The perfect squeeze

All you sleazeballs, STOP right now and go wash your minds. This is a clean and simple post about making juices at home.

Yes, that is my latest passion, thanks to Amma. For some months now Amma has taken to making fresh juice at home, primarily beet juice for herself. 'I used to hate beetroot as a kid, you know' she tells me with elan. Well, apparently she has hated almost the entire vegetable family, as does my dad- just as vehemently with the fruit family thrown in for good measure. Now, there are two conclusions that can be drawn here. One, Hallelujah, we've finally found the one bonding factor in the union of the two poles! Two, is it a shocker that their off springs have such a hard time taking to fruits and vegetables?

Anyhoo, Amma has concluded the best way to get beetroot into her system is by making a juice of it. Seren has procured a small and cute juicer for this purpose and with utmost dedication and diligence, Amma makes beetroot and pomegranate juice with a dash of brown sugar(for fiber or protein or some such nutritious value, she would like to insist). Ever since she made the first glass of this concoction for me(this happens in the evening btw), I've been hooked.

So one morning, on our vegetable market trip, Seren and I decided to mix it up a bit. We got some oranges, kiwi and chickoo along with the standard fare beet and pomegranate. When we declared our wares, Amma's face didn't exactly gleam. Come 6pm, I was handed a glass of a brown-hued drink- your sapota juice she declared wanly.

'What about you?' I ask. 'I'll make my beet+pomegranate juice' she said in sotto voice and slid away. 'Hmmm, daal mein kuchch kaala hai' signals go off in my head. Within minutes she is back with her glass and as we clink and drink, she looks at my glass and goes 'How could you like sapota juice? I've never taken to the fruit, you know!'. Sigh.

So, when I got back to the US of A, I ordered myself a good decent juicer after reading 100s of reviews on Amazon and finally landing on one whose bad reviews didn't far outnumber the good ones(that's the way to pick an appliance on Amazon by the way. If one were to read all the reviews of all the appliances, one could never get to buying anything).

As I unpacked the contraption, I realized the piece looked bigger than I expected and had more parts than my mixie. It took me a few days to understand how to piece the parts together and operate. Then it took me another week to finally 'plan' my juice mix. The recipe booklet that came along with the appliance said my first launch should be of orange, beetroot and carrot. Awesome! That'd make Amma proud, I figured.

Day 1 : It took me 10 minutes to bring the parts to one piece. Another 10 minutes later it was whirring convincingly. Then came the master stroke. I added the ingredients and in the jar was a mixture of purple and orange with a grand total of purple fluid. The beet had won. I whipped in a tablespoon of brown sugar, and finally it purred to a halt.

In my excitement to indulge in the freshness of my creation, the latch on the appliance was hastily taken off. With a light thud, the pieces had come apart and I had purple spots on my favorite Gap jeans and on the hardwood floor. Sigh!

Day 2 : Rinse, lather repeat. Follow the same steps as day 1 till you get to the 'purred to a halt'.

Again, in my excitement, [no it wasn't the latch this time, I'd learnt THAT lesson], I ejected the juice jug and as I poured the purple concoction into a tall glass- I tilted the jug too far. The lid came out and I had purple juice all over my counter and dripping over the cabinet doors and right to the floor. Here we go again!

Day 3 and onwards: Well, by now I had realized that this thing is not exactly one can take lightly. Its not like throwing something into your microwave and walking away. It needed TLC, it was like one of those high-maintenance fashionistas. I lovingly followed the procedure and patted it often and used it gently. All was good. I've been producing glass after glass with relatively few mishaps.

My next mix is going to be apple, peach and grapefuit, wish me luck!

Unfortunately I don't find chickoo that often in our farmer's market. But you know I'll be having that soon enough, much to Amma's chagrin, don't you?

In my neck of the woods

When I hear about new initiatives such as this, a part of me tingles with pride, cos you see the entire route for this walk meanders around places in my neighborhood that I have literally grown up in. An entire section of my locality that certainly had a huge hand in shaping my persona. Another part of me surges with mixed emotion. That part of me that can't imagine walking through the neighborhood as a tourist. I wonder 'will this walker see what I see and feel what I feel when they make a visit to 'Dodda Ganesha'[Big Ganesha] temple- that monolithic enormous Ganesha idol or the neighbor- the Bull temple? For me, its about my daily walk to college, a customary drop in at these temples, more so during exams- to pray for success.

