Christmas Carols

One of those odd thing that this odd family of mine does is to listen to Christmas Carols in this season of Joy and Peace. Old and ancient hymns, German carols, new and contemporary carols, we even have some in French.

I cannot remember how or when this practice started. My parents put on hymns for us during this season ...... on the old Telefunken radiogram. By the time I left for School, I knew all the carols.

Through School and College the practice carried on because we always came home for Christmas, and Christmas was at home.

After I got married, I carried out my Garrard and my records. Sanjoy was not averse to hymns, carols and midnight vigil mass. Children when they came, grew up with the same idea. The strong Catholic upbringing at their Schools and choir singing strengthed the ritual at home.

The story I have not ever told anyone at all goes back to 1977. I was in Delhi and was staying up deadly cold December nights writing my final submission. I was tired, cold and terribly homesick. The only thing that kept me going that December was an old red and grey HMV gramophone.....I think the model was called Fiesta. This ancient piece of junk had come with thebarsati I lived in. (I guess the previous occupant of the room graduated to a better system).

I had records to play on it. It was late and it was cold and I still had to finish that piece of academic nonsense. I was playing Bing Crosby on the player and shutting out non-academic thoughts when there was a soft knock on the flimsy door. It was the press-man from downstairs and his wife. They had come up to listen to the carols. In my wildest dreams I would not have classified them as Christians. Faith and religion is not writ all over a person. They were Goans ... migrated to Delhi. Yes, they were Catholics. Yes, they liked and knew the carols. Most certainly they were homesick. They had brought a roti-subzi dinner for me. I brought out my jam and bread dinner. I made Horlicks in the electric kettle. And we sang carols with Bing Crosby. "White Christmas" and "Blue Christmas" and "Merry Christmas" and everything. In true Christmas spirit.

To me the spirit of Christmas has always included Tony and his wife. And every year when I put on the carols at Christmas time, I always think of them.

I am not a very religious person. Somehow that carol singing session meant a lot to me. Like most things, I kept this bottled up. I think the time has now come for me to reveal why I love carols so . It is not just Ma, nor School, nor family( though all these count, too). One cold Delhi December night had a definite role to play.

+

o

Mohit and an Escalator

Today I went to a nearby shopping mall. I am not very comfortable in these shopping malls. There is a feeling of claustrophobia in these places in spite of the large expanse they occupy. (This in an urban landscape is a crime). I always have to stop and take my breath to get accustomed to the closed space. On one such 'breather' I was watching the series of escalators going up and down. Quite a sight. Quite awe inspiring.

Suddenly I remembered Mohit (for Mohit was his name, I think). I was in College and it was generally assumed I was always at a loose-end. Anybody who wanted any work done from a bill-payment to a dentist trip employed me. Neelum had this little cousin called Mohit visiting the city for the first time, and I had to entertain him most days. He wasn't too bad, and I really did not mind Mohit tagging along. One of the most exciting things we did was to have rides on the RBI escalator. In those days, there were no shopping malls, and to the best of my knowledge the RBI was the only building with an escalator. We went up and down the escalator endless number of times and never tired of it. In those days it surely would have been termed "awwwesome".

How naive we were with such innocent tastes. Escalator rides, tram rides to Joka amidst the Maidan greenery, walking in Dalhousie Square looking for the Old Fort Wall (we did find the plaque), double decker bus rides to the outskirts and back. All such simple and completely marvelous acts left us "awestruck".

Today when I saw a two-year old smartly stepping on to an escalator with a large Coke and a packet of chips in her hand, I thought of Mohit. All of 10 years. Me about 16 years. Having a whale of a time on the RBI escalator. That escalator had us spellbound !!!!!

Today's kids need a Gold ticket to an Inox Harry Potter show. In the 1970's Mohit and Neelum and I needed very little. An afternoon breeze on College Street gave us a high.

Hablu

Hablu was a neighbourhood boy. At one time we lived down a small narrow lane off Lansdowne Road, and Hablu was something short of a street urchin.....except that he was quiet, dignified and never behaved like the other street-boys. His father, I remember use to work in the Ramakrishma Mission Hospital........certainly not as a doctor. His mother, Bakuldidi did the occasional sewing for my mother and helped with the cooking when there were guests. Hablu came to our house with his mother. He did not go to school. He did not and could not study. He was too dumb. In those days in the sixties, dyslexia, autism, learning disorder etc was not perhaps too wellknown. He could not learn his lessons. Period. Therefore he did not go to school.

My sister and I brought home a constant stream of abandoned kittens and runover dogs. Most of these were treated by the vet. Some lived and shared our home. Some left us heart broken. I once brought home a pupppy. My sister had measles then and Mother put her foot down. A stern "NO" was the verdict. Hablu came to the rescue. Hablu fell in love with the puppy. I could have fought Mothers "NO". Dad could have been brought into the scene. I was very, very good at throwing tantrums. None of these were needed. One look at Hablu's shining eyes, and I knew the puppy would be well looked after. The skinny brown pup transformed Hablu. He looked after it. Fed it. Walked all the way to the Vet's for regular treatment. Hablu was no longer a dumbo. For a person who had learning difficulties he picked up knowledge on animals and animal behaviour without any trouble. He learnt at the Vets. He learnt from us. My mother bought him books on dogs and he devoured those books written by English vets in English. Of course we helped him to read. My Mother read out to him in the kitchen and Hablu would read after her. By the time Hablu was ten years or so, he rejoined school. Managed to overcome his learning difficulties. Passed his term end Exams. Passed his school leaving Exams. All because of that scrawny puppy Chitto (for that is what he was named), who won Hablu's heart.

I grew up and moved out of my parental home. However once in a while I got news of Hablu. He studied Veterinary Science. Became a Vet. I went to his wedding in 1989 .....on Sajani's 5th birthday. I got the news through my Mother when his children were born.

This story does not re-affirm my faith in the human race in any way. I do not trust the human race too far.... certainly not enough to put my faith in it. Yes, it reaffirms my faith in animals. The power of a scrawny puppy to rehabilitate poor Hablu never ceased to amaze me.

This post comes up because during the Kali Puja weekend I chanced upon a half-dead kitten on Rifle Range. A hit and run case. With the help of a local rickshaw (who took no payment) I took it it to the nearby Vet (once again the rickshaw wallah's suggestion). The Vet turned out to be Hablu. I was overjoyed. Hablu had eyes only for his patient. I left the kitten with him along with my phone number..... in case the kitten survived. Hablu rang up this morning with the news that the kitten is now fine and would I care to have her back. I hesitated. Hablu offered an alternative. Would I object if he gave the kitten to a little girl in his neighbourhood?

"The girl has lost her mother from cancer, Didi, perhaps a kitten would do her good. The family is willing. Would you mind, Didi?"

So typically Hablu. Time does a full circle, does it not?

Ha Ha Lalgarh

So much happening at Lalgarh. Such unrest. So much bloodshed. How did this name LALGARH come up? Thirty years back I knew this area like the back of my hand. There was no Lalgarh. No garh of any kind. It was no defence station. Peace loving people eking out a living from the relatively infertile soil and an abundance of forest products. No gunshots, no bloodshed, no sense of indignity. Such a quiet and serene area.

Lalgarh? HA. Whatever happened to those enchanting villages with their lyrical names? Where is Mohuldiha? Jochhanchar? Chikantila? Bangriposi?.........mon udasi

bajai bansi

banser bansi...................

Wide expanse of red earth meeting at some far off point a blue sky which looks almost white in the mid day sun. Shallow rivers, with sandy bottoms and the wonderful feel toes sinking in the soft mud of these rivers. The Kuher river like a sheet of beaten silver in the Dol Purnima moonlight. The dappled forest floor of Sal forests......on another moonlit night. I can go on and on and on........

And the people. The simple, earthy people who never had malice in their mind. When did they learn to hate? To kill? Whatever happened to their Danu Baba to practiced non violence and amity. They never wanted money. They never wanted jobs. They were already much more "developed" than their urban counterparts......even twenty years back.

In the city, humanity has no value. In my Mohuldiha of yesteryears, I went about the country side without a care, without a penny in my pocket. Yet had shelter, food, and mohua to boot. I never felt threatened. Never ever.

