Of long absences and some soul-searching...

So, here it is...my first post in about a year and a half. Yes, that is a long gap indeed...and if I were to sit down and analyse what all has happened in these intervening days to make me stay away from writing - well, the answer would be, a lot, and also, not much at all!

 

For the big picture largely remains unchanged - I am still (largely) the same person (give or take a couple of pounds :P); I still work in the same law firm; I still  hang out with mostly the same set of friends; I still ask a thousand questions a minute; I still smile from the heart; I still get angry and then calm down in a jiffy, and I am still looking for something (or someone) to make my world go around :) 

 

Yet, the details have certainly changed - there are some strands of grey in what once used to be a thick mop of black hair - strands that, one hopes, symbolise wisdom; there are wrinkles marking experiences, heartbreaks, eureka moments et al. that I have lived through; and most importantly, there is the slow but relentless changing of the world around me, which colours my perception of things and people on a basic, day-to-day level. Foremost among them has been the failing health of the old folks, which has brought on the very unsettling realisation that somewhere along the way, quietly, and without me realising it, the tables have turned - they have gone from being my pillars of strength to the ones who need the support, while I, the baby of the family, now suddenly find myself to  be the pillar they lean on. 

 

In the midst of it all, is a question that has increasingly been clamouring for an answer, and which I have, rather determinedly, pushed to the farthest recesses of my mind, but can't, any longer....the question being, is that all that was supposed to be? What am I working towards? What is the point of all this travelling on the highway called life, if there is no destination to reach? Or is it the journey itself that matters?

 

When I read what I just wrote, it all seems very fanciful, all big words and self-important mumbo-jumbo. But this is something that has been mercilessly bothering me for at least the past year....where am I headed? What is the purpose of my life? What makes me happy? And most importantly, what makes me tick?

 

Someone whose wisdom I've come to value in the short time that I've known him, summed it up rather well when he said that all of us go through this at varying points in our lives, when somewhere the numbers don't stack up any more, and we're left with this feeling of emptiness... It is at this stage, he said, that we either make peace with life as we currently know it, or strive to break free and discover ourselves as people we never knew....

 

Maybe, it's time for me to discover the person I never knew myself to be...

But maybe I'll delve into that question after I have discovered what Deepika Padukone is like in her latest outing as a girl from Tamil Nadu, and what SRK is like when he plays his age...yes, I have a date with the Chennai Express in about an hour...do I see you there?

Being dignified in what we wear

So there I was, today morning, sitting on my bed with my morning cuppa and the day's newspaper, with all the time in the world to spare, given as I am nursing an injured foot, and can't walk much...ergo, no office for me today.

Working backwards from the cartoons page, as I am wont to do (yes, yes...I do that. Don't judge me now!), I finally reached the first page of the 'paper, only to have my blood boiling, for there on the front page was an article about the opinions of the women and child welfare minister of a certain state, who, the article stated "was not in favour of women wearing provocative clothing", i.e., donning "flimsy and fashionable" dresses. The article further quotes the minister saying that while he is not in favour of a dress code for women because of varied cultural and caste considerations (How kind, nyet? Wonder whether he would have insisted on one otherwise!) he did think women had to decide what kind of clothes make them feel safe. The irony being, that these remarks were prefaced by a statement to the effect that today's lifestyle makes it mandatory for women to work with men and live on equal terms with them.

This stand taken by a minister, which comes close on the heels of similar statements made by the director general of police of a neighbouring state, and the events of the past year, including the Slutwalk and the fracas over a similar slutwalk being organised in India, serve only to highlight the depressing truth that many people in positions of power, or even otherwise, appear to believe that the blame for rape or any act of sexual harassment can be placed squarely (and fairly) on the woman because of what she wore (or didn't wear, for that matter!)... the necessary conclusion being that the responsibility of preventing a crime and ensuring safety for women rests entirely on the women themselves, thereby clearly, and cleverly, passing the baton of responsibility about a duty that is otherwise to be shouldered by the law makers and the enforcement machinery.

So where does that leave us, the women in question? Clearly without the support of any policy maker or enforcement agency, for starters... so does the only hope, as the minister puts it succinctly and not so helpfully, lie in being "dignified" in what we wear? Who decides whether something is dignified...the minster in question apparently classified a salwar kameez as being dignified...but how does that tie in with reports of women being raped every few minutes in rural and semi-urban India, where surely, "western clothing" could not be a possible culprit?

What will it take, I wonder, for people to realise, that plummeting morals of the perpetrators of crime against women have less to do with plunging necklines and more with opportunity for commiting a crime? What will it take for the law makers and enforcers to realise that this opportunity is presented not by the presence of a skimpily-clad woman but the absence of a strong law enforcement mechanism that will bring offenders to the book?