Nostalgia- this area sure exudes oodles of it, whether its gastronomic delight centers such as Brahmin's cafe, Vidyarthi Bhavan, Dwarka Bhavan[famous joints for breakfast, masala dosa and butter dosa] or stores such as Subbamma for nippattu, kodbale, chutney pudi and sundry items, whether its educational institutions such as National College and BMS College of Engineering, whether its temples such as Bull temple, Dodda Ganesha temple, Karanji Anjaneya temple, Raghavendra Swami muttha, Shankar Muttha....the list is endless. This list is my childhood. An intrinsic part of me is weaved heavily into these now tourist centers. Which is why sometimes I feel like a part of me is on display. It makes me curious into what these walkers see and what they read into these visual delights.

Will they smell the lingering aroma of fresh flowers as they eat masala dosa at Vidyarthi Bhavan, like I do? Do they look up to identify which classrooms I have been at for Physics and Chemistry lessons in National College, like I do? Will they recall amusedly standing with an orange bucket at the BWSSB office adjacent to National College with Amma, arguing about why there was no water supply as promised? Will they remember like I do, not the beauty and serenity of Ramakrishna Ashram, but sitting at the Telephone office(then called PnT I think, NOT the BSNL its now been renamed as) next door complaining about the 100th time the phone has gone out of order? Will they realize that fruit juice at Ganesh fruit juice center is the cheapest and best in the area? They can never know that the Shiv Sagar on Gandhi Bazar Road is now gone, but it was one of the first and greatest chaat places in the area. Butter Sponge, Jyothi stores and West End stores have been around for as long as I've been, run by the same management for years and how many ever years later- when you do drop in, they recognize your face and smile understandably.

Do they get to listen to Vedic chants from the Karnikara Paathshaale across from my home? Will they be able to understand little things such as missing the cobbler who had set up shop right at the corner of Vani Vilas Road and Uttaraadi Mutt road who has long been evicted thanks to the megalithic flyover that has sprung right at that spot? They will never get to know that Vani Vilas Road was once a tree lined avenue, much like Diagonal Road, but not any more.

See I have been on walking tours- like in Colonial Williamsburg and in London. I admire the architecture and sometimes try to imagine the life of the people who inhabited those areas in times bygone. But this above walking tour brings a whole different perspective for me. I want to go on one of these. Perhaps I can trace back my wonder years. Perhaps this time around I will try to hang on to every bit of emotion that emerges, to be captured for posterity.

Cos you see, one's childhood is hard to recreate. Why would you consider hanging on to the delightful taste of the chutney from Brahmin's cafe if you lived in the area all your life? You wouldn't, but when you do step away from the very same comfort zone that created you- you realize how such an intrinsic framework provides stability and grounds you with strong ties of nostalgia and a tingling sense of pride.

My neck of the woods, it appears, has now officially gotten a sepia tint and I certainly ain't complaining!

A blurb from this walking tour of traditional Bengaluru goes thus:

" Come and discover Traditional Bengaluru!
It takes only 3 kms and 3 hours to realise that amidst Bangalore as an IT hub and roaring pub city, there is the other Bengaluru - the Bengaluru that was the genesis of Bangalore as we know it today, that evokes nostalgia, and poetry. The bastion of traditional living, a life of grace, goodness, and breeding ground of the quintessential Bangalorean who effortlessly shuttles between several seemingly contradictory worlds.

Walk through the rocks that Bangalore was founded on. Discover the sprawling streets of the old-new city.

Get ready for an assault on the senses; tradition comes in colors and sounds. Treat your taste-buds. This is Bengaluru: Up close and personal.

If you really want to understand traditional Bengaluru, join us on this walk through the neighbourhoods of Basavanagudi and Shankarapuram."

