sanity and decided to shut up. Every time she said something I used to tell myself, " Oh maybe that is what a B***H is called in Tamil". The language goes faster with stronger emotions and it was like a roller coaster ride for my ears.
Then the one tucked away in Kenmore came to my rescue. It was around 7.30 at night and out of the blue she asked me if I could pack my bags and leave her alone and come to Kenmore. Usually I would have declined this offer for a lot of reasons but I found myself saying yes even before my brain could completely process the question. So there I was, half sobbing and half terrified standing on Bus Stop 158 waiting for a bus that would take me away from Tamil vocabulary. I kept remembering everything my mom had told me about not travelling alone at night.
I left at 8:15 and I was probably the only passenger on the bus. With a rough idea of the route and my cellphone to help me figure out.
As soon as the bus started, it took the pretty road by the river and I was already feeling better. It was like a kid being distracted by fire crackers after getting a scraped knee. The bus driver ( contrary to my mother's opinions about drivers on empty buses) was a very gentle guy. He made sure that I got down at the right stop and I was safe with the girl I wanted to meet.
Then I met her uncle's dog and I suddenly realized how easy life becomes when no languages are spoken.
Like my roomie puts it ( the one who is not awfully mad at me and who listens to Floyd and lends me her skirts)
I laughed about it the next morning over a cup of tea.
So every time I am going to something new or meeting someone for the first time, these people tell me " Saee please don't come back with a fight". Actually that is not how I want myself to be seen but it will take a lot of toil and patience to change my first impression in Australia. :)
I have learnt my first lesson.
If you want to push around people and feel good about it, pick people who speak the same language. ;)
That could mean a lot of things actually!
It does not come into action that easily though.
I land in an unknown city with roomies that qualify as blind dates ( Yeah. Thanks to Google again)..but I should have taken it easy on being myself right away.
I started out with making rules right after I got over my jet lag.
So, I took up the task of writing Standard Operating Procedures for everything done around the house. They liked me for my neatness and cooking but like I always do, I overdid it slightly and one of my roomies blew up like an out of control reactor. :)
Let us not go into the details of what caused it. I think what I eventually did about it makes a more interesting story.
So she gets angry in Tamil and starts calling up all the Tamil people in Brisbane. I was upstairs in my room sobbing my homesickness away while my other roomie explained to her the new "code of conduct" ( That I had meticulously designed in the morning while my Tamil roomie was away).
I can understand when you have a language barrier in love. Sometimes it adds to the romance because both the parties invest special efforts in learning the other's language ( Thanks to Learn Gujrathi in Two Weeks) but when you have a language barrier in anger it ends up really complicated.
So I had to rush down as she broke down and started crying in Tamil. Since I had already offended her so royally she was unwilling to translate any of that into English for me. So I forgot my homesickness ( which had more to do with the bathroom floor in my current house not being squeaky clean than anything back home) and began consoling her in my ghastly Hindi. Then I switched to English. Somehow I sound more arrogant than I already am in English so I switched to the funny Hindi again and ran around behind her with a pack of tissues. The third roomie was away visiting her uncle in a suburb called Kenmore close by. So she was controlling the proceedings of our fight using our free Optus to Optus minutes. She kept hurling more Tamil lines at me and I suddenly found my sanity and decided to shut up. Every time she said something I used to tell myself, " Oh maybe that is what a B***H is called in Tamil". The language goes faster with stronger emotions and it was like a roller coaster ride for my ears.
Then the one tucked away in Kenmore came to my rescue. It was around 7.30 at night and out of the blue she asked me if I could pack my bags and leave her alone and come to Kenmore. Usually I would have declined this offer for a lot of reasons but I found myself saying yes even before my brain could completely process the question. So there I was, half sobbing and half terrified standing on Bus Stop 158 waiting for a bus that would take me away from Tamil vocabulary. I kept remembering everything my mom had told me about not travelling alone at night.
I left at 8:15 and I was probably the only passenger on the bus. With a rough idea of the route and my cellphone to help me figure out.
As soon as the bus started, it took the pretty road by the river and I was already feeling better. It was like a kid being distracted by fire crackers after getting a scraped knee. The bus driver ( contrary to my mother's opinions about drivers on empty buses) was a very gentle guy. He made sure that I got down at the right stop and I was safe with the girl I wanted to meet.
Then I met her uncle's dog and I suddenly realized how easy life becomes when no languages are spoken.
Like my roomie puts it ( the one who is not awfully mad at me and who listens to Floyd and lends me her skirts)
I laughed about it the next morning over a cup of tea.
So every time I am going to something new or meeting someone for the first time, these people tell me " Saee please don't come back with a fight". Actually that is not how I want myself to be seen but it will take a lot of toil and patience to change my first impression in Australia. :)
I have learnt my first lesson.
If you want to push around people and feel good about it, pick people who speak the same language. ;)
That could mean a lot of things actually!
Friday, September 07, 2007
FAQs about my Life in Brisbane
Hullo all...
Yeah you guessed it right. This page is no longer the breezy poetry or the witty prose page. I would be adding updates about my life here, which technically is as boring as Oprah Winfrey's appointments with Dr. Phil.
I dont have an awful amount of time to write separate emails to everybody and over a period of a week or so I have realized that I need to answer exactly the same questions in all the emails. So I hope this is enough.
#1 How is your House? ( With strangling threats if I am too lazy to use the camera in my mobile)
=> The house is nice. You enter into the kitchen and then there is this dining area ( which for some unknown reason looks like three laptops being eaten up by an octopus). You take a flight of stairs and then you have two bedrooms. It is bang in the middle of the city so everything is about five minutes walk away.
#2 Are your roomies still alive?
=> yeah they are. :) They like the fact that they have an expert cook on board. But its been just a week so I would keep this question on hold. I would answer it after I unpack over the weekend and spend some serious time cleaning things. There is a lot of room for my organizing,scrubbing and beautifying talents in this house.
#3 What do you eat? ( and a cheekier version "Do you eat at all? Now that no one is after you?")
=> Yeah..I eat. I cook and eat or I just survive on salads. Brisbane is a city of cafes. If I have a salad in each one of the cafes here before I finish my degree I would call myself a rich girl. I also cook Maharashtrian food for my Punjabi and Madrasi roomies which they have liked so far ( except they think I have no idea how much to cook for 3 people and had it not for their supervision I would have starved them all to death)
#4 How is the city?
=> Awesome. There is a long riverside. It is lined with hundreds of small and large coffee shops and restaurants. At night the curves on the bank light up with a million shimmering lights. You can take a walk and sip tea and then take a walk again and it goes on. It is a dream come true for someone who likes long contemplative walks. =)
The weather is a bit chilly right now but it is supposed to get warmer.