Constant deprivation, regular taunting, incessant exploitation and organised rape of humanity........birth of LALGARH.

I hang my head in shame.

'.......no more than a packet of cigarettes'

I wonder how many know this story. People in the publishing industry surely would, but others??? I doubt.

Way back in 1935, Allen Lane of Bodley Head Publishers was waiting for a train on Exeter station. He wanted some reading material......to read on the train. His choice was limited to popular magazines and a few poorly published and equally poorly written paperbacks. This definite lack of quality literature in paperback set Lane thinking. He was sure there would be a market for paperbacks. Not too many could afford to buy hardcovers. Lane knew that well enough.

His wisdom and acumen in the publishing industry was evidently immense, because he founded a publishing house that brought out the best of literature.....thrillers, classics, historical masterpiece, poetry, autobiography, reference books, all the best novels. All in paperback. At an ever-so-reasonable price. He even had them colour coded to help readers distinguish the genre.

Lane had a vision......he was adamant his publishing house should produce books that sold from a railway station to a chain store, from a book-shop to a tobacconists. All should be priced reasonably. In his own words '...... no more than a packet of cigarettes'.

Well, Lane kept his word and readers over the world helped him. Today the company is one the the most recognised publisher.

From orange to yellow, to green, to purple, to blue....I was brought up on these books.. Nice soft, foldable books, that fitted in my blazer pocket, and went conveniently behind an atlas at Prep time.

Thank you Mr. Lane. Thank you Penguin Books.

My Cats

There has been a couple of queries about my cats. For general information......my family of cats include

SKIPPY. Old Grandmother. Gentle. The most loving. A Lady-Cat. Reads me like a book.

MONTY. Named after the illustrious DN Mountford.He is a little over 4 years old. Monty is a Chartered Accountant by qualification. He goes to office everyday. Comes back for lunch, and then by 6pm.

CHICOBAC. Chico meaning 'baby' and bac is Welsh for 'darling little one'. Therefore 'Baby Darling'. Shantam named the little motherless kitten in all sincerity. Chico is hardly a cat. He is better than a dog. Knows all the tricks. Can open the fridge. Listens to Bach. Watches full length action movies on the laptop. Only on the laptop. Chico is 3 years old.

IAGO. The latest. About 2 months old. The name says it all !! Beats Machiavelli hollow.

Communication

At one time there was only the Trunk Call for long distance calls. A greatly awaited event. The whole locality knew when one was on the Trunk Call line. It involved a fair degree of screaming.

Then came the Lightning Calls and PP Calls and what not.

Parallel to the Trunk Call days was the daily post....the postman. And sometimes the telegram.

In time, came the STD. Subscribers Trunk Dialing. Direct dialing. Anywhere. No screaming.

With this came the Internet and the computer.

One had to look for phone booths and STD centres to call home. Keeping in mind the metre rates. Computer access and Internet access was not easy either. One had to steal a few minutes of Net time at work to check and send personal emails. This too had a charm.

Now everyone has a laptop with wifi facilities. A mobile phone. Yet, communication is prioritised.

Calls are not taken. Not returned. A call taken may mean a snarl over the phone. One is left with the feeling '......perhaps i shouldn't have called.' Email access is ever so easy. Yet, mails are not answered. Ignored.

I long for the good old Trunk Call days, with the postie coming twice a day.

Research

Unfortunately (or fortunately) I am one of those old fashioned type who still reads books. I read for fun. I read to earn a living. I read to pass time. I read because I enjoy reading......AND I mean ordinary paper books. The kind you can hold and fold and smell and tell (when on a shelf).

I am also one of those old-fogies who actually go to the Library to read and research. Yes, I do have a laptop. I have desktops at work and home. I read on the Internet a fair bit.I write on the Internet. At the same time I spend long hours in the library. I browse. I read. I reflect. I look out of the tall windows and dream a bit. My mind painstakingly analyses every bit of information.....even what I learnt 30 years back. I reject some, accept some, evaluate some and come to my own conclusions. These thoughts are mine and I suppose (at least I do hope) there is some sort of intellectual property rights protection. At the end of the day I write what I feel has to be written . I teach what I know and endevour to learn. I quench my thirst be it World Food Shortage or the makings of a Rachals. How else would I survive if I did not read?

The students I teach are averse to what I call reading. The sense of research and individual fact finding is lacking. A laptop connects them to Google and that is the beginning of the end. They rarely ever see the inside of a Library. Google is their weapon and Wikipedia their Holy Grail......the fount of all their wisdom. Google has become a part of everyday language....like Xerox, or Hoover. Academicians are weighed and judged by the number of strikes on the Google search engine !!!!!

Any material, any name, any product can be Googled. Nevermind the fact that information regurgitated by Google is suspect at best and utterly wrong at worst. Most students do not know (or think its best to be ignorant about it) that Wikipedia entries can be edited, and are edited. They are written, then re-written and then re-re-written by people who are not necessarily the best minds in the business. E reading gives little scope for reflection, simply because the links are too many, too frequent and most important most certainly not the scholars own views. At the end of the exercise the scholar, the student, the researcher comes out with an undigested opinion, quite half-baked. A little reading of the old fashioned kind (from a book.....in the Library) brings forward a questioning mind........not an accepting mind. In our times our minds were trained to question the question.....not merely to answer it. In fact I still practice it.

This new breed of scholars and their research submissions have been dubbed as Pap Scholars and Pap Submissions. The word coming from German or Dutch origin meaning baby food. Soft, mushy, gruel to be used as a supplement for normal healthy diet for infants. This is what the students now depend on. Not the hard core concepts, not good philosophies, not stand-alone journals, but Googled pap from Wikipedia. It's tantamount to intellectual or academic pap for the soft-in-the-head.

This same generation is termed as White Bread Generation in University circles. The coinage came from a Professor (Tara Brabazon) in the UK who declared that this methodology of research is like white bread.......filling , but without any nutritional content. Empty calories for the empty minds. White Bread seems particularly apt for the generation that is not interested in the meat of the matter.

How inordinately indolent can ones intellect be to read and then cut-copy-paste.....ready for submission. Does not the brain take in the matter and come to an individualistic conclusion? Has the scholar come to the University level after 15 years of training to have no opinion of his own?Should Google be the only source of information? Unfortunately, it very often is.

Google has become nearly synonymous with research. Once Wikipedia puts the matter or information on the Internet, it stays there, to be edited and re-edited and eventually stray far from the truth. Something akin to the old Nazi saying.....' if you repeat a lie often enough it begins to seem like truth'.

Oh, I am not forbidding the Wiki search. Who am I to forbid such liberties? The Wiki or the Google search engine can be the first port-of-call. Do go on to the more hard core material. Read books, read journals (even JStore will do), reflect, discern, discuss and above all analyse. Do not accept anything at face value. Learn to read. Learn to think. Learn to write.

I guess, a large part of the problem is because of us Professors. We do not motivate. Do not inspire. At times, maybe do not teach. To my huge student community .......I hope I did instill some sense into you. Apologies if I did not and have not.

Words

'' Smile, an everlasting smile

A smile can bring you near to me

Don't ever let me find you gone............."

RIP Stephen Gately

RIP Shantam

RIP Our Rachals.

Never gone....always on my mind and in my heart.

Sounds that I like

I don't know if anyone has ever noticed this before, but there are certain sounds which are appealing.....certain other sounds which are not so appealing.

Here I make a random list of sounds that I like.

1. Falling rain. This is one of my favourites. Gentle rain on a tin roof. The rain drumming down on the same roof. Very different sounds, but there is such a lot of music in it. (I'll post another blog on this issue later). It's an all encompassing sound, particularly if you have a good book and a warm bed.

2. No matter who says what snowfall makes a gentle 'whoosh'. The sound is ever so soft, ever so quiet. Yet, there is a sound and a delightfully fulfilling sound.

3. A very comforting sound is that of your dog wagging it's tail when you come home end of the day. Nothing beats this boisterous wag-wag sound. Also the pet cats letting out looooong meeooows comforts me. I love the sound of cats purring, Specially Skippy when she sidles up to me at night and purrs like a jet engine revving up full on.