Venti

In all these years, I have never been able to adjust to portions in this country. Be it beverages, meals or even the occasional ice cream from Dairy Queen or Cold Stone Creamery. The smallest of sizes is still too much for me, even if it were a small fountain drink. And ice appears to be a dish in itself, it is piled onto glasses with great pride, like it were to be relished and cherished for eternity.

Most times the only way I go for Indian buffet lunches is when non-desi coworkers crave for some spicy Indian food! One coworker shocked the bejeezus out of me one time when we went to this Indian lunch buffet place which, in the Northern Virginia area, has one of the best spreads. Right after a humongous meal, he had a craving to stop at Dairy Queen and went on to polish off an entire order of the Blizzard! I almost fainted. I couldn't even bear to see food after the meal and a Blizzard just seemed like torture. If you don't know what a blizzard looks like, here goes.

For a long time, I got coffee mugs from India, the small daintily sized ones for beverages. The first time Amma visited me, she had a hard time gulping 'vat' sized coffee in the morning. She found my desi mugs to be a life-saver. Added to that, she couldn't get adjusted to the coffees that are found here. Neither have I for that matter. From Starbucks to Dunkin Donuts to Pete's Coffee to Kona, I have tried most of it and it still comes short of the filter kaapi Amma makes back home. Its got to be something in her hands, cos I have tried to get the very same coffee back here and tried to recreate the magic to no avail.

So while I am importing Nayak's Coffee works coffee back here for all those mornings I am home-sick, Appa has a different take on coffee altogether. Do you blame me for calling them the North and South pole? They drink a different brand of coffee between the two of them. To say that he loves Starbucks coffee would be an understatement. In so many years that I had been here, I had never had to go beyond the 'Tall' sized coffee from Starbucks, which to this day I haven't understood why they couldn't have a 'small'. The first few visits to Starbucks were pretty normal, so to speak. He got his coffee, added milk and sugar and launched into his coffee induced heaven. One time while we were at the airport, he offered to go buy himself ...some coffee! And he was back after a few minutes with what could only be described as a 'flask' filled with the strongest coffee intended to keep an individual awake for the next few months.....the venti!

'Appa, they must have made a mistake. Didn't you ask them for the smallest size?'

'Er no. This is fine.'

'No its not. Lets go and get it fixed. You shouldn't have to pay for so much coffee when all you wanted was a small size'

'Hehe, I asked for their biggest size actually!'

!!!!!!?????

Yes he had fallen for Starbucks coffee, hook line and sinker. He gets the 'venti' sized wonder without fail and relishes every sip of it. Spotting a Starbucks is akin to a comet sighting for him. And here I am, after all these years- yet to finish off the smallest sized cup of ice cream!

So while I import filter kaapi, Appa makes me export Starbucks on every trip!

If ever I were to wonder on how Starbucks could have come up with sizes they have, Venti might just have been created for the likes of Appa.

Outsourced series 1-Of Lame excuses and busy weekends

Preface

This month, out of sheer generosity and largesse, I made an irresistible offer to a few close friends of mine to write for my blog. Ok, ok-I had to plead and had to make a case AND (most importantly) all of them agreed(so nice, no?).

So whats the date now? Thats right, 23rd. 3 weeks and not a peep from any of them. So I kindly reminded them (please note the niceties I practice) that the validity of the offer was soon to expire. To which my dear friend L responded as below with a list of lame excuses on why she couldnt get to this small request of mine(sigh, no one cares). Can you believe it?

Then, I had to give her the brilliant idea to use this as her contribution for a post And she kindly agreed, SUCH a generous soul- she.

Here it goes and expect more such through this month. Bursts of brilliance penned not by the usual jaded mint.

==========================================================================

Of lame excuses and busy weekends



From: L
Sent: Thursday, August 21, 2008 1:39 PM
To: Altoid
Subject: RE: *drumming fingers*

How about this then –

1. Code freeze tomorrow

2. Hand hold someone through a release today

3. Plan/research cooking club menu for Saturday

4. Cook for the **** thing. After getting a ****load of cleaning/shopping done first

5. Buy a baby-shower gift and attend the **** thing on Sunday

6. B’day dinner Sunday night

7. Research and advice the parents on fixing the apt. For some reason they have lost the ability to make any decision

Hmmm… right now getting my superwoman costume cleaned ranks higher than anything I may have been volunteered for :)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Altoid
Sent: Thursday, August 21, 2008 10:26 AM
To: L
Subject: RE: *drumming fingers*

Not funny!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: L
Sent: Thursday, August 21, 2008 1:25 PM
To: Altoid
Subject: RE: *drumming fingers*

good for the soul…

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Altoid
Sent: Thursday, August 21, 2008 9:50 AM
To: L
Subject: *drumming fingers*

waiting.........(sheesh!)