The city center is a typically British. People walk a lot here. It is not like you get in the car drive through the Mac Donald's, stuff yourself with a burger and move on with your life. :)
#5 What do you miss about India?
Rikshaws. I really miss rikshaw drives. :(
And I miss my room and my wardrobe. I miss the stray cat that I used to feed.
I miss wearing salwar kurta all the time.
Yeah and I miss aai-baba too. ( although somehow the last bit sounds really fake after the first bit) I really mean it.
#6 How is the Research?
This should ideally be #1. God knows why no one cares a crap about what I am actually here for.
I am asked to read aimlessly. Which kind of goes with my personality anyway. So I read all the time. Novels are out of my weekday life. Like when you are all by yourself for lunch and you flip open a novel with your sandwich, I open a paper on lignin chemistry.
I like it very much. Being a student again makes me feel a lot younger. :)
Okay I guess this will answer all the mails and I hope this keeps you happy for a while.
Ciao
Saee
Yeah you guessed it right. This page is no longer the breezy poetry or the witty prose page. I would be adding updates about my life here, which technically is as boring as Oprah Winfrey's appointments with Dr. Phil.
I dont have an awful amount of time to write separate emails to everybody and over a period of a week or so I have realized that I need to answer exactly the same questions in all the emails. So I hope this is enough.
#1 How is your House? ( With strangling threats if I am too lazy to use the camera in my mobile)
=> The house is nice. You enter into the kitchen and then there is this dining area ( which for some unknown reason looks like three laptops being eaten up by an octopus). You take a flight of stairs and then you have two bedrooms. It is bang in the middle of the city so everything is about five minutes walk away.
#2 Are your roomies still alive?
=> yeah they are. :) They like the fact that they have an expert cook on board. But its been just a week so I would keep this question on hold. I would answer it after I unpack over the weekend and spend some serious time cleaning things. There is a lot of room for my organizing,scrubbing and beautifying talents in this house.
#3 What do you eat? ( and a cheekier version "Do you eat at all? Now that no one is after you?")
=> Yeah..I eat. I cook and eat or I just survive on salads. Brisbane is a city of cafes. If I have a salad in each one of the cafes here before I finish my degree I would call myself a rich girl. I also cook Maharashtrian food for my Punjabi and Madrasi roomies which they have liked so far ( except they think I have no idea how much to cook for 3 people and had it not for their supervision I would have starved them all to death)
#4 How is the city?
=> Awesome. There is a long riverside. It is lined with hundreds of small and large coffee shops and restaurants. At night the curves on the bank light up with a million shimmering lights. You can take a walk and sip tea and then take a walk again and it goes on. It is a dream come true for someone who likes long contemplative walks. =)
The weather is a bit chilly right now but it is supposed to get warmer.
The city center is a typically British. People walk a lot here. It is not like you get in the car drive through the Mac Donald's, stuff yourself with a burger and move on with your life. :)
#5 What do you miss about India?
Rikshaws. I really miss rikshaw drives. :(
And I miss my room and my wardrobe. I miss the stray cat that I used to feed.
I miss wearing salwar kurta all the time.
Yeah and I miss aai-baba too. ( although somehow the last bit sounds really fake after the first bit) I really mean it.
#6 How is the Research?
This should ideally be #1. God knows why no one cares a crap about what I am actually here for.
I am asked to read aimlessly. Which kind of goes with my personality anyway. So I read all the time. Novels are out of my weekday life. Like when you are all by yourself for lunch and you flip open a novel with your sandwich, I open a paper on lignin chemistry.
I like it very much. Being a student again makes me feel a lot younger. :)
Okay I guess this will answer all the mails and I hope this keeps you happy for a while.
Ciao
Saee
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
The Australian Accent
It is like words
Looking into the back of a spoon
All groggy-eyed
before breakfast.
Like words
in a boat looking
looking into the River.
Like an Electric guitar
used with classical Music
Like an egg going crazy
in an ill-fitting frying pan
Like English with a lot of warmth
and the alphabet with a lot of Beer
Looking into the back of a spoon
All groggy-eyed
before breakfast.
Like words
in a boat looking
looking into the River.
Like an Electric guitar
used with classical Music
Like an egg going crazy
in an ill-fitting frying pan
Like English with a lot of warmth
and the alphabet with a lot of Beer
Monday, August 27, 2007
Keep Walking!!
I walk my way out of sleep
And I walk into the morning
I walk away from idle sloth
I walk with the birds chirping
I walk with music in my ears
And I walk for all I have got
I walk to make Peace with Anger
and I walk for a merry Thought
I walk to the Dry Cleaner's
and I walk to the Newspaper Stand
I walk on pebbles in a waterfall
and barefoot on the golden sea sand
I walk with my best friends
and sometimes I walk alone
On crunchy Autumn Leaves
Contemplative and Wind Blown
Sometimes eclipsed by too much food
and sometimes plagued by too much rain
My walks indeed are a stronger lot
for they keep coming back again..and again!
So much for two little feet
that seem to speak without talking
Destination is an excuse to catch your breath
And then you just keep on walking!
And I walk into the morning
I walk away from idle sloth
I walk with the birds chirping
I walk with music in my ears
And I walk for all I have got
I walk to make Peace with Anger
and I walk for a merry Thought
I walk to the Dry Cleaner's
and I walk to the Newspaper Stand
I walk on pebbles in a waterfall
and barefoot on the golden sea sand
I walk with my best friends
and sometimes I walk alone
On crunchy Autumn Leaves
Contemplative and Wind Blown
Sometimes eclipsed by too much food
and sometimes plagued by too much rain
My walks indeed are a stronger lot
for they keep coming back again..and again!
So much for two little feet
that seem to speak without talking
Destination is an excuse to catch your breath
And then you just keep on walking!
Friday, August 24, 2007
Dreams and Work.
I wear a purple Dream
And look into the glass
Does it make me look fat?
Or maybe shorter than I am?
And then I move on to something else..
Crimson,Creme and Lilac
Try on a pin with a dainty Dolphin
or switch to the loyal,slimming Black!
Some Dreams refuse to flatter my wrists
Strong, deceptively petite
Some overwhelm my tiny frame
or insult my pretty feet
And then there is a rare solace
Of fitting into an old one
Finding happiness in smaller space
That overlooks a wider horizon
Sometimes they become too much squander
Chiffons,Silks and Gold Brocade
Across glass windows I stare and wonder
If I am right in hoarding them..
Then I close my fragrant closet
And get into shirt sleeves and cargoes
My Dreams asleep with a scent of Lavender
while gladly off to work I go!
And look into the glass
Does it make me look fat?
Or maybe shorter than I am?
And then I move on to something else..
Crimson,Creme and Lilac
Try on a pin with a dainty Dolphin
or switch to the loyal,slimming Black!