4. Bells in the hills. The hills are always alive with sound. It is almost music. Church bells, temple bells, school bells, soft anklet bells of the village girls, cow bells of the grazing cattle........these come out sharp and clear. Somehow, in the hills the clarity and tone of sound is exceptional. They come over the hills, through clear and clean mountain air....almost from heaven. Even angels can not produce such a pleasing and clean sound.

5. The sound of waves...upon the ocean. This is a deep resounding and roaring sound. Seems it comes from far away. It fills me with awe and sets my spirit free. There has been so many times Shantam phoned me to make me hear the waves....on the shore, on the beach and on the open sea.

6. Another sound which I love is the sound of a gale or storm. There is a word called 'wuthering' in Yorkshire. It's a strange whistling, growling sound. My old house by the grave yard gives me a feeling of standing on the deck of a ship....the wind wuthering around the house. Once again a liberating feeling.

7. I have not visited too many deserts, but the Thar has a peculiar sound effect.......the wind is most overpowering, and nothing, almost nothing seems to be in place but the roaring wind. It's different from a gale or a storm. Once again it makes me feel so humble.

8. The fjords of Norway has a heavy deep sound moving about in circles. It invites awe and a certain degree of fright. After a while one does get used to it, but thankfully I am not a Scandinavian. I do not have to stay there.

9. A train whistle is another sound I like. I always associate it with journeys, unfulfilled wishes. It leaves me in a wistful and nostalgic mood. A train whistling by at night is perhaps the most haunting sound on a still and white midnight.

10. A church choir singing, specially nuns at an abbey is perhaps the most deeply religious thing to experience. Religion in a very, very broad sense. I simply love it....specially from far away. Specially in the hills. Has anybody heard the Vienna Boys Choir practicing? Or the Salzburg Abbey nuns singing? It's ethereal.

11. Another sound I like is the sweet, sharp, crisp sound of leather on willow. On a summer afternoon or in the mellow evening sunlight. It does not much matter who is playing.....Ganguly or Flintoff. Or may be its only a SXC vs LMB match on the SXC grounds. The strike of the bat makes a beautiful sound.

12. Summer afternoons have rather nice sounds. Whether in the city or in the countryside. Birds chirping, Some birds have long sad calls in summer. The street hawker on the road calling his wares, the music from a transistor coming from far away. The sound of the hot wind blowing in the plains of north India. It's a free and open sound. Winter afternoons, on the other hand have less sound and is more still.

13. Another sound I treasure is children laughing, singing, frolicking. Any child, anywhere. If ever there is a God, He exists in children.

14. The call "Ma" or "Mama" is perhaps the most satisfying and fulfilling call ever. On the phone, from the road, at the door, from anywhere around the house........from any place on earth. "Ma" or "Mama" is the ultimate call......the most supreme sound.

This is such a randomly written post. I love the soft 'plop' of a neem fruit falling to the ground. The 'flop' of a large petal falling off. The small delicate flowers shed in a soft whisper. I like the clip-clop of horse hooves, and also the thundering when they gallop.I like everyday humdrum sounds around the house. It brings some degree of security and comfort. I like the sound of a child learning his multiplication tables, just as much I liked it when my children played the piano....no matter what they played. I like the rustle of leaves on the forest floor as I walk. I like the whistling wind through pine trees. I like the music of brooks and small waterfalls, just as much I like the roar of a large river or a huge and high waterfall. I like the sound of water and of wind.....the colours of the wind. Has anyone heard a panther roar in the pouring rain of the Garwhals? It isn't music, and yet it leaves behind a sense of awe.

So many sounds....the world is full of sounds. Good, bad, loud soft. I mention just the few that I like....the few that came to my mind.

Cat-urday

Holiday times are so peaceful. I enjoy holidays. So do my pets. Skippy has loooong, naps. Ofcourse with half an eye open for Chico, in case Chico decides to pounce.

Chico is forever on a learning spree. I swear that cat is not a cat....he is more human than a dog. Sometime back he realised that the computer plays music. Now he listens to music (preferably Bach....he loves Jesu Joy of Mans Desire). He demands the laptop be put on in the evenings and watches a full-length feature film every evening.

Even Monty is happy staying home. He probably has holidays too. ......Monty is a 'dafter jaane wala cat'. At present he is relaxing at home.

Even Rampiyari came for Dusserah with her mate. Had some cucumber slices. Napped for the entire afternoon and left in the evening amongst much chirping.

They eat and sleep and on the whole seems glad I am home all day.

Everybody has Saturdays.....I have Cat-urdays. Am I not blessed.

Solitude

Solitude is a very individualistic word. It's a condition (or at times a process) appreciated only by a small minority. To most people solitude is synonymous with loneliness and verges on eccentricity.I have for many years been trying to get people to understand the difference between aloneness and loneliness. It's been a futile teaching experience. I can be articulate. I make a living out of it. However, somehow on this topic, I do not push too hard. If people are happy confusing the two very different states.....I back off.

Personally I do not like crowds. Most people are apprehensive about solitude (I think they mean loneliness here), I revel in solitude. Wedding parties, clubs, shut-in airports, melas and fairs, even a large congregation in church leaves me quite unhappy.....sometimes even claustrophobic. The general idea is larger the crowd, more successful the event. Frightening !!!! What harm is there in a walk taken alone? Or reading a book? Or listening to music? Or talking to your dog? Everything does not have to be shared. Why do people have to link solitude with loneliness and unhappiness? Their minds are not deep enough to appreciate the balm of solitude, they are afraid of life, of coming to terms with themselves. They always need support (shallow support) around them, to make their lives complete.

I have to earn a living. My job is not bad as such, but I have to work under undemocratic and non-communicative authority. There is little I can do to change the circumstances. I have responsibilities at home....I enjoy my family, therefore they do not stress me. There are times I need to go away in the hills, or go to the countryside, or even city by-lanes. Anywhere where "I can be I". However such escapes are not always possible. So, over the years, I have learned to switch off my mind as and when needed. I enjoy undisturbed serenity in the old house by the graveyard. I can dream endlessly and create a philosophy of life while walking in the hills. I can quietly contemplate on a sea shore. I leave behind the nagging cares of life and the bedlam of ordinary life. I take off into my own world......solitude. I accept the natural world as I find it, as it presents itself to me, and have not found any great need to change it.

I do not have to shun people or public life. I do not turn my back on the world. I love my family, my students, my friends. I do not ditch people, or ignore my responsibilities, or even dump my friends. My solitary spirit can move around in a crowd or with the crowd while still holding on to my innate reserve. My aloneness I treasure. I am fiercely protective about it.

My life can end with complete anonymity, but I have captured the solitude of the oceans, the stillness of the desert, the serenity of the mountains. I can carry them in my inner-eye. The present can be easily wiped out......for a while at least.

The sea, the mountains, the desert......the relatively underpopulated parts of the world appeal to me. To my soul. To my spirit.

Let me remain in my own small patch (which is not so small really) and yet see the world in a grain of sand.

Let me be.

Walks

Some responses came from some old blogs. Many wanted know why I took my children on walks every afternoon. One particularly nosy creature went on to say it was 'archaic practice'. Honestly, I have no answer. I took them because I liked to walk with them, because the dog had to be taken for his afternoon walk, because I had to fetch the milk (a big can) on the same trip, because the children would have been shut in the house after lunch, because I wanted to unwind after College, because the help at home needed time-off from the children.......mostly because we all enjoyed it immensely. We loved to walk, dog and all.

The afternoon walk was always treasured. I came back from College. The children would have their milk. Toro (later Boss) would have his lunch. The children would clean up, wear their sneakers. The pram taken out. The younger one strapped in the pram. And we would go on our walk. Dog and pram and milk can and children.

Notwithstanding the weather we would walk. In summer they would wear sun- hats (4pm would be quite sunny), in winter they would wear warm clothes, in the rains they would wear raincoats.....but hardly was there a day when the afternoon walk was disrupted. When the pram could be done away with, I held their tiny hands and made them walk. Slowly, for the little one to catch up, but walk we did. In Golf Green, in Park Circus......till they were about seven or eight years old and could run and play on their own with the local children, we walked every afternoon. Toro or Boss continued to give me company on these afternoon walks after the children grew up.

The upshot of these walk ----

1. The children grew up with straight sturdy legs. Very unlike the skinny legs of their contemporary city children. Even today, their legs are straight and long and muscular.