==========================================================================

(**** stands for expletives, most of which EVEN I don't understand :D)

Case of a clutch

Of the many definitions for the word 'clutch', the one that best relates to this post would be this :

clutch
[kluhch] –noun
Also called clutch bag, clutch purse. a woman's small purse that can be carried in the hand and usually has no handle or strap.

After I graduated and started a career, I realised the need to own a decent handbag. Shamefully, when I was studying, I owned nothing remotely resembling one. Most times, it was a fabric(or any other suitably sturdy material like canvas/jute etc) "holdall"(that which has now been fashionably renamed a 'tote'). It was a dumping ground for notebooks, pens, paper, a small wallet for cash and change(credit cards were unknown and unaffordable at that time) and a school/college ID card.

So post-graduation, a fancy, stylish handbag was the need of the day. There wasnt a need to lug books or lunch boxes. I was quite at sea debating what to carry in a hand bag. Just for my appeasement, I'd carry a novel(since I used to drive, there was really no point in doing so, but oh well), the same wallet carried over from college and some pens(being a teacher's daughter-pens were dime-a-dozen at home and Amma was always a hoarder of some interesting looking ones). Now it was a pathetic sight when I bought an oversized handbag to hold these paltry items.

Over time, the wallet has grown to hold about 20 different cards for various purposes, specially after moving abroad- library card, video rental card, credit cards, gas card, grocery store card not including the key tags which is a separate chain(literally and figuratively) in itself. I am constantly trying to minimize and simplify this card hoarding mentality. But some of them are just unavoidable. These days the items that need to go into a handbag include keys, a cell phone, this bulging wallet with cards and cash, a pen, some lip balm, a tiny-foldable hair brush, a small case with business cards, important contact information, family wallet-size photos, God's pictures, some vibhuti and a prayer book.(Ok ok; no need to gape over reading this-what to do, we are like this only!)

Which brings me to my dilemma. How do people fit these bare-necessities in a tiny bag? Either they dont carry so much(and I need to be downsizing) or they carry miniature sizes. And I have a problem with oversized holdall handbags. My cell phone gets wedged deep in its recesses some place and it takes me forever to grope around and I find it hard to receive calls promptly or I am having to invert the contents at unexpected locations like the landing to my house in a desperate attempt to find the keys. I have also seen handbags with holders for every item conceivable...if I were that organized to put everything in its right place in a handbag, I'd be Martha Stewart for sure. Now that I am coming to the end of my devious route to get to the point of my post, let us all mouth the word "clutch" in chorus, to begin.










I see many celebrities and aam junta carrying one of these for socialite events and parties. Granted, it looks fancy, hep and cool. For the bourgeois that I am, a more important point would be- HOW do people "clutch" this throughout parties and such? Some time between chatting up with people, eating and other diversions that are common in any party, I'd have totally set the clutch aside someplace and forgotten about it. Because, you see, for the likes of me, when I am at a party(which isnt the talk of the town or anything) or shopping or plain jay walking, I need a handbag that I am not "clutching" with my hands. I need hands free. I've seen the sophisticated Shabana Azmi with one of these and she places it under her arm and walks about casually. That seems a like a lot of discomfort to me.

Some years ago I got this pretty sequined purse with a metal chain, perfect for parties and such, as a gift. Tried and tested, over time, I realised I could only carry a dainty card case with a total of two cards(a driver's license, a credit card and some cash), a cell phone and keys in this delicate darling. I tried to learn the etiquette of going to parties in style.




More recently I got gifted this ornate, brocade "clutch". Now I am flummoxed.