Some Dreams refuse to flatter my wrists
Strong, deceptively petite
Some overwhelm my tiny frame
or insult my pretty feet
And then there is a rare solace
Of fitting into an old one
Finding happiness in smaller space
That overlooks a wider horizon
Sometimes they become too much squander
Chiffons,Silks and Gold Brocade
Across glass windows I stare and wonder
If I am right in hoarding them..
Then I close my fragrant closet
And get into shirt sleeves and cargoes
My Dreams asleep with a scent of Lavender
while gladly off to work I go!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The Candid Cat.
I was in the habit of bringing home stray cats and dogs as a five year old. My baby-sitter used to throw them all back to the streets as soon as I fell asleep. Now, about 19 years down the line ( yeah! I agree 20 is a round figure, but I choose not to lie about my age on either side) I still attract a few stray cats into the house. :)
One of these street friends is a shameless, self-proclaimed guest in the balcony attached to my room. It is one of those standard yellow cats. The ones that are produced on a staggeringly large scale and look exactly like each other. They look the same unless you get to know one particular personally and spend enough time to make out its high pitched meow from the others.
This one is ,by no special efforts from my side, one of those personally known standard yellow cats.
It is ensconced on top of the old steel cupboard meant to store the linen and when you leave it slightly ajar in a hurry to tidy up the place before guests show up, you can find the cat gleefully snoring inside the cupboard camouflaged in a yellow rug.
It does have the "thief reflexes" for it would not continue sleeping if you try to shoo it away. It would get up and run before you blink but it is not out of shame or guilt. It is the kind of reflex that says, " I will use all your things and not let you catch me too!"
It dips its whiskers in freshly boiled milk almost every other day and mysteriously I am held responsible for the theft for encouraging it and sent out to bring a fresh stock.
About two days back as I was busy packing, ( I seem to do nothing else these days) it came up and peeped through the door that leads to the balcony. We had the following dialogue
Cat: What's with the bag Missy? Did they finally decide to get rid of you? It was long overdue. This bed looks too warm and too inviting for someone as jumpy as you.
Me: Shut up!! I am not going forever you know. I will be back now and then and dare you enter my room after I am gone. I have had enough of you already.
Cat: You amuse me..( and then it casually licks its paw). You see, you are the weirdest of your kind. Sometimes I wonder whether to laugh or sympathize.
Me: Oh yeah!! At least I am not a thief. And I don't claim other people's beds.
Cat: It is not really about the bed, or the milk is it? What if I have a sip or take a nap. They real problem is jealousy. I have watched you get up at ungodly hours and then run around the block wearing funny pants. I have watched you waste your Sundays with the broom and talk endlessly on the phone while I doze off. You are jealous that you cannot be me.
Me: Please!! I would never want to be you. There are better cats in this world. Cats that measure higher than you on the ethics scale. Cute, black and white cats. I'd rather be them than you.
Cat: ( Coming inside and sitting inside my bag turning its back into a ball) My dear friend you boast of knowing cats in vain. For if you know cats, you must also know that there is nothing like an "ethical cat" in this world. Ethics are just rules made by the majority of weaker human beings to save themselves from getting wiped out.
Me: Philosophy comes easy when you have free food and free bed. I would rather take this from a hard working cat than a trash-bin loafer like you. How many female felines have you taken for a ride? huh? Just get off my bag now I don't want my shawls smelling like you.
Cat: Ha! There is no chance that they smell like me after you pour litres of perfume over them. My physician blames my recent bouts of asthma to the particularly citrus spray that you keep on splashing on your shirts like it comes a penny a litre.
Me: Excuse me. I work hard to deserve that..and why am I even talking to you..the next thing I know you'd be rubbing your back against my calves to get a full meal.
Cat: Damn right you are!! But somewhere in the mean corners of my mind I like you too. I mean not in an obviously devoted way like a Dog would, but I think you are sensible and so much like me.
Me: What!! How am I like you?
Cat: You let me stay in your balcony for about a year now. Without shooing me away. You persistently ignore me and I like that. I do that to people all the time. Just like me, you are selfish too. Like how you do not like anyone messing with the contents of your dressing drawer. Or the way you snarl at people at the hint of an offense. The way you refuse to go out of your way to help people you do not know. The way you doze off with a book on your nose on Sundays with two blankets, socks and specific instructions to people to refrain from disturbing you. Ah! And your baths..two times a day for a quarter of an hour..all of it reminds me of us. And I have also caught you leaving anonymous bowls of milk and cookies in my way. But I like it that you do not wear your affection on your sleeve.
Me: Well, if that analogy makes you feel good about yourself..go ahead..be my guest! But could you please get off my shawls now!! I can see yellow fur all over them already!
Cat: Certainly Miss!Only as long as you get up and follow me into the kitchen. I can smell something delicious over there. Rasgullas eh? It is strange that no one seems to notice the extra baggage you have started accumulating all over you. Are you sure they don't have a weight limit on board?
Me: Make it fast smarty pants. Your free food coupon expires in three minutes.
..And this is how we manage to live happily ever after.
One of these street friends is a shameless, self-proclaimed guest in the balcony attached to my room. It is one of those standard yellow cats. The ones that are produced on a staggeringly large scale and look exactly like each other. They look the same unless you get to know one particular personally and spend enough time to make out its high pitched meow from the others.
This one is ,by no special efforts from my side, one of those personally known standard yellow cats.
It is ensconced on top of the old steel cupboard meant to store the linen and when you leave it slightly ajar in a hurry to tidy up the place before guests show up, you can find the cat gleefully snoring inside the cupboard camouflaged in a yellow rug.
It does have the "thief reflexes" for it would not continue sleeping if you try to shoo it away. It would get up and run before you blink but it is not out of shame or guilt. It is the kind of reflex that says, " I will use all your things and not let you catch me too!"
It dips its whiskers in freshly boiled milk almost every other day and mysteriously I am held responsible for the theft for encouraging it and sent out to bring a fresh stock.
About two days back as I was busy packing, ( I seem to do nothing else these days) it came up and peeped through the door that leads to the balcony. We had the following dialogue
Cat: What's with the bag Missy? Did they finally decide to get rid of you? It was long overdue. This bed looks too warm and too inviting for someone as jumpy as you.
Me: Shut up!! I am not going forever you know. I will be back now and then and dare you enter my room after I am gone. I have had enough of you already.
Cat: You amuse me..( and then it casually licks its paw). You see, you are the weirdest of your kind. Sometimes I wonder whether to laugh or sympathize.
Me: Oh yeah!! At least I am not a thief. And I don't claim other people's beds.
Cat: It is not really about the bed, or the milk is it? What if I have a sip or take a nap. They real problem is jealousy. I have watched you get up at ungodly hours and then run around the block wearing funny pants. I have watched you waste your Sundays with the broom and talk endlessly on the phone while I doze off. You are jealous that you cannot be me.