In today's day and age, with all this talk about greater and equal opportunities for all, how is it that these equal opportunities cease to become available when it comes to seeking protection from law breakers? For a woman in this country is foremost a citizen, and a perprator of a sexual offence, foremost, a law breaker.. or is it that the rules are different based on our prejudices?

Ain't no Susanna

So the parents are looking for a groom for moi... having given me ample opportunity to find someone on my own, and having seen me not really do much about it, the good parents decided to take matters into their own hands, in order to be able to fulfill their last remaining 'responsibility' as parents...

And thus began the hunt...preceded of course by what my parents thought were discreet enquiries about my 'preferences' regarding the prospective husband...'you want someone tall?', 'obviously, he'll be Bengali', 'the horoscopes will need to be matched...let's speak to [...] (our family astrologer)', 'Of course, we'll try and ensure that you don't have to move, but, you know, just in case, do you have any preferences in terms of any other cities that you would be willing to move to?' etc. etc.

In due course, I found myself alongwith the parents and another elderly couple at the gates of one of the older clubs of Calcutta, waiting for a family, whose son and scion I was supposed to meet. Said family made its appearance some five minutes later and we all made our way in to the seating area overlooking a lake, which bore a curiously deserted look, which was explained by the sole forlorn-looking waiter as being a result of the fact that the club caterers were not coming in that day, it being a national holiday. The waiter however, did manage to rustle up some sandwiches to go with tea (we were, after all, ostensibly there for tea), and my parents, parents of the Said Boy ("SB" for ease of reference) and the other elderly couple, through whom the parents had come to be introduced to SB's parents, settled down on the chairs made available to us.

The predictable followed..polite, slightly awkward interaction between the two sets of parents, between the parent and the prospective daughter/ son-in-law and between SB and me. Satisfied with their interrogation, and the limited interation between SB and me, the parents, in their infinite wisdom, decided to finalise matters and seal the deal, so to speak...the wedding date was duly finalised and therafter followed a slightly formal, but parent approved, courtship period...

For good or for bad, SB and I discovered over the course of the next few months that we were really different people with nothing in common, and hence decided to close things out before they got any further....of course, this decision was accompanied by the usual unpleasantness, name-calling, blame game, et al...but to cut a long story short, the parents' first attempt at finding a husband for me came to a slightly abrupt and premature end...

Not to be dettered, the parents promptly got to work and within a couple of months, had lined up Another Prospective Groom ("APG"). Things got off to a fairly good start with APG - we were of nearly the same age..we spent hours chatting, going for plays, attending concerts...the works. Somewhere along the way, the parents visited me, met APG's parents, who seemed to be really sweet, chilled out people and, of course...broached the topic of marriage. APG's parents seemed fairly enthusiastic, promised to visit and actually did visit the old folks at our house back home, and things began moving towards a discussion about possible wedding dates.

In the midst of all this, however, APG and more disturbingly, his mother ("MIL", henceforth - no, not ma-in-law...Monster In the Lurk, gettit?) increasingly began talking in not so happy tones about my work, the work hours...suddenly there was a long list of what I had done wrong, how I didn't care, how I ALWAYS prioritised work over APG, and beat this...over MIL. MIL especially was very upset with me about how on exactly two occassions, I had shown up late by about half an hour, causing her poor puppy to have to wait at the bustling train station...oh the horror!!!

One fine day, MIL decided enough was enough and decided to sit me down for a chat...about how I was not the one for her precious lil diamond, and how she wasn't very happy about the match..of course, I was too dumbstruck at that time to even point out that the "match" was something that had been approved by the parents, who actually introduced APG and me. In a long winding lecture where she touched upon issues best not mentioned in polite company, she eventually declared that she would need to think about whether she could include me in her family or not. Needless to say, the precious lil diamond for whom this battle was waged was nowhere to be found, having chosen to hide under MIL's pallu (figuratively only, I hope...). And of course, I am yet to hear from her.

Am I heartbroken? Hell, no...but I'd be lying if I were to say that I have remained completely unaffected by two such emotional upheavals in the course of one year...the blame game, the whole feeling of having to sell myself short, the unpleasantness, the longing to have someone who actually thought about me as opposed to only themselves...they did take a toll. It would not be an exaggeration for me now to say that I don't have the strength or the courage to get into another relationship..."love", "arranged" or anything in between.

How did you manage, Susanna?*

*reference to the protagonist of "Susanna's Seven Husbands" by Ruskin Bond, recently popularised by the Bollywood movie, "7 Khoon Maaf"

Confused

..that's the story of my life right now...nothing profound to write...just a whole bunch of observations, assessments, questions, conclusions, the works...

somewhere in the middle of all this, am I...with some clarity, a whole lot of confusion and a pounding headache...

Going through a difficult phase now. Please be kind, dear reader (if there are any left, after the shameless manner in which I had deserted the blog) and keep me in your thoughts and prayers...will be mighty grateful!