Of this, that and the advent of TV

* Spent a wonderful afternoon at Blossoms. By far, one of the best things to have happened to Bengaluru. Multiple storeys of used books- from Daphne Du Maurier, to AJCronin, to RKNarayan to Digital Photography guides. And the prices, are so enticing- yes I was almost tempted to stay back overnight, if they'd have me. If you're in this area, please to check this place out. Its not the swankiest of locations, but for book-lovers this is Ritz-Carlton for sure.

* Thursday morning found me with some extra dose of vigour and enthu. I went on a 7am vegetable shopping trip. I scurried around smelling the fresh scent of vegetables and fruits and flowers in the market and in tune with the rest of the early risers. I had showered early, made some temple stops along the way, I was so in sync with the early morning bustle thats characteristic of apna desh. While I was thus engaged I passed two cows grazing lazily as is wont in our bazaars. No wonder foreigners ask us if elephants roam our streets, even to this day! I hurried along to the "greens" vendor to buy some spinach. A scooter passed next to me, the rider stopped and a muffled voice spoke from behind a helmet. I looked at the apparition enquiringly. "Be careful, wearing red around these cows, they could attack". I was in a red salwar. I smiled weakly, thanked him and walked on. Errr, red goads bulls no? And I am a bull myself, I should know! Well perhaps that was his good deed for the day. Nonetheless he did make my day.

* Our first TV-black and white had been a Dyanora. We almost put it on a pedestal the day it arrived. We tiptoed around it and even watched Krishi Darshan faithfully just for the fact that it was being aired and it was our duty to watch it. Then some years later, color television launched. We found a good reason to own a color TV. Olympics and World Cup, of course. Those deserved to be watched in their true colors. Hence arrived a BPL brand wonder. We celebrated, we did our welcome jig, we cooked a spread, we pulled out our best silver, we served ourselves, sat down and watched the 9pm news on Doordarshan! Who cares about final exams the next day? Color TV was here to stay. This has really served us well, we had it for the longest time. What came next? Cable TV of course. I still remember the day we walked up to the start-up cable company in our neighbourhood. It was started by two newly minted graduates, Kiran and Shashi. They looked dapper seated in their dingy room that they had rented. The next day Shashi landed at our doorstep with complicated looking contraptions to fit our place with 1000s of channels. Little did we realise we were submitting to become slaves of the remote, soon. After about 45 mins, he was done. We turned our TV on and we were in channel utopia, in bright colors. "Yayyyyyyyyy" danced Seren and I. Amma emerged out of the kitchen with a plate of kaju kathli and offered it to Shashi. Appa had a Colgate-ad-ish grin and hugged and shook hands with him and paid him the advance and saw him off in royal style. Little did Shashi know of our celebratory methods! After all these years, I think I understand the quizzical expression that was plastered on his face all his way back to his office.
Today, it is the age of HDTV's and Plasma TV's, wide screens and advanced entertainment centers. But the joys of watching Bournivata Quiz shows with Siddharth Basu on Sundays on our old BPL TV comes with no price tag and lots of sweet memories. I say it again, the sweet smell thats in the air these days, is surely nostalgia.
I'm sure each of us has a tale to tell about our experiences as we turned the corner to the advent of TV in India. Do tell, what was YOUR first TV?

Two of a kind

Having lived with a mother-daughter duo of Sagittarians, life is one big stage, and everyday is new drama for sure. There is never want for entertainment, the two are capable of creating mountains out of molehills, spinning a veritable yarn of imaginary tales from simple day to day happenings and shifting gears from the heights of joviality to the depths of depression all in one day. I talk about my mother and my sister. If you're looking to be entertained without paying for expensive cable channels, get yourself not one but a pair of Sagittarians in the house, you'll get ample returns on the investment :D.

If ever I caught Seren with an evil grin on her face, then it was undoubtedly THE time for playing a prank on Amma. Her devilishly smug face displayed her pride at having devised the whole plot. The earliest one that I can remember is one evening when she returned from school and rang the doorbell. As my mother opened the door, she sweetly smiles at my mother as she continues to chew on something in her mouth that appears seemingly full. While she sneaks a wink at me, she says "Hmmmm, ma, this tastes pretty good" and points to a mat on the porch outside where my mother has placed balls of boric acid(roach treatment) to dry out in the sun!