Me: Please!! I would never want to be you. There are better cats in this world. Cats that measure higher than you on the ethics scale. Cute, black and white cats. I'd rather be them than you.
Cat: ( Coming inside and sitting inside my bag turning its back into a ball) My dear friend you boast of knowing cats in vain. For if you know cats, you must also know that there is nothing like an "ethical cat" in this world. Ethics are just rules made by the majority of weaker human beings to save themselves from getting wiped out.
Me: Philosophy comes easy when you have free food and free bed. I would rather take this from a hard working cat than a trash-bin loafer like you. How many female felines have you taken for a ride? huh? Just get off my bag now I don't want my shawls smelling like you.
Cat: Ha! There is no chance that they smell like me after you pour litres of perfume over them. My physician blames my recent bouts of asthma to the particularly citrus spray that you keep on splashing on your shirts like it comes a penny a litre.
Me: Excuse me. I work hard to deserve that..and why am I even talking to you..the next thing I know you'd be rubbing your back against my calves to get a full meal.
Cat: Damn right you are!! But somewhere in the mean corners of my mind I like you too. I mean not in an obviously devoted way like a Dog would, but I think you are sensible and so much like me.
Me: What!! How am I like you?
Cat: You let me stay in your balcony for about a year now. Without shooing me away. You persistently ignore me and I like that. I do that to people all the time. Just like me, you are selfish too. Like how you do not like anyone messing with the contents of your dressing drawer. Or the way you snarl at people at the hint of an offense. The way you refuse to go out of your way to help people you do not know. The way you doze off with a book on your nose on Sundays with two blankets, socks and specific instructions to people to refrain from disturbing you. Ah! And your baths..two times a day for a quarter of an hour..all of it reminds me of us. And I have also caught you leaving anonymous bowls of milk and cookies in my way. But I like it that you do not wear your affection on your sleeve.
Me: Well, if that analogy makes you feel good about yourself..go ahead..be my guest! But could you please get off my shawls now!! I can see yellow fur all over them already!
Cat: Certainly Miss!Only as long as you get up and follow me into the kitchen. I can smell something delicious over there. Rasgullas eh? It is strange that no one seems to notice the extra baggage you have started accumulating all over you. Are you sure they don't have a weight limit on board?
Me: Make it fast smarty pants. Your free food coupon expires in three minutes.
..And this is how we manage to live happily ever after.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
In Doubt..
What is it like to be sure?
Of what is yet to be..
Or to calmly endure
The ill-fitting pieces of Reality
How does it feel to be Certain?
of being completely right
and not have eyes for the Grey
Between the Black and White
What would it be like to make friends
With the Road and walk alone
and trust it to give a dream
across the seas and the timezones
What is it like to know
That even in this man-made Reality
of Planes, Borders and Passports
There is still much room for Uncertainty!
Of what is yet to be..
Or to calmly endure
The ill-fitting pieces of Reality
How does it feel to be Certain?
of being completely right
and not have eyes for the Grey
Between the Black and White
What would it be like to make friends
With the Road and walk alone
and trust it to give a dream
across the seas and the timezones
What is it like to know
That even in this man-made Reality
of Planes, Borders and Passports
There is still much room for Uncertainty!
Monday, August 06, 2007
To Friendship
On a cold lonely night as the goofy owl sings
With a dream shattering din
My antique cell phone Rings
Out of a dream or a nightmare
As you make me walk
Stiffly aware
For my best Pep Talk
Or break into my solitudes
Dragging me out of half written preludes
Confirming, without my consent that poetry just deludes
Come to say hello on a crisp rainy eve
And past midnight over me loom
As pajamas and socks for you, I retrieve
You blissfully litter my freshly laundered room
Different hearts with one soul
Digging ice cream from one messy bowl
Unaware of Lifetimes, Oblivious to the Whole
Is it you, or just that I forgo
The critique and the doubt in me
Spring clean the vaults of my Ego
And laugh a laugh of Eternity?
What makes it so deep, really doesn’t matter
That is not what I would like to go after
As long as this moment keeps getting better!
With a dream shattering din
My antique cell phone Rings
Out of a dream or a nightmare
As you make me walk
Stiffly aware
For my best Pep Talk
Or break into my solitudes
Dragging me out of half written preludes
Confirming, without my consent that poetry just deludes
Come to say hello on a crisp rainy eve
And past midnight over me loom
As pajamas and socks for you, I retrieve
You blissfully litter my freshly laundered room
Different hearts with one soul
Digging ice cream from one messy bowl
Unaware of Lifetimes, Oblivious to the Whole
Is it you, or just that I forgo
The critique and the doubt in me
Spring clean the vaults of my Ego
And laugh a laugh of Eternity?
What makes it so deep, really doesn’t matter
That is not what I would like to go after
As long as this moment keeps getting better!
Saturday, August 04, 2007
The outcome of my Fitness Quest. ;)
When I was in school I always fell into the category of girls who are labeled “chubby cheeks” even when they turn sixteen. I was in the top order of the roly-poly members of the class. (Not that I am Angelina Jolie NOW!!) . It was unbelievable, for every five-centimeter increase in length I used to put on a staggering three kilos horizontally.
When I look back now, I feel like exclaiming like those wishful English Poets
“Ah! For all those skinny legs and pretty faces
And big brown eyes set aflutter
Making me Olive Green with Envy
As they plaster their toasts with extra butter”
My skinny friends used to celebrate food every waking moment with no visible effect on their physique and all I had to do to gain weight was miss my despondent walk one evening. I could have been the most likely candidate to appear on the Oprah Winfrey show specially produced for dealing with “Teenage Obesity and Depression” but I am glad that the Indian media had a lot of other important issues to deal with back then.
I was encouraged into exercising from a very young age, being born to fitness conscious parents.
It took me a while to make peace with the fact that life is not fair to everyone. Just like Destiny, everybody is born with a different BMR and that threw me into a lifelong research project. Fitness!
I have done almost everything that people usually do to stay fit. Swimming, Gymming, Running, Skipping, Dancing, Aerobics, Brisk Walks, Trekking and even Yoga!
I have tried all kinds of diets, given up milk, then given up sugar, lived on fruits, skipped dinners, optimized my food intake in a zillion ways, tortured myself with cruel detoxifying diets and even tried some really stupid things.
I am completely over the “Why me?” feeling now. I take great pride in the fact that I know so much about how to stay fit and eat healthy food but I also learnt some really important things as a side effect of my “Fitness Quest”
1.Regularity: I accept that I tend to be obsessive sometimes, but because of regular exercise, I am comfortably regular in all my other resolves too. I don’t give up on something very easily
2.Patience: I have tried and proved to myself that Instant diets do not work. Nothing that has the “Instant” prefix is really effective except Instant Coffee (and I know that the filter coffee fans would still disagree). That kind of makes it easier to wait for other things too.