Hopefully, this too shall pass, leaving behind blessed clarity! * fingers crossed*

Till then, toodles! Hoping y'all are doing better than I am...if not, you'll be in my prayers.

Warming the cockles of my heart…Punjab Sweet House, Bandra

It was one of those random Saturday evenings… I was at a loose end when some work at office, which I expected to take really long, got done at a decent enough hour for me to make plans for a dinner other than the TV dinner I was expecting, but was still late enough for me to have no company for said dinner, as my friends had all made their plans for the evening already.

Having resigned myself to the fate of a TV dinner, but not really looking forward to it, I got into a cab and asked the cab driver to take me to Bandra. As people who have known me for a while would know, Bandra is to me what manna is to a parched throat. Maybe that sounds like an exaggeration, but it is true that I find myself drawn towards the queen of the suburbs and its various sea facing promenades whenever I am happy, sad, angry, troubled, lonely, in need of a pick-me-up, or as was the case that day, at a loose end. The calm that I feel when sitting by the sea has few equals, except maybe eating food cooked by the mother…both experiences take me to a nice and happy place where all is well with the world.

But as usual, I digress…so there I was, sitting in a cab, waiting for inspiration to strike, when suddenly, it did. And yes, my idea was, once again, inspired by my favourite food blogger’s recent sojourn…I decided to go to Punjab Sweet House. I’d sampled a little of their legendary chaats once, when a friend, hungry from a long wait for me, had dashed in for some papdi chaat, and I’d made it there just in time to eat the last morsel.

The Punjab Sweet House at Pali Naka in Bandra, right opposite the lane leading to Toto’s was originally a sweet shop, which also catered to the chaat loving taste buds of the many Punjabi families in nearby Pali Hill. They have been known to made some of the most amazing dahi bhalle in town, and the experience of their papdi chaat, based on the one morsel I had sampled, is certainly one of the most divine this side of the Vindhyas.

Recently, the owners have, happily for us who have been brought up in north India and love the taste of good chhole (which, for the record, bear no resemblance to the concoction served in restaurants here, which is flavoured with curry leaves), forayed into the restaurant business as well, and the floor above the original sweet shop has been converted into a small, but comfortable restaurant. The restaurant, at first glance, is a strictly no-frills family restaurant, though some attempts have been made to beautify the interiors with paintings of rural settings in Punjab, depicting women in the pind (village, in Punjabi) engaged in various tasks of day to day life. There is also a half-boundary-ish wall running between the two sections of the restaurant, separating the tables for larger groups from the two and four-seater tables, which has been decorated with some form of greenery.

Frankly, though I had heard only good things about the food served at Punjab Sweet Hose, I hadn’t heard much by way of ambience and there was certainly little to comfort me, if first impressions were anything to go by. And while there is certainly something to be said about being footloose and fancyfree in a city like Mumbai, based on past experience, sometimes the same can also work rather to one’s disadvantage. So I walked in, expecting nothing really, and prepared to call the waiter to pack my food and walk out in the worst situation. However, I was in for a surprise, and a rather pleasant one, at that…my sincere apologies to anyone who takes offence at the negative stance I had as I entered, but in my opinion, it’s better than being thoroughly let down.

So I walked in, and settled myself in one of the two seater tables. While the waiters looked a little taken aback, they regained their composure quickly enough and were the image of proficiency and helpfulness as I placed my order…I suppose they aren’t really used to too many single girls walking in and eating in the restaurant. The restaurant wasn’t really full, much to my surprise, it being a Saturday evening, but that may have been because most people possibly chose to order in, rather than venture out to eat in a simple, old fashioned restaurant, promosing great food and nothing much else.

Initial survey done, I was ready to place my order. I was ravenous, so I went ahead and ordered for a plate of kulche chhole and a glass of lassi. Food came really quick and the first bite of the kulcha (which was stuffed with alu) took me back to the same happy place I am transported to by Ma’s cooking and all was well with the world again. The piping hot food and the chilled lassi wove its magic to lift my spirits and took away all the drudgery of the past week. It was a simple, heart warming meal, one I could almost imagine had been cooked by a loving mother and which had the same effect too. Though I was struggling to finish the second kulcha, I didn’t have the heart to waste it, and ended up stuffing myself way beoynd what I had planned.

That unfortunately, left no space for dessert, but I did end up packing some moong dal halwa to take home anyway and relishing it the next day, reliving my experience of that unexpected Saturday evening dinner in the company of me.

All in all, an unexpectedly lovely and heartwarming experience for the footloose and fancyfree diaries after all, I say!

Of farewells and new beginnings... Yellow Tree Cafe

So the Girl Gang met up on Sunday, with respective husbands and boyfriends in tow, to bid adieu to Dipanwita and Avijit, who are moving back to Kolkata. On D's request to try out a new place, we settled on Yellow Tree Cafe in Bandra, a deceptively tiny- looking restaurant en route to Pali Hill.