2. Maybe because they were exposed to all types of weather, they hardly ever caught colds.

3. They learned to love walking. The walked when they were angry, they walked when they were happy. They walked on the beach....and phoned to say how beautiful the clouds were. They walked on the hills and found peace within. They walked on city asphalt roads (roads all over the world) and said...."Ma, you know, all roads and all walks lead Home."

Later.......much later, we walked in the hills, on treks, in small town high streets, in big-city by-lanes, in the green country side, in the wild forests, through golden wheatfields. We smelled the air, felt the breeze, took in the totality of the walk and shared with each other the otherwise individual walks. We all felt great.

Walks were and still are an integral part of our lives. So what if we are one less now.....on walks , the guy is around.

.....a tete-a tete with Vinayak

Vinayak : I love cats. I want a cat real bad.

Me : Really?

Vinayak : Please, when will I get a cat?

Me : Do you pray at night? Why don't you pray to God for a cat?

Vinayak : I do, I do. All I want is a cat in my life. A girl-cat. I love girl-cats.

Me I am really stumped with this confession !!!!!

Dear Vinayak, stay just the way you are.

To my children

This is from an old chemistry exercise book. Circa 2002. One rainy night I had recited this to my child. I am sure I had quoted wrong. I am equally sure my child had written wrong, too. However, I give it here straight from the chemistry copy. Apologies for not making corrections.


This song of mine will wind its music around you,my child,
Like the fond arms of love.
The song of mine will touch your forehead like a kiss of blessing.
When you are alone it will sit by your side and whisper in your ear,
When you are in a crowd it will fence you about with aloofness.
My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,
It will transport your heart to the world of the unknown.
It will be like the faithful star overhead
When dark night is over your road.
My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,
And will carry your sight into the heart of things.
And when my voice is silenced in death,
My song will speak in your living heart.


Somehow, life has a way of not going according to plan.........

Goodnight my angel, now it's time to sleep
And still so many things I want to say
Remember all the songs you sang for me
When we went sailing on an Emerald Bay
And like a boat out on the ocean I'm rocking you to sleep
The water's dark and deep inside this ancient heart
You'll always be a part of me



--

Five times five.

1985.

On her first birthday we had a huge party. I made for her a sailor suit dress. She got an yellow tricycle and she spun along on that the whole morning. She had cakes and balloons and the works. Amidst all this, I took her out for her afternoon walk in her new shoes. Red and white checked with whistles or some such things in it....which squeaked when she walked. I remember the photo-frame-vision..... walking in Golf Green, new shoes, white sailor-suit, her soft curls brushed back and a glorious smile !!!!

1986.

Second birthday was quieter. There was a Baby brother who took a lot of my time. I got her a white and blue skirt and blouse. Took her to Good Companions where she chose a rag doll - Tina MumMum. We went to Kwality's for an ice cream. Tutti-Frutti, which we shared. Then to College, where I left her in Ranjan's charge while I took a class. On the way back we stopped at Paragon to buy a Magic Painting book. Baby's Day Out.

1987.

Third Birthday. Very quiet. She was recovering from an appendectomy and the brother from a fractured leg. I took the day off. We had a quiet lunch of pea-bhattu and happy birthday maachh (read doi-maachh). This became the signature dish on all birthdays till they grew tired of it. She got a pair of plastic roller skates. And wonder of wonders, by the time her Dad came back from work, she could skate unaided around the small flat we had then.

1988.

Fourth Birthday. In the Park Circus house. A huge lunch. Cousins, grandparents, family, extended family and even more extended family. Her Dad got her the most marvellous bicycle that I have ever seen. It still is with us. She got a whole set of books. She got to chose her birthday dress....a blue and white striped dress. But we still stole time and had a quiet dinner.....just the two of us ........at a neighbouring Tibetan joint.

1989.

Fifth Birthday. A gala party. Family and cousins. School friends (Susmita, Noella, Bisma, Radhika.....a few more), the neighbourhood children. Three cakes......one chocolate, one strawberry, one homemade. English Yonex roller skates. She was obsessed with skating. Much to Toro's disgust who did not like the noise. I got her music cassettes and a book. We still went out for lunch. This time to Arunda's canteen (SXC) where Arunda declared he has fed and brought up three generations.....my Dad, me, my daughter. (What Arunda did not know then was that he was to continue serving lunch to both my children till he retired). End of the day, after a thorough scrub-bath, a warm and rosy bundle whispered a soft "Thank you, Mamma". I will never forget this photo frame either.

2009

Five times five now. We have come a long way. I sent her a red T shirt. Some books. No lunch materialised though.

Men

The front page news lately has been about skin stem cells. Accordingly to scientists further research would perfect the technique, and ultimately help the concept of test-tube babies. Very good. The downside however seems to imply that men will become redundant. Their contribution will no longer be required to perpetuate the human race.

This seems frightening. Why has the media brought up this issue of the future of the male of the species. Granted, that at some future date men will not/ may not be needed for procreation. Some lab assistant will do the needful through scientific methods. Surely, there would still be a sizable population who would still be "natural" and want some romance and love in their lives?Why do men have to be redundant (as per media reports). They can be good fun, too.

Some points to their defence. And none of them have anything to do with sex or procreation.

1. Nice to have them opening doors for us, picking up the tab at dinner etc.

2. They normally do a good job at repairing the music system, formatting the computer, spring cleaning the house and such things. Whether or not they are professionals at it.

3. Most men are such good listeners. And they are non-judgmental. In fact, they don't even bother to take in what you are saying. It actually works to your advantage. Think about it !

4. We have to blame somebody for all the ills of life. The male of the species fits the bill beautifully. From the non-democratic boss at the office to that horrible man you share your house with who drops cigarette ash all over. You can put all the blame on them. After all it is they who 'rule the world' . The old Queen Victoria was never born. Didn't you know?

5. Life would be so boring without the challenge men present. They do, don't they. In the home. In the work field. In the government. Everywhere. They are there for us to out-wit them.

6. Most of all we need men to enliven our world, build our lives with, to raise families together, to quarrel with or just simply to be with. They can give as so much more than babies. What is the media getting so agitated?

My best times has been spent with men. My friends.....many of the them are men. I treasure the men in my life.

Cheers !

This is being written under duress. I am almost being held at gun point and asked to write a corollary to the food blog I wrote some time back. Some friends now want a "booze blog" from me. The whole idea falls flat because I do not drink alcohol as a rule. Me having a drink is more of an abberation. Oh, I have no moral justifications for or against drinking. It is just that I have never enjoyed it. As long as I am not being asked to partake the liquor, and am not being forced in any way, I am fine with "boozing". Just let me be. That is the bottom line.



However since I have to post this blog on liquor, I have just realised that most of my encounters with liquor or alcohol has been very funny.


One of my earliest memories about liquor is making Bobby & Shoky , our neighbours at 26, Pataliputra Colony, Patna, down some whisky. We were barely 10 years old. I (as the hostess), supplied the Johnny Walker from Dad's cache. We locked ourselves in the guest room. Vikram and Shantum held Bobby and Shoky down on the floor. I remember Vikram kept a cricket bat handy...in anticipation. I poured the whisky down Shoky's throat. There was a huge fight. In the process we broke the damn crystal tumbler. Spilt a great deal of whisky. The room stank of whisky. Dad threatened "I'll talk to you tonight". Premo Uncle threatened to strap Vikram. We all got severely punished, and Bobby and Shoky got away scot-free......almost in glory !!!!

Not to be beaten, the very next weekend we tried the same thing on my sister. With beer this time. She in turn bit me. Real hard. I howled. Mum came in, so did Lila masi. So did our fathers. All hell was let lose. We called it a day !



A more pleasant memory would be drinking Campari in the rain in the Piazza San Marco. It was a wet cold evening and I was homesick. I frequently am. Venice has never been my favourite city, but that evening in Venice with two complete strangers...Olga and Pier.......stand out in my memory. We started with being strangers, shared some cheap Chianti. Decided to graduate to better stuff, since we could tolerate each others company. We drank the night away (me with half a glass of Campari) and remained friends forever. Somehow, I never have been able to drink Campari ever again. Not without Olga and Pier.