3. Awareness: Every bar of chocolate makes me wonder if I have the energy for a forty-five minute jog the next day. I tend to cross out unnecessary options by imagining the outcomes.
4. Knowledge: It started with turning around mayonnaise bottles to check the calories per serving and now it extends to anti-oxidants, heart-friendly oils, anti-cancer fruits and skin friendly nuts. =)
Working to stay fit makes us realize that to achieve a larger, concrete goal we need to optimize a lot of smaller variables, even though you run the risk of turning into a scary control freak. It teaches you that if you invest your energies in controlling all the controllable parameters of your life, you have little time left to complain about the uncontrollable, helpless realities! =)
When I look back now, I feel like exclaiming like those wishful English Poets
“Ah! For all those skinny legs and pretty faces
And big brown eyes set aflutter
Making me Olive Green with Envy
As they plaster their toasts with extra butter”
My skinny friends used to celebrate food every waking moment with no visible effect on their physique and all I had to do to gain weight was miss my despondent walk one evening. I could have been the most likely candidate to appear on the Oprah Winfrey show specially produced for dealing with “Teenage Obesity and Depression” but I am glad that the Indian media had a lot of other important issues to deal with back then.
I was encouraged into exercising from a very young age, being born to fitness conscious parents.
It took me a while to make peace with the fact that life is not fair to everyone. Just like Destiny, everybody is born with a different BMR and that threw me into a lifelong research project. Fitness!
I have done almost everything that people usually do to stay fit. Swimming, Gymming, Running, Skipping, Dancing, Aerobics, Brisk Walks, Trekking and even Yoga!
I have tried all kinds of diets, given up milk, then given up sugar, lived on fruits, skipped dinners, optimized my food intake in a zillion ways, tortured myself with cruel detoxifying diets and even tried some really stupid things.
I am completely over the “Why me?” feeling now. I take great pride in the fact that I know so much about how to stay fit and eat healthy food but I also learnt some really important things as a side effect of my “Fitness Quest”
1.Regularity: I accept that I tend to be obsessive sometimes, but because of regular exercise, I am comfortably regular in all my other resolves too. I don’t give up on something very easily
2.Patience: I have tried and proved to myself that Instant diets do not work. Nothing that has the “Instant” prefix is really effective except Instant Coffee (and I know that the filter coffee fans would still disagree). That kind of makes it easier to wait for other things too.
3. Awareness: Every bar of chocolate makes me wonder if I have the energy for a forty-five minute jog the next day. I tend to cross out unnecessary options by imagining the outcomes.
4. Knowledge: It started with turning around mayonnaise bottles to check the calories per serving and now it extends to anti-oxidants, heart-friendly oils, anti-cancer fruits and skin friendly nuts. =)
Working to stay fit makes us realize that to achieve a larger, concrete goal we need to optimize a lot of smaller variables, even though you run the risk of turning into a scary control freak. It teaches you that if you invest your energies in controlling all the controllable parameters of your life, you have little time left to complain about the uncontrollable, helpless realities! =)
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Hiccup
Just as I try to speak
Time stops in anticipation
My heart skips an odd beat
Eyes well up in exasperation
Groping for a moment
That would let me finish my words
Waiting for the torment
To pass and lift the curse
Amidst helpless heartache
She comes when she is due
When I expect her to break
She comes back all renewed
Gulp down sugar and water
Swift, sickening and sweet!
But she outshines and persists
Like a regular drum beat
Think of the dew-kissed jasmine
Or of white hermit peaks
The poetic escapes intercepted
By rhythmic, ridiculous squeaks
Eons go by without hope
It’s easy to leave her alone
Just as I get used to her
I realize that she is gone
Then there is nothing to fuss over
Like a piece of gum or snuff
She leaves a bittersweet longing
The harmless, wicked Hiccup!
Time stops in anticipation
My heart skips an odd beat
Eyes well up in exasperation
Groping for a moment
That would let me finish my words
Waiting for the torment
To pass and lift the curse
Amidst helpless heartache
She comes when she is due
When I expect her to break
She comes back all renewed
Gulp down sugar and water
Swift, sickening and sweet!
But she outshines and persists
Like a regular drum beat
Think of the dew-kissed jasmine
Or of white hermit peaks
The poetic escapes intercepted
By rhythmic, ridiculous squeaks
Eons go by without hope
It’s easy to leave her alone
Just as I get used to her
I realize that she is gone
Then there is nothing to fuss over
Like a piece of gum or snuff
She leaves a bittersweet longing
The harmless, wicked Hiccup!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Wrong Jobs and the people in my Life! =P
A few days back, my best friend Ameya suddenly wanted us to imagine what her life would have been as a Newsreader. She is actually a doctor working towards a postgraduate degree and sometimes the impending pressures of so much studying throw her into these fantasy bouts. She should have fantasized about something else, as she possesses all the talents to be the worst Newsreader Television could ever witness.
She speaks at the rate of about one hundred and eighty words per minute. So they would either have to put her on tranquilizers everyday or just bring in more news every hour.
She has this innate ability to go into these long, winding almost three dimensionally intricate descriptions of events. So her being on television would be like one of those Zen stories, where there is a TV inside a TV. Plus, I do not even vaguely remember her having shown up on time even during high school exams. So the breakfast news would be probably renamed as “The Brunch News with Ameya”.
My mom would have been a very bad judge. She is so innocent and gullible when it comes to stories people tell! She considers people to be completely honest and free of guile. So I have banged my fists on the table in vain a lot of times when she lent out money to almost every other guy with a sad story to tell. She believes people when they tell her diarrhea stories and take two days off and then reacts with an almost wonderstruck surprise when they show up with nicely written resignations at the end of the month and join our pesky competitors. She believes me when I tell her that my Benneton perfume costs a hundred and fifty rupees and I got my new Nike trainers for five hundred rupees. To selfishly maintain my advantage over her, I volunteer to do all her gym shopping and she very innocently believes that I am just being the ‘Ideal Daughter’. Needless to say, I would rather have my adorable mom than someone under a funny white wig!
My other best friend Pooja would probably be a very bad wildlife photographer.
She has all the qualities of a top-notch executive. So we always find her managing about ten different things at a time. She is always over-worked and busy but she manages to get everything done in the best possible manner. So imagining her waiting in some godforsaken jungle for the Cheetah to wake up and start running is very funny. She would want to go up to the Cheetah and poke him with a broken tree branch and ask him to get going so that she can take pictures and move on to the next jungle. Or if the poor beast doesn’t run to her satisfaction she would want to make arrangements to get people with flaming torches after him to get the desired speed and shots. She would probably call me from Africa telling me in a furious voice, “These stupid beasts they never seem to wake up! I can sense weeds growing out of my ears now and the two crocodiles are still dozing off! Damn it!”