I swear to God, my mother's face not only changed multiple shades of purple with fear, her body froze into sheer fit of immobility. Its got to have been utter maternal instincts that must have stopped her from strangling my sister that day.

And this is just one of the many pranks that Seren has played on Amma. And she still continues to do so. One other entertaining skill of hers is that she can imitate Amma very well. Be it the way Amma admonishes us or the way she narrates an incident to Amma's little quirks and idiosyncracies- you bet, Seren can have you in splits.

If you ever doubt that Sagittarians have a vivid imagination, rest assured they do. If one were to ask Amma why she always gets startled when woken up, her deductive reasoning is that it must've been because as a child she remembers being locked up in a dark room and dozing off in there. There is no factual evidence to prove this theory, my grandmother certainly doesnt recall any such.

Always and I say always, Amma will have some errand when she notices either one of us(Appa, Seren or I) stepping out of the house(it doesnt apply to the times we would be leaving for work or college or school). I have always doubted if she has some kind of sensor that lets her know when we are stepping outside for anything else. "Seren, can you get me a packet , it should say Hot Iyengar's you know!"

Seren(trying hard to resist chewing her tongue out) "So you want a HOT Iyengar?"

Amma "Pah, Hot Iyengar's puliyogare silly. What else could be Hot Iyengar's?"

Seren(mumble, mumble) "Alright, whatever!"

Make no mistake, there are times when they are at each others' throats, constantly getting on each others' nerves and cold wars galore. And then there are times the two will team up to play pranks on poor, unsuspecting Appa. So the two have already bought three tickets for Chennai.

Amma "Seren and I have booked tickets to go to Chennai next weekend. Did you want to go as well?"

Appa "Oh! Well I really didnt want to. But if you two are, sure."

Seren " Appa, I checked, there are no more tickets by train. Why dont you come by bus and meet us there?"

Paavam Appa "Sure, let me go buy bus tickets".

While he starts planning to get the cash needed and go buy the bus ticket, the two will sheepishly sneak up on him and say "Ta-da! We got your ticket already!"

Yes, this is the kind of drama that unfolds in our house at regular intervals.

Some years ago, we got our parents each a cellphone. For emergency purposes. Because you see my dad had the habit of going out and never telling us where he was going or when he'd be back. So when it got late, there have been many nights, the three of us have sat out in the porch waiting for him to return. Though this solution came quite late in the day, we believed this was a perfect way for us to call and ask for his coordinates even if he didnt share them with us. Its been a few years and both of them have mastered the use of this handy tool and are proud owners. But one of the weirdest outcomes has been, Appa calls us when he's 2 traffic signals away from the house to let us know he's 2 traffic signals away and will be home in 10 mins!!!!!!!!!! Sigh!

“I may not lead the most dramatic life, but in my brain it's War and Peace everyday.”
~Rufus Wainwright


Edited to add : After much thought, this one gem just cannot be left out. Appa hates wastage. Specially when it comes to food. And he loves eating out. Amma and wastage go hand in hand. Yes, horoscope matching's biggest success story, these two. When we go out to eat and get ourselves thaalis, this is what happens. After about 15 mins, when all of us seemingly are digging away into the multiple katoris of delightful north indian or south indian fare, one will espy Amma with a guilt ridden smug face sitting in front of a thaali with inverted katoris. It means she has hastily pecked on every item, finished her meal, and hastily stuffed ALL the remnants into each katori, INVERTED. Guileless Appa thinks she has emptied her plate.

Scorecard : Amma 1, Appa 0.

Post-it notes along the memory lane

Usha recently talked about "Childhood Amnesia" and asked the readers to jog their rusty memories and bring out gems from the nostalgia closet to share. It was an interesting ride, down the memory lane, going back to some very early years. Almost seems like a different world altogether, from the one we all now exist in. Like Billy Joel's its probably that "The good ole days weren't always good, and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems". But nostalgia is that way, you know. Romantic, dreamy...a bit like paradise...of which we dream of for our future. So if our past was perfect, the future should be utopia shouldnt it? Hm, maybe not!