For a while we lived at Sheldon House. One very warm summer afternoon, while playing Monopoly (where Raju always cheated and robbed our currency) we decided to get Devika "drunk" . I don't rightly remember whose idea it was. Possibly Rajus. And mine. We powdered an aspirin tablet. Mixed it with Coca Cola (also a little bit of rum from Mr. Menon's stock) . Devika gulped it down. Then she started laughing. She laughed and she laughed and she laughed. So did we all....Viju, Raju, Anu and me. And of course Devika.The heady elixir was actually quite dangerous, and we were all drunk anyway.....on the spirit of the adventure. In hindsight it was a mighty risky joke we played. This remains my very best duping episode. And I was drunk on the laughter factor, anyway.



More recently in a ever-so-dull puja break at the AVS, Shantam and I went down to Khelmati on an expedition. We waded through mud and slush on a 20 minute downhill trek, and found a drenched woman selling "lau-paani"........local country liquor. I bought a dirty glass full for 10 bucks. Shantam turned up his nose.......I ventured a sip. It was fiery, lethal. Came straight out of a Chem. Lab. There was no way I was going to drink it. We threw it away, much to the sellers chagrin. She cursed us soundly and roundly. The funny part of the incident was that after we came home and got ourselves dry, and sat with hot Bournvita, Shantam started laughing. So did I. We laughed for no apparent reason till we finished our Bournvita. And more afterwards. Mind you, I took just one sip....Shantam none at all. Potent stuff lau-paani, what ????. Shantam and I always shared this secret lau-paani joke when the topic came around to alcohol.



I wonder if Rosy Pelican is still in the market. My first introduction to Rosy Pelican was very unfortunate indeed. We were in Sikkim, and since no other beer was available Sanjoy decided to try Rosy Pelican. Here it must be told that Sanjoy is the only man I know who gets severe hiccups on beer. He insisted on the Rosy Pelican. Half a glass, no more. And after a hard days trek, I had to keep awake the whole night, because Sanjoy went "Hic"..... "Hic" ....and yet more "Hic" all the night through. The guy obviously does not learn a lesson, because another Rosy Pelican, this time in Himachal Pradesh had the same devastating effect on Sanjoy. Next morning we could not come down to Kalka, and therefore missed the train. All because of Rosy Pelican and Sanjoy.



Someone commented on my blog on food, and said they did not like The Gun in London. To me, The Gun serves the best pub-food in London. Terrific ambience and the best English beer. It is an old pub, and serves (so to say) Ye Olde English Beer. A pint costs less than a pound. England is one place where I have always enjoyed my drink. England has a quiet and laid back attitude where you may or may not drink. The take is yours. There is a small pub in Exeter (The Three Crowns) where the beer is excellent and the bar-keeper cum owner, 'even more excellent' !!!!!. An Irishman by birth, and holds a British passport. Mallory is his name. Visit him sometime. Raise a pint to this amazing guy.

Another London pub I have always liked is The Coach and Horse ( I think that is the name). Near Lincoln Inn. One would expect the usual legal crowd and the legal jargon, but the beer is good nevertheless. The thing about English pubs is that it it not about just drinks. It is food, socialising, beer everything combined in a very quiet and dignified way.


The Sitwell pub and The Eagle (both on the Cam) are places where the brew is good. Very good.They permit you to take your drink out to the punt and it is a different worls altogether. Cambridge has been making their own brew for centuries. The distintive malty flavour and the slightly bitter taste sets apart the Cambridge brew. Greene King is the brewer. I love the Cambridge beer.



The search (read eternal search) for local or/and country liquor has landed me into trouble many a times. Notwithstanding such impediments, the search for Mohua liquor has been most successful. In the Netarhat Hills, in Ranchi, in Shantiniketan, in the Baghmundi Hills the local Santhal population brew their haaria (very bad) and mohua. Mohua is made from small yellow flowers of the same name. Slightly sweet, but very heady indeed. I have had mohua off and on for the last 35 years, and have always enjoyed it. Different parts of the Chotanagpur Hills make different brews.......each distinctive. May be the UB Group or Sula should pay attention.


Living in Calcutta, I cannot ignore taari and cholai. I do not know anything about them, except that I will not experiment with these.



The Indian market has recently come up with a lot of good wines. Sula is particularly good. Last year on my birthday Sajani brought down a few bottles and we had a good party with Adam and Kartik (it was also Kartik's birthday) While we are on the subject of Sula, I have to tell this story. Shantam carried back two bottles of Sula wine from Nasik (Sajani). One for Mrs. Joseph and the other for someone else. He spent the night at Bombay with Sangram. One bottle of wine was shared. He phoned late in the night to say he had a splitting head-ache. Next morning, when I called, he said it was the worst hangover he had ever had. He fairly and squarely blamed Sula and Sajani. !!!!!



France. Yes. I will write about France and wine. All my trips to Paris. All my walking trips to Nice and Bretagne and Lyons etc. All the wines I tasted there. Somehow, it may be too long a chapter. Let's put it this way. Evion water is more expensive. French wine, even the slightly sour cheaper wines are good. French cuisine is excellent. More so when washed down with a wine. Does not have to be champagne. A local white wine can be pretty good too.
Oh yes, the only time I have been thanked for a bottle of wine was about two years back, when someone sent me a text message. Person must have been drunk(not possible) or was just too moved (highly possible). Nevertheless, I was touched too. Not by Bacchus......the text message and the lines. I will always associate champagne ( M&C) with this text message. With this person.



Rum and Coke at The Cellar (Delhi) and Shandy at The Pink Elephant is greatly missed by many of us. Rum and Coke was the staple drink. Our financial resources were ever so limited. In Calcutta, The Olympia (The Oly Pub now) did a good smoked hilsa with the usual beer or whatever be the preferred booze. Dad used to get smoked hilsa back from Olympia. I used to go there sometimes with Kevin and my Anglo-Indian friends. Not too often. It weas too smoky. Shantam once brought back chicken cutlets in a Oly Pub box !!



When I was young, and also much later Saturday Club was the watering hole I frequented. Brian Conway did not like it one bit. (Maybe I was underage). C N Chatterjee frowned. Dad was always in the know. Backed me up all the time. Whether it was in the Lighthorse Bar or on the Verandah.......I had a whale of a time. Always a pint bottle shared. Nothing more. Dad's orders.

There is this story that does the rounds in our family. Sanat Chatterjee, my uncle, is thoroughly disliked by all of us. Ranjan Banerjee, my brother-in-law, is very well liked. Once Ranjan (from Canada) visited Sanat Chatterjee at his Delhi residence. The host, the miser that he is, declared "What will you have, Raanjaan? A single malt or some Nepalese whisky I have just got? Let's try the Nepalese whisky, shall we?" Ranjan, being the gentleman that he is, agreed. The next day he was very ill. And was pretty ill for the next few days. Wicked of Sanat Chatterjee to offer such a choice.
Talking of Nepalese whisky, I got quite ill on paan liqueur made in Sikkim. It tasted fine. A bit like zarda . Somehow, it did not agree with me. I liked a cherry brandy from Himachal, though. A bit sweet, but nice. And I do like Grand Marnier. Once again, please do not compare GM with the Sikkimese liqueur !!!! There is only one Sanat Chatterjee !!!



Sweden and Finland are obsessed with booze and boozing. It is almost a national past time. The amount of Vodka the Scandenavians can guzzle is amazing. However, as long as they leave me out of the binge, it's fine by me. I don't grudge them their Vodka or whatever alcohol be their choice.



To end it all. I do enjoy a single malt. Less than half a peg. May be once a year. Perhaps an even longer gap. JW Gold Label with Opu was enjoyable. Two sips. Opu finished the rest. A sip from Dads Vat 69 at age 15 is memorable. A Glenfiddich with one Scot in Paris (he had carried in his own bottle) was good. The guy ......a 70 year old Professor.....said he never drinks water. At all.


Long enough blog. I have left out many incidents. Univ days and all when the boys got royally drunk. The time when the ONGC guys and Sanjoy shared some Russian Vodka. Lots of stories.