My dad would have been a very bad doctor. He is infamous in our family for being forgetful. He walks from one room into the other and suddenly becomes blank and asks me, “ Why did I come here? I had to fetch something but I fail to recall the object now”.
So had he been a doctor, right after he finished stitching someone’s belly up, he would start wondering where on earth he put the scalpel. Then he would make all the nurses go under and around the operation table. To be on the safer side, they would all agree to open up the guy again and check before the anesthesia wore off. Just as they finish removing the stitches, my dad would reach into his gown for something else and come out rather gleefully and sheepishly with the missing scalpel. Or worse still, he would forget it completely and would be responsible for a world record for the oldest man alive with a scalpel stuck inside his spleen!
I think I would be eligible for the worst boss ever. I function really well when I take control of machines of any kind. I look after them nicely, keep them clean and calibrated and generally take pride in showing my lab off to others. I am sure however that if I am given that kind of control over people; I would turn into this selfish and explosively tyrannical boss. I would bring them to a point where they develop a permanent allergy to my presence and become melancholy and sad. I would point out the tiny speck of dust on the floor and to make them realize the value of cleanliness, I would myself clean it in front of them. I would turn paranoid everyday suspecting that the spectrometer is about half a centimeter to the left than where I had set it two days ago. I would become really competitive and reach office half an hour early to see if they all show up on time. I would stand right behind them when they are working on the LC and narrow my eyes when they perform critical operations to make them shiver and shudder out of fear.
Maybe that is why my mom has cunningly assigned me a job that puts me against myself.=)
I guess she isn’t such a bad judge after all! ;)
She speaks at the rate of about one hundred and eighty words per minute. So they would either have to put her on tranquilizers everyday or just bring in more news every hour.
She has this innate ability to go into these long, winding almost three dimensionally intricate descriptions of events. So her being on television would be like one of those Zen stories, where there is a TV inside a TV. Plus, I do not even vaguely remember her having shown up on time even during high school exams. So the breakfast news would be probably renamed as “The Brunch News with Ameya”.
My mom would have been a very bad judge. She is so innocent and gullible when it comes to stories people tell! She considers people to be completely honest and free of guile. So I have banged my fists on the table in vain a lot of times when she lent out money to almost every other guy with a sad story to tell. She believes people when they tell her diarrhea stories and take two days off and then reacts with an almost wonderstruck surprise when they show up with nicely written resignations at the end of the month and join our pesky competitors. She believes me when I tell her that my Benneton perfume costs a hundred and fifty rupees and I got my new Nike trainers for five hundred rupees. To selfishly maintain my advantage over her, I volunteer to do all her gym shopping and she very innocently believes that I am just being the ‘Ideal Daughter’. Needless to say, I would rather have my adorable mom than someone under a funny white wig!
My other best friend Pooja would probably be a very bad wildlife photographer.
She has all the qualities of a top-notch executive. So we always find her managing about ten different things at a time. She is always over-worked and busy but she manages to get everything done in the best possible manner. So imagining her waiting in some godforsaken jungle for the Cheetah to wake up and start running is very funny. She would want to go up to the Cheetah and poke him with a broken tree branch and ask him to get going so that she can take pictures and move on to the next jungle. Or if the poor beast doesn’t run to her satisfaction she would want to make arrangements to get people with flaming torches after him to get the desired speed and shots. She would probably call me from Africa telling me in a furious voice, “These stupid beasts they never seem to wake up! I can sense weeds growing out of my ears now and the two crocodiles are still dozing off! Damn it!”
My dad would have been a very bad doctor. He is infamous in our family for being forgetful. He walks from one room into the other and suddenly becomes blank and asks me, “ Why did I come here? I had to fetch something but I fail to recall the object now”.
So had he been a doctor, right after he finished stitching someone’s belly up, he would start wondering where on earth he put the scalpel. Then he would make all the nurses go under and around the operation table. To be on the safer side, they would all agree to open up the guy again and check before the anesthesia wore off. Just as they finish removing the stitches, my dad would reach into his gown for something else and come out rather gleefully and sheepishly with the missing scalpel. Or worse still, he would forget it completely and would be responsible for a world record for the oldest man alive with a scalpel stuck inside his spleen!
I think I would be eligible for the worst boss ever. I function really well when I take control of machines of any kind. I look after them nicely, keep them clean and calibrated and generally take pride in showing my lab off to others. I am sure however that if I am given that kind of control over people; I would turn into this selfish and explosively tyrannical boss. I would bring them to a point where they develop a permanent allergy to my presence and become melancholy and sad. I would point out the tiny speck of dust on the floor and to make them realize the value of cleanliness, I would myself clean it in front of them. I would turn paranoid everyday suspecting that the spectrometer is about half a centimeter to the left than where I had set it two days ago. I would become really competitive and reach office half an hour early to see if they all show up on time. I would stand right behind them when they are working on the LC and narrow my eyes when they perform critical operations to make them shiver and shudder out of fear.
Maybe that is why my mom has cunningly assigned me a job that puts me against myself.=)
I guess she isn’t such a bad judge after all! ;)
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Wimbledon 2007
The Wimbledon Finals July 08 2007
I don’t really know if “gripping” is the word that I am looking for, but this match made me sit propped up in my easy chair with my feet thrown over one of its arms through all the five sets including the commercial breaks. I had to ask myself if my feet were still a part of my body after the presentation!!
It was like God had kept the final decision to Himself and as He watched gleefully through the cloudy skies over Europe; even He must have doubted the final outcome. (Pardon me for assuming God to be a tennis buff for I cannot like Him if he isn’t)
Never have I seen such a close match and all my pro-Federerism dissolved by the third set and I found myself saying,” I would support the guy who wins this”!! (I know!! Talk about betrayal!!)
I think Nadal truly rocks because
1. He never flinches and gives up, even after losing a game in four straight aces from across the net
2. He is always angry, one side of his face twisted in something close to a painful grimace. Giving a fierce asymmetrical aspect to his personality. He creates an equally charming gradient in any game throwing his opponents off balance ruthlessly.
3. He gets the King queasy and uneasy. I have always found Federer somewhat grumpy around Nadal. He is the only one who can force our beloved Mr.Cool into coming close to throwing a semi-tantrum on court for a wrong decision and lose all the following games in an utterly heartbreaking manner.
4. His ferocious demeanor wins us over as much as the opponent’s calm. The angrier he gets the better he plays. He is unabashed about showing all his feral traits on court after every game he wins even though he does not win the match!
5. He got Ms.Miroslava to bite all her expensive manicured nails!
6. Unlike his persona on court he speaks in an obviously shy and endearing manner during all the presentations, including the French Open.