Well, to be honest, I had anyways fallen in love with the place after listening to glowing reviews from a host of friends. And then when my favourite food blogger wrote about the restaurant in a positively loving tone, and then again, AND again, that sealed the deal for me. And that is how, at the first given opportunity, after having gently cajoled D into trying out Yellow Tree, a motley group of twelve came to occupy a large part of the first floor seating area of the restaurant.

What struck me as soon as I entered the place and then wound my way up the stairs to the first floor was the completely distinct ambience on the two floors. While the ground floor had a cosy, cafe-like feel to it, the first floor, with its whitewashed walls, turquoise blue lanterns placed randomly around the place and colourful seating arrangements seemed a lot more restaurant-y, if there exists such a word, albeit a really laid back one at that. The multi coloured sofas running along the walls with colourful throw cushions placed haphazardly around the place immediately perked up my mood, and set the tone for one of the best Sundays I've had in recent times, a Sunday marked by lots of animated chatter, a leisurely and really good luch spread over four hours, fond memories of college and an announcement from R about her impending wedding!

The icing on the cake was when Vittal, R's fiance joined us as well; though he was almost immediately overwhelmed by the sheer volume of our conversation; which of course was compounded by the fact that the poor guy understood almost none of it, given as most of it was in Bangla. The conversation flowed almost non stop, fuelled by the trays of antipasti that kept making appearances, within remarkably short periods after orders being placed. I must say, I was very impressed by the service and efficiency of the place. Another heart warming observation was that the waiters here seemed to actually know the whole menu and provided useful inputs wherever required.

Food, when it was finally ordered about three hours after we entered the place, also lived up to the hype generated by all my friends so far, though, as a friend pointed out, all the dishes looked almost the same - covered in brown sauce, with plum sauce decorations on most of them - the only exception being in the case of a pesto - sauce based preparation (Thankfully, I would say!) The taste of each of the dishes ordered, of course, was another story altogether - suffice it to say that the till-then boisterously noisy table fell absolutely silent as all of us dug into our food with great gusto. And then when we did surface for air after non-stop glottony, it was largely because the portions were really large, and it required a fair amount of effort to be able to finish each portion. Unfortunately, we were all so stuffed by the end of the meal that all of us, rather unwillingly, had to pass dessert by. So, a return to the restaurant is guaranteed, if only to sample the desserts I have heard so much about.

When we finally staggered out of the restaurant, it was early evening, something we realised with some amount of shock once we looked at our respective watches - time sure had flown, and the best part was that the waiters at the restaurant had not mentioned this to us even once. This was such a welcome contrast from horror stories of places which shoo one out (politely of course) the moment one's time in a restaurant extends beyond an hour or an hour and a half at best. Brownie points to Yellow Tree Cafe on that one for sure!

All in all, this lunch and Yellow Tree Cafe will surely form part of fond memories for a while to come. Though the occassion for which we all met up in the first place did temper the mood of the afternoon a little, R's announcement did make up for it a fair bit.

I wish D and A did not have to go back - they'll be sorely missed. But as they say, it's a small world...and one never knows what tomorrow brings. In the meanwhile, here's wishing them love and luck!

Update on attempts at cooking and allied matters

In my last post, in a bid to eat healthy, I had resolved to cook for myself on a regular basis and avoid ordering in or eating out. Sadly, I must admit that I haven't been very succesful in my attempt, with the grand schedule going for a toss within two weeks. Ah yes, I did survive two weeks, so pat on my back anyways. :)

Not that I did not cook at all in the past month...in fact, in the past one month, I have whipped up some fairly fancy food that brought back lovely childhood memories - chicken mince cutlet just the way Ma makes it, the traditional Bengali pulao to go with doi machch (fish cooked in a curd based gravy) and chholar dal on one occassion, which was a farewell lunch for a friend; phulkopir dalna (traditional Bengali curry made with cauliflowers and green peas) and porota on another. I even tried making mishti doi on one occassion. It didn't turn out exactly the way I expected it to be, but it wasn't all that bad either, so maybe there's hope yet.

Mighty excited about my succesful attempts at cooking the traditional stuff, in addition to my regular of roti, sabzi, pastas and salads, I was recounting all my successful experiments of the culinary variety one of these days in a conversation with the Mother.

The Mother too, was suitably thrilled and made all the right noises of encouragement at the right times. And then she said, "Tui to puropuri expert hoye gechish - fancy khabar ranna korte parish, eka eka eto bochor dhore okhane achish, shob shamlachchish...shudhu ekta bor jutlei to hoy!" (You've become such an expert - you've learnt how to cook fancy stuff, you've been staying alone there for so many years, taking care of everything...now all you need is a husband!)

Err?