One thing I should mention here is that I have never found civilised drinking in civilised society a problem. I am not uncomfortable in an English pub whether with orange juice or beer. Paris bistros are fine with me. I like and enjoy French wine. It is the "daaru-shaaru" and "party-sharty" culture of North India that irks me terribly. And I notice this to be a very common practice. Drink like 'tomorrow never comes'. Behave in a gross fashion. Very common in most parts of India. Any age group. Let us not blame the student population only.

Dignity if foresaken, calls for criticism.

Sect. 377

I have taken a long, long time to post this. In the interim period I have lectured on this subject, argued endlessly on the topic, have chaired a debate. However, nowhere did my true feelings on the issue come to the surface, as my views would also have been judged. Furthermore, there was, and still is some confusion in my mind regarding the issue. I post this blog without much conceptual clarity.......something I never lack.

I really have not been able to figure out what role religion play in the act of homosexuality. After all religion came much later and was superimposed on society. Laws regarding the issue were also man-made and kept the concept of common law in mind. As for the word "consensual", I do not think the law should intervene here.

Yet, at the end of the day, I am not not in favour same sex relationships. Most definitely and clearly NOT. It seems to me to be out of the realm of nature and natural laws. I do not think homosexuality is a norm. Of course, we do accept aberrations. The Sect. 377 being repealed may not have been such a good idea. Except the fact that homosexuality has been brought out in the open. Perhaps movements and laws with corrective measures could have been considered. If "adult consensual sex" be the key phrase, why not legalize and decriminalize prostitution? It would have been a greater legal victory.

Personal preferences could be maintained, but could Law have kept out of it ????

I am asking for trouble.........big time trouble.

I still do not support same-sex relationships.

Just....

" I am tired of tears and laughter
And men that laugh and weep "

Sometimes I wish I could go back to that beautiful solitude that once used to be mine. The solitude that keeps me free.

Catch the Water

When I was growing up, a phrase I often heard was 'catch the water'. Specially among my Anglo Indian friends in the Ripon Street / Elliot Road area of Calcutta. Also in the hills of Darjeeling. Both areas faced municipal-water supply shortage.

When bringing up the children (in Park Circus for a short period), Thomas, a local waiter had to 'catch the water'.......it was a very convinient excuse. We laughed about it !

This morning, when I called Sajani, she screamed over the phone..."Don't phone at this hour. I have to 'catch the water'."

Time does a full circle.

Language skill, anybody?

Random Thoughts

This is one mail I had sent out to some people. On 10th May 2009. The response to this ( flack and kudos) are still coming in. I decided to copy-paste it on my blog as a post.


Some random thoughts....about myself........to share with you all

1. I still love blue skies and white clouds.
2. I treasure my Calvin&Hobbes collection.
3. I am a confirmed insomniac.....my productivity next day remains high.
4. My family is my only god. Not too sure about the god concept though.
5. I haven't laid my hands on a "Ryan's Daughter" . Is anyone listening???
6. I may love Calcutta, but perhaps wont miss it when I should have to leave the city.
7. I trawl the net.....but find little thats shareworthy. Except jstore.
8. My music collection is priceless....so are all my books !!!!!
9. I still love ice cream and will always love ice cream.
10. I do live for others, though I would like to think differently.
11. I am learning to be very, very patient with people.
12. Also, I do not like people...except maybe half a dozen.
13. I miss Bhutu a lot.
14. My pets are weird. Skippy thinks she is my grandmother. Chico believes he is a dog , and my squirrel thinks he is a cat.
15. The younger generation is not too bad......pretty bland and insipid. Safe diet, since they are my bread and butter. What says you???
16. My blog died.....shall I revive it???
17. I still believe in Magic and Fairy Dust....do you?
18. The first rainfall of the season give me a high.
19. It's not that I am eccentric, its just that I have a differently abled mind.
20. I have not yet found a cell phone/handset which is entirely to my liking.
21. The house that I live in is collapsing...in big fragments. You folks might have to call the Fire Brigade one fine day to excavate me out of the ruin.
22. I have not abandoned the Ramakrishna Mission idea as yet.

Best.

Michael Jackson

Another star in the sky.
Another soul in the galaxy.


My memories go back to Billie Jean, We are the world, Heal the world, and Beat It ...........all with Shantam and Sajani. Always with them.

I missed Shantam yesterday. Almost with pain. I missed our Rachaal's and Shantam playing"Speechless" on the piano. For him, as also for me, it was a HUGE favourite. I missed Opu who brought "Speechless" to us. There was a time when Shantam and Opu played the song almost all the time. Midnight "Speechless".......rainy day "Speechless"....... getting Bossie to listen to "Speechless". Endless !!!!!

Speechless...........thats the way you make me feel........

RIP, Jacko.

Non Sense

There's a road in Bangalore. No name-road......goes towards Nagarbhavi. At one point the road rises sharply (to dip sharply again) and from the crest one gets a most panoramic view of the hills behind Nagarbhavi. It's breathtaking, the view.... and I always look forward to it. On the right of this no-name road there is a small lane......distinctive by a tall flag-staff in one corner. For Republic Day and Independence Day etc, I guess. Down that lane lives a young lady. Every time I pass the flagstaff I raise a silent salute to this girl. No reason. Just.

Then comes the breathtaking and the most refreshing view !!!!!

Then, there was this house in GK 2 in New Delhi. Pretty ordinary house. Double storied....2BHK etc, etc. My memories of this house is blurred now. What stand out is the small verandah/balcony with a large shady jamun tree almost screening the verandah. It was like a sanctuary almost....seemed like a tree house. Neelum and Asoke lived in this house in the early '80's. I don't know about them, but I remember this jamun-tree screened verandah.

The house by the graveyard has not much of a verandah. When a storm whistles around the house, and I feel I am on the deck of a ship, I wish we had a proper verandah.

Karan and I

Falling for a guy isn't the smartest thing to do. Especially when he is in a relationship with someone else. And even more specially when you yourself is already in a relationship with your own boyfriend.



That being the established flow of thought, Karan and I, quite conversely thought we were smart enough to swim against the current. The circumstances in which we were brought together were completely ingenuous and master-minded by the two of us.

Karan and I were arch enemies on the stage. The Slater's,The Chak Deb. The Muk-Mem.....we had vied for centre stage since School days (we Schooled in different States), and once we were at a lectern we were ruthless. The Muk-Mem adjudications made us sworn enemies for most of our College days. The good thing about us two debaters was that since we were trying to outwit each other all the time, other more mundane and mortal things which engage two 20 year olds left us cold. The relationship remained on an even keel.

But one December, Karan had been asked to script a play for the local frat College. Karan asked me to direct it, which I did.....with pleasure. Our individual roles extracted the best from each others talent.

As things turned out, the play was a raving success. And the entire cast and crew drank the night away. Karan and I did not rejoice in such inebriated spirit. In fact, I doubt if we rejoiced at all. I was terribly strung up after the hectic practise sessions, and Karan and I shared a glass of tea on the pavement on a white midnight. In the freezing cold. On a December night. Nothing else happened that night except we just toasted each others talents and returned back to the way things were before the play.

However, Karan and I were born strategists. We loved to mastermind. Manipulative techniques were second nature to us. All in fun. All in jest. Never to harm.

The play was not over. There had to be another act.

Both the people Karan and I were involved with had to go out of town. G went on a dance performance. She was an acclaimed Bharatnattyam dancer. My boyfriend S, had to leave town for a Seminar Lecture. His Univ sent him. It brought him credit points. Left to ourselves, once again the stage belonged to Karan and me. So, we decided to act like we were dating each other.

This was damn tricky, to say the least. Karan and G were the darling of the campus. I had unblemished love for S, my childhood sweetheart. But the show must go on and our crafty minds scripted the act.

Walking hand-in-hand on campus (in the late '70's) raised eyebrows heavenwards !!! This made the two of us laugh the happiest laugh, the loudest laugh, the most liberated laugh that we had laughed in a long time.

To celebrate what was turning out to be our second successful play, we went out for dinner. Just the small cast of the two of us. The walk back after dinner was a turning point. Karan and I, without exchanging a word between us, realised that things were turning. We started with no emotional attachment in mind. No physical attraction either. We were only masterminding a play to bring some relief to two very bored people . Yet, we had engineered something we could not handle. We did not wish to handle.

Karan and I conceded that the two of us had a lot more fun swimming with each other in the flirtatious undercurrents rather than the open sea.