7. He gets Federer to thank Luck after a torrid five setter like that.
And I (still) like Federer (more) because
1. Only he can ask the umpires to get their technology checked and sit in a chair cursing as he is being seen Live all over the world.
2. He can rain down on Nadal with his Stinger Aces and maintain his usual matter-of-fact calm during nail biting tiebreakers
3. He carries an all white suit with him assuming that he’d win and manage to change into it before the presentation while Nadal comes up as disheveled as he is on court.
4. He never jumps, jogs, sprints or dives unnecessarily. If Nadal’s play is something close to a rock concert, Federer on court is like a calculated, synchronized ballet. He is the kind of player who would pull a chair for his girlfriend on Center Court or open a door for her as gracefully as he serves.
5. He is not overtly humble or conceited. He shows he is scared and upset too! He shows his sadness when he loses and his mirth when he wins in that bright, gentle light-bulb smile. ( yeah after he is done sobbing hopelessly for the zillionth time)
6. He has the grace to tell Nadal that he is going to be around for a longer time and accept that either could have won and it was sheer luck that got him ahead.
7. He becomes the goodwill ambassador for UNICEF as quietly as he moves around the court. :)
Sorry for posting this late, but I mean it as much as I would have meant it on the 9th! :P
PS: How many of you think that Roger Federer and Daniel Radcliffe look similar in some ways?? :)
Or maybe I have just had too much of Harry Potter.
I thank my good friend Lenin for the picture and the inspiration! :)
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
July 17th
Don’t judge me by what I write
For all you know I just might
Turn over to the other side
And still sound like I am right
On some days I may tell you
That I am tired of being so persistently blue
And on some, so delirious with joy
That I will get sick of it too
Don’t love me because I hurt
Or I am lost in a maze without a clue
Don’t try to pull me out of it
For I just might hurt you too!
There is no dependable woman in me
That you seek so religiously
In every girl stepping over
Into her foremothers’ legacy
I can sense your dislike for me
As my thoughts gently disperse
But there is nothing I can really offer
Except this transient, capricious verse
For all you know I just might
Turn over to the other side
And still sound like I am right
On some days I may tell you
That I am tired of being so persistently blue
And on some, so delirious with joy
That I will get sick of it too
Don’t love me because I hurt
Or I am lost in a maze without a clue
Don’t try to pull me out of it
For I just might hurt you too!
There is no dependable woman in me
That you seek so religiously
In every girl stepping over
Into her foremothers’ legacy
I can sense your dislike for me
As my thoughts gently disperse
But there is nothing I can really offer
Except this transient, capricious verse
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Vincent-Don McLean
I have been trying to get over this song for the last few hours, but I think I should just give up!!
Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless heads on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5-kMXwkmPk
Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless heads on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5-kMXwkmPk
Saturday, July 14, 2007
The World as Seen by a Dragonfly
It's always what it meets the Eye
The world as seen by a Dragonfly
As I straighten the sheets off the wrinkles I find
I wonder if I could just straighten my mind?
Look at the world from a Butterfly's view
Just the Flowers shivering with tender dew
Look at a face as Eyes and Nose
Seeing through the tear that flows
Walk barefoot on the Rain soaked Grass
and let the easy Lizard Moments pass
Look at the Birds on their Mossy Throne
Under the Sky that is always Alone
Grateful that I just AM..
Right Now, as a part of this Plan
Driving away Confusion and Care
On the periphery of Silent Despair
It's always what it meets the Eye
The World as seen by a Dragonfly!
The world as seen by a Dragonfly
As I straighten the sheets off the wrinkles I find
I wonder if I could just straighten my mind?
Look at the world from a Butterfly's view
Just the Flowers shivering with tender dew
Look at a face as Eyes and Nose
Seeing through the tear that flows
Walk barefoot on the Rain soaked Grass
and let the easy Lizard Moments pass
Look at the Birds on their Mossy Throne
Under the Sky that is always Alone
Grateful that I just AM..
Right Now, as a part of this Plan
Driving away Confusion and Care
On the periphery of Silent Despair
It's always what it meets the Eye
The World as seen by a Dragonfly!
Sunday, July 08, 2007
The Writer's Song
It is just a story after all
That they all read with Impassive Eyes
Giving crooked smiles at the funny parts
mock, criticize and sympathize!
Sometimes it inspires them
at times it gets sickening and sad
They put their hands together on the jokes
and label some parts awfully bad
They talk about it at dinner parties
with sparkling eyes; scandalized!
The Gossipers get it dramatized
and the Rationals have it rationalized.
They talk about it to show off
Their bigger Hearts or sharper Brains
The poets call it tender and poignant
A sky full of silent Rains!
They turn a few pages and speculate
What would happen after ninety eight
And bet furiously slapping their thighs
choking themselves on wine and cake
It's just a story after all
But it's written a Page a Day
Taking care to muffle the Tears
and keep all the weakness away
It's read and reviewed extensively
With Egos floating outside Care
It is rated and discussed for Excellence
An Applause here and a Lashing there
They all are free to Get Bored
To Predict and to Analyze
But the writers cannot choose their plots
Express freely or accessorize
They cannot Edit what they wrote
Or make a Draft for a Future Event
Stuck with a panel of Expert Jury
They only write their Urgent Present
We all get one Book to write
and They laugh at every trip and fall
But then they must have Invisible Pulitzers
For it's a Story after all!!
That they all read with Impassive Eyes
Giving crooked smiles at the funny parts
mock, criticize and sympathize!
Sometimes it inspires them
at times it gets sickening and sad
They put their hands together on the jokes
and label some parts awfully bad
They talk about it at dinner parties
with sparkling eyes; scandalized!
The Gossipers get it dramatized
and the Rationals have it rationalized.
They talk about it to show off
Their bigger Hearts or sharper Brains
The poets call it tender and poignant
A sky full of silent Rains!
They turn a few pages and speculate
What would happen after ninety eight
And bet furiously slapping their thighs
choking themselves on wine and cake
It's just a story after all
But it's written a Page a Day
Taking care to muffle the Tears
and keep all the weakness away
It's read and reviewed extensively
With Egos floating outside Care
It is rated and discussed for Excellence
An Applause here and a Lashing there
They all are free to Get Bored
To Predict and to Analyze
But the writers cannot choose their plots
Express freely or accessorize
They cannot Edit what they wrote
Or make a Draft for a Future Event
Stuck with a panel of Expert Jury
They only write their Urgent Present
We all get one Book to write
and They laugh at every trip and fall
But then they must have Invisible Pulitzers
For it's a Story after all!!
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Treating Birthday Blues
I think birthdays are just overrated crap.