Nostalgia is like a grammar lesson: you find the present tense, but the past perfect! ~Owens Lee Pomeroy

Perfect, what say?

Ok, so these are some of the gems I collected whilst on my nostalgia ride. Let me clarify the characters that feature in the trip
- A great grand mom, paternal(ggmom, for short)
- Grandparents(maternal and paternal)
- A multitude of grand uncles and aunts- mostly siblings of ggmom and their spouses.
- Uncles and aunts- siblings of parents

Note 1 :
Very early on, life consisted of being spoilt by ggmom, grandparents, ggmom's siblings and their spouses. A palatial ancestral home. Servants. Half-day school. Force-fed lunches. Small game with ggmom. Afternoon nap, sharing her bed. Milk and then playtime! And how.

Playtime consisted of inviting neighbourhood kids(upon pre-approval by ggmom. Yes, she would scan them, find out their ancestry, their habits- in short- their case history...and then deem them fit to play with the "brat"). So they would come. Games also would need prior approval from ggmom. And she had a walking stick. If it appeared to her that her "brat" was losing, she would poke one or all the kids with the stick and tell them to be fair and "let the brat win!". If any child persisted in winning and disobeying her orders, the next day the said child would be banished from the play group.

Note 2 :
There would be new clothes for every festival for the "brat". You know how in India, you dont need a reason for a festival. Well my grandmother found festivals where there werent any, just so she could indulge the brat with the latest fashions.

I have talked earlier about the torture I went through in the name of music lessons. Enough said, we will not dwell on those painful memories.

My Scrabble skills are all thanks to my grandmother. She was more keen on learning to play the new game than I was. And I was challenged to do better, just so I could beat Paati. And in a few years, we got so good at it, our scores would soar and we'd make our own rules, making it harder and harder that no one else would kindly oblige to play against us, cos they'd shudder at the iron rules we had made up!

Note 3 :
Every couple of days, ggmom's brother would visit his older sister. Without fail. He would be driven and he would get an "Illustrated Weekly" to read for the road. He didnt live too far away, mind you. Matter of minutes. Then as soon as he'd enter the house, he'd hand the magazine to me. And thus I was introduced to reading comic strips..like Dennis the Menace.

Note 4 :
Thatha(paternal) was a bathroom singer. He'd love to hum. And he always had a song to sing to me, whenever he set his eyes on me.

Note 5 :
We'd visit ggmom's sister, who also lived in the same city. Her husband was great at sketching. And thus I was introduced to drawing and painting. Very early on, he used to keep a notebook where I'd learn to draw basic figures and hone my skills.

Note 6 :
Summer vacation was always about going to Hyderabad to spend with the other set of grandparents. Early lunches coupled with a second round of lunch consisting of curd rice, ending with juicy mangoes. Hot summer afternoons spent reading Enid Blytons to the creaking noise of the rickety ceiling fan.

Thatha(maternal) was big on devotion and elaborate morning pujas.

Right in those days, he had a home office. A very posh place , with a high drawing desk to painstakingly draft electrical layouts- an eternal place of intrigue and interest to all of us. We were always curious what goes on in offices and for many years later I used to believe all offices would have draftsmen, a stenographer taking notes in shorthand, the relentless tick-ticking of the typewriter.....
"Thatha, your drawer is here" I'd announce, emerging from his office, where I'd love to hang out all day. And oh yes, I meant to say draftsman :). Everyone, needless to say, had a good laugh at my expense!

Note 7 :
Trips to British Council and IIWC with Amma. Wonderful times feeling the gilt edged treasures, the crisp pages of new Enid Blytons, Richmal Crompton, comic books...the pleasure of getting lost in the world of fantasy and launch into eternal word space.

Note 8 :
Endless bars of Double Decker and Five Star chocolate, thanks to two doting chitappas(chikappa). Unlimited motorcycle thrill rides on Rajdoot and Yezdi- the pride of the youth at that time. Its strange, that now I really detest chocolate. Having been spoilt at such an early age, I should have turned out to be chocolate's biggest fan. Real irony, that!