So we decided to script and direct our final play. We were to behave like we were NOT interested in each other. Which was the truth anyway. The rest was all acting, remember?
This time too, we managed to enthrall the audience (read the College). We really did not have to act. But at each step, we kept the entertainment (for the audience) factor alive.

Another very successful play.

Karans girlfriend came back, so did my boyfriend. The interlude was over and there was no mention of us in the credits.

What brought about this piece of writing is that Karan's father passed away last week.
RIP, Uncle.
To Karan and G, condolences from S and me.

Random Encounters of the Food Kind

Sometimes its worth viewing places, not for the general tourist interest, but for the food/cuisine they provide. Add to that the company and associated memories......calls for a blog.
Be it street-eats or Cordon Bleu, both have brought fun and adventure to me. Most often it is the associated company....school days. univ days, fun days. Nevertheless the search for food (street food more often than gourmet food) has been my pastime.....not my favourite past time, but a long lasting one.
CALCUTTA
My city. Abounds in street food. Best phuchkas in the world. Bombay (paani puris) and Delhi
(gol gappas) dont stand a chance. Phuchkas are best at the Southern Avenue Lakes......Bilash is no longer, but the VPark guys do a good job. Always remember Sajani on these trips.
Kathi Rolls. A Calcutta speciality. Nizam's is the best. However, Nizam does a on and off business because of labour trouble. Their beef rolls used to be the best. (Buria, remember the violent pet kharap?) Dont know now, because have'nt been there for a while. Golden Spoon and Kusum on Park Street are both very good. Crisp parathas, not too oily.
Early morning Chinese Breakfast near Poddar Court/Chattawalla Gali. Heavenly dimsums, piping hot clear soup. Almost ethereal in that early morning mist. All over by 7am.
Chinese food is my all time favourite. NOT the road side chow-chorchori. Tangra is good. The Park even better. My place is Josephine's Eu Chew. Damn Good !!!!! Authentic Chinese.
While on the topic, Liang's Shoe Shop (Annie) on Chowrasta, Darjeeling, used to do good Chinese food on order.......does anybody know what became of it?????
Dacres Lane and Bentinck Street does everything from dal-chawal to Nawabi food and chaat to jalebis. Not my favourite, except the haleem at Asif Mia's near Statesman House. That too, early morning.
Add to this Kwality's (for Indian cuisine) Mocambo and One Step Up and The Hub(for Continental), Peter Cat for a 100buck worth Chelo Kabab (specially with Anirban Roy!!!!). Comics, off Southern Avenue is also my haunt. I have been there with Adarsh a few times, and have always enjoyed the food. Shantam and I had a bi-annual tryst at Jimmy's Kitchen. Not great food(Chinese) but it was priority on the MUST DO list at the end sem breaks. Lemon Chicken always a must. On a similar note Sajani and I would have a meal at a small Jimmy's something on Lindsay Street. With Sajani it has always been WonTon soup. Great food. Great fun.
Paramount sherbet off College Street....Dab Sherbet......brain thanda, lungs thanda.......I would come down with a cough after a Paramount expedetion. Notwithstanding the cough, a must for me. Always. College Street trips with Sajani and Shantam in the Summer Holidays are deeply etched memories. And Paramount always featured.
Ice cream at Kwality's. (with Sanjoy, with two year old Sajani, with Anu......and others) Breakfast with the SXC boys at Flury's at 8am. One would have to keep an eye open for Fr. Joris or Sr. Stella. One of them would always be on the prowl. I think they took turns. Oh, yes,.....the SXC boys were tardy in picking up the tabs !!! Skyroom dinners. Prawn Cocktail and Chicken Tetrazzini. Followed by Burning Alaska !!!! Mostly with Mum and Dad. In our times, the guys who could treat us to a Skyroom dinner (loaded guys) were not the type with whom I would enjoy a Skyroom dinner, and unfortunately the 'our type' guys were perpetually broke. The last night at Firpo's before it closed. Daddy took me there. Introduced me to Asif, the bartender......who gave me a beer (on the house). I was barely 14. I took Shantam to Great Eastern on its last day.....but that's another story. Calcutta with so much to offer could be neverending. Time to move.
DELHI
I have always had fond memories of Delhi. Specially where food is concerened. Top of the list is Karim's. No match anywhere in the world. The food, the ambience et al. Then the Paranthewali Gali. I do not think such an idea exists anywhere else in the world. Later into the night, the better. 11pm to 1 am is a good time. Kanhaiyalal Paranthewale with his signature dish of papad paranthas. Yummy. Khurchan paranthas and gobi paranthas are high on my list. I wonder if the carrot pickle still exists??? I haunted this place with Prakash and Indy. After Prakash passed away, Biju(his wife) and I went 'a visiting' the Gali in 2002. Good fun. Still the same food. Same ambience. Also in North Campus......Mama's Momos. WOW !!! (Somehow the momos in Calcutta are rather wishy-washy). Well past midnight, my friend and I arguing over Aristocrats vs Plebians on the steps of the Library. Raghu kaka providing the tea and buttery alu-parathas. Nothing has ever matched those alu parathas ! Next in Delhi.... Adil's at CP for cold coffee. Neelum and I have visited and revisited AND revisited the place for the last forty years. Wimpy's (also at CP) makes good hash browns. Nirula's at V Vihar for pizzas. I used to travel half way across Delhi to IIT for anda-paratha at Yusuf Sarai. I have never had such parathas ever. And next THE CELLAR....dark, crowded, God knows what you are drinking......never mind what you actually ordered. But, I'd go back there again and again, and yet again. Pity it closed down. It brought up a whole generation. Mostly on rum and Coke. Cant leave out bantas. I wish some one would bring me a few.
Todays' Delhi with shopping malls and food courts and CCDs and what not is too plastic. Well, the money too is plastic, the clientele cosmetic, and associations (read relationships) transient.
BANGALORE
Ahhh!! My Lalbagh days. My beautiful lazy Lalbagh days. Of stolen flowers, stolen ciggies and stolen much more. Add to that Amma's juice (we could usually afford only lime.....grape juice was an extravagance). The best nimbu-paani for me has always been Amma's nimbu-paani. For the long hours we spent at Lalbagh, three glasses of nimbu-paani per head was a must.
Koshy's did a good breakfast. Along with the local journos and the young lawyers, 30 bucks went pretty far in those days. Re-visted Koshy's recently.......good, but not great.
Thindi Beedi, off Khoa-Pio Gali near Vishweshwara Puram is fascinating. Specially in the late evening. Even today a smallish dosa can be had for Rs 15. An entirely local fare found here is gunta ponganalu....small crisply fried idli batter. Very good. The same ponganalu is made by Malti Amma outside ISEC, but not as good as the gali stuff. Hyderabad House opposite the Forum back gate makes good biriyani. I enjoy their fare. Specially with Kartik. Their helplings are huge. I am a small eater. Kartik is a good eater. It makes sense to go with Kartik. @ Kartik, on my next trip to B'lore, biryani for sure !!!
Being a foodie, I enjoy Olive Beach and Palm Fronds. However, lately I have been taking my law school partners there for dinner, and the company being not-too-great (to say the least), much of the charm has been lost. Next time, I think, I'll take them to Nandini's or the Andhra chain shops......I dont much care for the food there anyway. The deadly bores cannot make it worse!!!
The Olive Beach (off Richmond Road) is a really swanky place. Great food, great ambience. My fault I took the law school trio there.
Other places in Bangalore I like enjoy are Casa Picolo (with Adarsh), Casa del Sol, 3QC on Church Street and Rice Bowl(Adarsh again). Also a must is Sunny's (on Vittal Mallya Road) Excellent Italian-Continental food. And their wine is truly divine. Rather exclusive place. Not crowded. I tumbled upon it on a rainy afternoon, and fell in love with the place.
For the very best experience it is always and always Pecos. I love the live music. Loved it then, just as much.Though the student clientele can be a bit rowdy. Love Mojo's too. And the home made (no brand) icecream outside ISEC. Another standout is the Juice Centre and their lemon ginger soda.
MUMBAI
Not really my city. Raju took me around. A pastry shop at Bandra. The most wonderful reshmi tikka at Khau Gali (Mhd Ali Road). I remember we had to wait a while, and it was quite late, but it was well worth the wait. Raju also treated me to a Bhel and Raspberry syrup gola. Cant remember where, but not Chowpatty. While in Mumbai cant miss the Iranian food at Stadium Restaurant(near Churchgate) and top it off with ice cream K. Rustom's. A standard pattern I follow with S and the gang.
OTHER PLACES
London.......Ice cream.....Haagen Dazs. Fish and chips at C Gardens. The soup shop outside LSE (Strand Campus). There is a small tea shop off Tottenham Court Road. Heavenly Earl Grey tea with a wafer thin water cress sandwich. Another sandwich place, an all time favourite of mine is the shop near the post office at Billingsgate. Juicy bully beef sandwiches at 70p. Cant get it better. Odd, but the best machher jhol-bhaat I have ever had (in a shop) has been in London. At a small Bangladeshi joint called Deshi near India House. London has Wagamama's and of course The Gun, Clos Maggiore, Terra and the Balti joints. All good. Some very classy, too. London, like Calcutta can be a neverending story.
Then there is that inn/pub at Exeter, which makes the best Cream Buns in the world.I think it's called The Three Crowns.
Interlaken too has good cream buns. So has Vevey. Austria and Switzerland has confectionary that makes my mouth water. My favourite......Anna's in Zurich. Homemade stuff.