I mean they do make a difference in our lives (yeah right! Listen to the Loser speak) but only on the extreme ends of the X-axis. I think I have crossed the one on the left hand side and I am now cruising along towards the phase where birthdays are just numbers you need to fill up in immigration forms and type in when you forget the password to the email account you abandoned long back so that Spam could take over.
When we look at the open sky with a million shimmering stars at night, it kind of makes us realize that this whole thing about getting older is all hogwash. It is another thing that it is a bit difficult to find an open starry sky in July so the process becomes tough to execute.
When I was about five, I used to start marking the calendar with a red sketch pen from the 1st of July and irritate Aai with the same questions everyday. “ Have you invited all my friends?” “ Are we going to get the Mickey Mouse cake?” “ Did you tell your boss that you need a day off?”
On my birthday, my mom used to make me learn how to tell my age.
“ I am five complete and running six” and I used to repeat that line to people who didn’t even ask me my age.
We used to trudge a few sludgy, slushy miles looking for the perfect birthday dress while all along my mother stifled my Fantasies with her rainy Realities.
Then there was a time when all of us in school desperately wanted to turn sixteen and get a two-wheeler license. I remember how we envied people who were born in April and May back then, for they got their license before the first day of junior college and could ride to college as “cool freshers” on brand new bikes.
Just two years later we had our “I-am-eighteen-now-I-know-what-I-am-doing” birthdays. I still remember how mad my best friend Ameya had been when she realized that I used my first vote ever for the Congress and to her dismay, my vote really did turn into the Government!
I made it through a lot of war stories as a teenager just because I happen to share my birthday with Earnest Hemingway. I must confess I am not yet grown up enough to understand Hemingway. So there is still hope. ;)
My granddad is on the right hand extreme now. He is eighty-five and has ambitions of making it to the other side of a century. So every year on 7th June, my bright, intelligent and witty grandfather cuts the cake with a booming, all encompassing laughter! Then there comes an elaborate lecture on everything he does to stay so young at eighty-five. It covers everything from Yoga to practicing detachment from the world. I have actually learnt Detachment trying to detach myself from these lectures and still look really interested on the outside!
I guess henceforth I will just deny my birthday. That is an easier option.
I know for sure that I wont grow old into one of those deceptively aging women. When you ask them their age (yeah after having swallowed all the chivalry and politeness you ever possessed) they raise only one of their artistically carved eyebrows and ask you back, “ How old do you think I am?” and when you go off about ten years on the wrong side, they hit you with a frying pan!
I will probably turn into the kinds that my mom is. Every time anyone asks her how old she is, her eyeballs go up against her forehead and she mutters, “ Hmmph! September 1958” and begins to count. Most of the times she ends up adding a couple of years to her actual age and finally answers, “ I am about fifty now” and gets on with her business. :)
I tried telling myself that it’s not so bad after all. You cannot be 23 all your life!
There are so many people who are much older and happier than you are! Some of the trees on our farm back in Kolhapur are older than me. The Earth is so old and yet so young! Some of the stars are so old and faraway that they are already dead but we still see them!
It doesn’t work.
So from now on it is my strategy to ignore my birthday. Like a typically henpecked husband can see through his nagging wife and watch football in the same room, I will see through my birthday. I will keep a low profile all month long, so people don’t pay much attention to me and eventually forget to ask me how it feels to be thirty or forty-two. So that even I forget it and do not feel bad about the fact that I haven’t as yet rode on even one of those really wild and scary rides they have in Disney Land!
I mean they do make a difference in our lives (yeah right! Listen to the Loser speak) but only on the extreme ends of the X-axis. I think I have crossed the one on the left hand side and I am now cruising along towards the phase where birthdays are just numbers you need to fill up in immigration forms and type in when you forget the password to the email account you abandoned long back so that Spam could take over.
When we look at the open sky with a million shimmering stars at night, it kind of makes us realize that this whole thing about getting older is all hogwash. It is another thing that it is a bit difficult to find an open starry sky in July so the process becomes tough to execute.
When I was about five, I used to start marking the calendar with a red sketch pen from the 1st of July and irritate Aai with the same questions everyday. “ Have you invited all my friends?” “ Are we going to get the Mickey Mouse cake?” “ Did you tell your boss that you need a day off?”
On my birthday, my mom used to make me learn how to tell my age.
“ I am five complete and running six” and I used to repeat that line to people who didn’t even ask me my age.
We used to trudge a few sludgy, slushy miles looking for the perfect birthday dress while all along my mother stifled my Fantasies with her rainy Realities.
Then there was a time when all of us in school desperately wanted to turn sixteen and get a two-wheeler license. I remember how we envied people who were born in April and May back then, for they got their license before the first day of junior college and could ride to college as “cool freshers” on brand new bikes.
Just two years later we had our “I-am-eighteen-now-I-know-what-I-am-doing” birthdays. I still remember how mad my best friend Ameya had been when she realized that I used my first vote ever for the Congress and to her dismay, my vote really did turn into the Government!
I made it through a lot of war stories as a teenager just because I happen to share my birthday with Earnest Hemingway. I must confess I am not yet grown up enough to understand Hemingway. So there is still hope. ;)
My granddad is on the right hand extreme now. He is eighty-five and has ambitions of making it to the other side of a century. So every year on 7th June, my bright, intelligent and witty grandfather cuts the cake with a booming, all encompassing laughter! Then there comes an elaborate lecture on everything he does to stay so young at eighty-five. It covers everything from Yoga to practicing detachment from the world. I have actually learnt Detachment trying to detach myself from these lectures and still look really interested on the outside!
I guess henceforth I will just deny my birthday. That is an easier option.
I know for sure that I wont grow old into one of those deceptively aging women. When you ask them their age (yeah after having swallowed all the chivalry and politeness you ever possessed) they raise only one of their artistically carved eyebrows and ask you back, “ How old do you think I am?” and when you go off about ten years on the wrong side, they hit you with a frying pan!
I will probably turn into the kinds that my mom is. Every time anyone asks her how old she is, her eyeballs go up against her forehead and she mutters, “ Hmmph! September 1958” and begins to count. Most of the times she ends up adding a couple of years to her actual age and finally answers, “ I am about fifty now” and gets on with her business. :)
I tried telling myself that it’s not so bad after all. You cannot be 23 all your life!
There are so many people who are much older and happier than you are! Some of the trees on our farm back in Kolhapur are older than me. The Earth is so old and yet so young! Some of the stars are so old and faraway that they are already dead but we still see them!
It doesn’t work.
So from now on it is my strategy to ignore my birthday. Like a typically henpecked husband can see through his nagging wife and watch football in the same room, I will see through my birthday. I will keep a low profile all month long, so people don’t pay much attention to me and eventually forget to ask me how it feels to be thirty or forty-two. So that even I forget it and do not feel bad about the fact that I haven’t as yet rode on even one of those really wild and scary rides they have in Disney Land!
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