Note 9 :
And to this day, I dont remember why. I am sure the victim definitely remembers, after all these years ;). I recall getting angry over a classmate(this must've been kindergarten, mind you!!) and biting her :O. I know, I know, terrible thing- I say. And then she howled her way home and complained to her mom. Of course, I had to go to her house and apologize, Amma made me !

Note 10 :
Again, for some inexplicable reason, I loved to play house inside an umbrella. Like remember that huge monstrosity of a black umbrella one used to get in those days? Yes, my favorite spot to play house was to open one up, prop it on the floor and crawl into it.

10 gems! Pretty good stuff, huh?

So thanks Usha for sending me on this little trip. Alright, I got to unpack and get ready for a busy week ahead.

Enjoy y'all!

Early morning notes from back home series-2

• Back from a trip to Delhi-Agra-Fatehpur Sikri-Jaipur, the gory details of which are logged here- thanks to Seren.

• A family trip does wonders to the age old ties that bind ....(and gag?) .

• Kachori, lassi and paratha cravings have been fully satiated, thanks to aforementioned trip.

• Rajasthani thaali is a novel change....once or twice in a lifetime. All other times its besan overload.
  

• Seren and I had to be dragged out, heels kicking, confiscating purses to get us out of the self inflicted, much enjoyable shopping spree at Karol Bagh, by the parents.

• Note to self : Are day trips to Delhi with an all-day shopping pass at Karol Bagh feasible in all future trips to desh?

• Favorite spots on this trip - Qutub Minar, Taj Mahal(of course!), Fatehpur Sikri and Amber fort, Jaipur.

• Akshardham in Delhi is a marble marvel, really worth visiting.

• The serene that envelops one at Raj Ghat, right in the middle of a bustling capital city is memorable.

• From one nation's capital to another, there are remarkable striking similarities.

• And Seren forgot to add in her post, I made an interesting observation. I cut my finger nails before leaving for the trip. And thanks to guzzling multiple matkas of lassi and digging into matka kulfis, I swear my nails have grown A LOT in 4 days!!Really, I do swear!Must be something in the milk, no?

• Nope, coffee aint the same out there. But tea, OMG- its outta the world!

• Its amazing how we went from 2 Airlines(Apna desh ka Air India and Indian airlines) to some 30 domestic carriers in a span of 10 years.

• Some noteworthy signs on trucks and such other vehicles on this road trip :
  

"Dont tech me"
"Manglikmarriages.com, where mangliks marry mangliks"
"Important advice : NO smoking"
"Touriests leave chappals here"
"Homoeo clinic"

I leave you with some samples from what my lens captured..





























Footnote : Glad to be back in good ole namma bengaluru. NK oota is next on the list. Anyone care to join me?

Pet nomenclature

I'm sure everyone, (and I only mean the regulars that frequent the internet, register themselves at random websites and such) has been posed with the secret question and of course, the secret answer while registering at internet sites. I always choose the "what was your first pet's name?". Now, like I mentioned elsewhere here, I dont do pets. Nope, I dont hate nor love them- having pets is just not me. You will find me petting other people's dogs, cats, turtles, gerbils- all and sundry- but I do know that I will never own one, never have, either. Then why would I choose to adopt this as my secret question?

A dictionary definition of the word pet says thus :
pet
–noun
1. any domesticated or tamed animal that is kept as a companion and cared for affectionately.
2. a person especially cherished or indulged; favorite: Eg : He was the teacher's pet.
3. a thing particularly cherished.

I choose option 2 :).

The End.


================================================

Anju
Jallu(for Jalajakshi, from the varnam of the same name)
Sooki
Droomi(for Drumadala, from our anthem-of course!)
Kelucharan(from the dancer)
Jhamkandi
Moodbidri
Cheedu(for Seethu)
Champa(or Champakali)
Shokka(cos I am Akka)
Anshuman
Arunima
Shambu
Jooj(or juju)
Rurubu
Sopayana

(pliss to make your own conclusion on what the above could be, I refuse to explain and be disowned to own 1/2 a mango tree, as has been threatened by a deceptively small-built firebrand). Enough damage done already!

Anyone out there looking to adopt?