Paris. With Timmy. And good food....and empty pockets......equally empty stomachs!!!!! But really speaking, one can get good food at a very reasonable price anywhere in Paris. A late night dinner at a roadside bistro, followed by a walk in the rain, Gauloises on a bridge over the Seine, can transcend you to another world. Try it. Paris in summer (in the drizzle), in winter (in the chill), and some coffee.
Coffee, any type of bread, a soup at this little place called Frills on the Mon-Marte can be a little expensive, but this is my favourite joint in Paris. Dont ever try the Metro food stalls.
I also love Glennary's at Darjeeling for their cream rolls. Hotdogs and chocolate milk shake at Keventer's (also at Darjeeling). I love the Lopchu pedas of Darjeeling, and the Churpis.
I like Tenga Daal of Assam. Love it, in fact. Best if its home made. There is this rajma-chawal place on a roadside (near a jhora) on the Simla-Manali road. No other rajma-chawal ever tasted better. Though in all verity, I have to admit that the JNU rajma-chawal on Sundays is pretty decent. Cream buns and home made ice cream is yummy in a small shop on the Mall (near Balaji's) at Simla. Mint Street, in Chennai has The Novelty Tea House with mouthwatering pau-bhajis. Parkside's (Pune) too, has good vada-paus. The food in Chennai is altogether too fiery for me to experiment !!

I have omitted many flavours, many experiences. I could have written a whole chapter on Banaras and my foodie experience there. Calcutta has so much more to offer. So has Delhi. I have left Bangalore incomplete. Bangkok and Tokyo untouched.This blog has become far too long. Perhaps too boring to an outsider.


One thing though, in our family to Sajani, Shantam, Johan, Ananda, Adarsh, Anushree, Adi and to several others, my home made dal-bhaat-alu bhaaja has been the favourite coming-home comfort food. Through the last 7 years every sem end meant the house by the graveyard and the standard fare of dal-bhaat-alu bhaaja. No matter what time of the day or night.

A revelation

Last night someone who is quite close to me said......

a) I always belittle him.

b) I am always criticising him.

c) I am always making fun of him/having fun at his expense.

This was said with a great deal of vengeance, a fair amount of conviction and was the result of pent up anger. A very ugly combination.

However, I in all honesty and after some retrospection cannot agree to these accusations. Moreover I am deeply hurt and pained. I shall withdraw 50 steps and go back into my shell.

A tortoise is a happy animal !!!

PS. Oh yes, the final accusation : I indulge in petty gossiping ! I am mortally hurt.

Roller Coaster Ride

Somebody, the other day, enquired on my well being.. A perfectly innocent, innocuous question. Without much thought I answered " .....there is always a nadir, there is always a zenith, and the interim path is a roller coaster ride......" The poor guy was zapped. Not his fault. His mere "kemon achhen ?" did not call for this.

On reflection, my apologies to him for such a weird and confusing answer, but I think I meant every word of it. No apologies on this front. My thoughts were crystal clear. Too bad that the guy got confused !!!

For Buria........deja vu

This afternoon I was at Loreto for quite a while, and when I came out I realised that it was going to pour. Indeed, it just took a short 3 minutes, and the heavens opened up. As usual, no umbrella,instead there were these precious library books which could not afford to get wet. So, I took shelter in the awning of a shop along with another 10 equally unprepared and therefore very wet people. By then the water had started accumulating on Middleton Row. A chokra boy with a huge brightly striped golf umbrella came by, and I took this shared-shelter and waded to Camac Street. From the relative protection of the huge blue umbrella to a passing car (a Maruti Swift) who would drop me to a cab. Well, it didn't happen that way, because the Maruti Swift got stuck in a traffic jam on waterlogged Camac Street........right in front of Westside / Pantaloons. I hopped off the car, and into Westside. By this time I was quite, quite wet. Nevertheless, an hour spent at Westside dried me somewhat. By that time, the rain had stopped.....a cab...and then home.



This post has no relevance to anybody except Buria. Buria, it was deja vu. The nearest you can get to that phrase. Same timings, same street, same shops.......uncanny.



I never got to thank you for that wind-swept, rain drenched afternoon two (may be three) years back. Thank you. I had enjoyed it immensely that afternoon, and missed you very much this afternoon.

paani chori

There is this young lady I know. Lives in Gurgaon, Haryana. She is young, she is a professional.....or so she thinks. And what is most important is that she keeps a 17 hour work-day schedule. She lives alone in a rented flat, and given her working hours, she hardly ever is in. Moreover, if you know Gurgaon, certain basic facilities are lacking in this mega place.....power for one....water for another. As a result when this young lady comes back from work at the most ungodly hours.....a. there is no power....b. there is no water.
However, being the yuppie that she is, scruples do not count. Hence the favourite midnight occupation is paani chori.
Creep up to the terrace.......crawl along the guard-rail........jump over to the terrace next door.......of course always carry the tools-of-the-trade, buckets and a longish hose pipe. In a matter of seconds, the next door tanki has been opened.......hose pipe inserted......reverse the procedure and retreat back to your own terrace. Some amount of suction at the other end of the hose-pipe ensures a flow of water. Fill buckets, bottles and what-have-you. Yank back the hose-pipe. Paani chori complete. Midnight activity done. No one any the wiser......yet there is water for a midnight bath. Not bad at all.

In all my life, I have known choris of many kinds.....but this kind of paani chori seemed to me very novel . There has been international disputes over paani chori (Egypt, Bangladesh and others). I hope this remains a secret, if for no other reason, to celebrate the innovative method.

Cheers !!!!

इम्तेल्लेक्टुँल Marijuana

I do not do drugs. Never did. Have scant respect for people who do drugs. Incidentally, to me, marijuana (or pot or weed, or call-it-what-you-will) comes under the broad category of drugs.

However, there is something called intellectual marijuana. It gives an all time high. I wonder how many experience this. Totally non-addictive (not that marijuana is....) and hugely satisfying.

Actually, this blog comes as a direct response to my email, "random thoughts" . The mail brought in a lot of flack and a lot of kudos too. Why, the flack, I don't know, because surely I am entitled to an opinion, just as much others are. Besides, there was that disclaimer in the word "most". Today's youth apart from being bland, insipid and docile (for all the wrong reasons) do not read fine print.

Intellectual marijuana can be a good and satisfying read/book, music, an adda session over a cup of chai, a sheer blank-thought hour lying on the couch.....anything. Even a skype chat over the net rejuvenates the mind. A holiday in the hills, or a trip to Paris is even better. Does not require marijuana.

What one does require, however, are
a) a huge mental expanse.
b) strength of character.
c) a wild and fertile imagination.
d) some (read few) friends, who are actually friends.
e) an intellect (or mind) which you own, and is nobody elses property.
f) a non-insular, non parochial environment.
A cup of tea helps, so does a rainy afternoon. Sometimes a feeling of ennui.

Whatever be your vice.....partake of it. Drugs are a stupid second.