Faded...

In life we are so busy, that we often forget old friends, favourite people. Left behind, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. Sometimes the best of intensions are just not enough. After all intentions don't dial the phone. Maybe one day soon, but not just yet. We let time pass by, seasons go, years slip, distance yawns, bridges crumple, roads bifurcate.

The memories become hazy, sometimes we dust them, most often we don't. It's often easier to let it go, than saying hello. Ah the effort of making conversation, saying sorry, or not maybe. Old hurts harden the heart, build up walls. The need to share, the need to grow old together lessens. Till it is no longer. It's easier to go on, than take a pause. We assume the other person doesn't care, the other has moved on, forgotten. We assume, we assume. 

New friends, new acquaintances, new preoccupations. And then there is life, the permanent excuse. Busy, busy life. Or is it? Is life so busy when at the dead of the night you can't sleep and old thoughts flood your head. Or maybe they don't, you suppress them well. In the deepest corner where the shadows of doubt are not allowed to reach, tucked away, wrapped tightly in thick blankets, sunlight never touches them. Then one day they are pushed right out.  Out they topple, fall on the road, while you walk on. Unmindful. Or is it? 

Memories fade, past is forgotten, the present takes the centre stage. The present, the present. The loves, the laughs, the joys, the fears, the stress, the needs, the emptiness. 

Life goes on....

Go Green!

I know I have not blogged. At all. For many moons. I appologise. To all those who once used to visit this space. A trial at a comeback with something green. Only visuals this time. The words? Hopefully they will also come. When the time is right.

Father Saluted: He Raised His Daughter With Courage And Integrity

Soldier For Women.

He Stood Up For A Woman With Courage And Integrity

Blogadda is running a cool campaign. They are asking bloggers to blog about those men who stood up for women.

Time to salute and honour these men.

Yes the men. Yes they do support/stand up/fight for women. There are millions out there. Thankfully.

And for those who claim that women do not need any help or support, I would say that I am a proud woman who is not afraid to show her vulnerability. Of course I have needed/still need help/support now and then. The need was/is not gendered, but in my case it was provided by men, sometimes.

So the subject is pretty close to my heart. But it needs, as far as I am concerned, a little twist in the tail err the title.

Father Saluted.

He Raised His Daughter With Courage And Integrity.

If I have to talk about a man who stood up for me it has to be my father. 

My father. A midnight's child, born in August 1947. He grew up in the nascent republic of India. People were loving their hard earned freedom. They wanted to build a fresh, new country on the foundation of one of the oldest civilizations of this world. This new India needed educated professionals, my father fulfilled this need. His family needed his presence and support, my father was/is the dutiful son/brother/husband/father/father-in-law.

When I, his first child, his daughter was born, he welcomed me to this world eagerly. 

Was I born in a country where a girl child is unwanted? No, not in my case. I was cherished and nourished. I was lavished with love, I was spoiled, I was pampered and I was scolded and disciplined, when the occasion demanded.

Most importantly I was raised as a modern Indian, without any discrimination. I got the same opportunities as my brother, sometimes more so. My parents and my extended family were/are responsible for this. Yes it needs the effort of an entire society to create a just and loving environment for any child to grow up in. I never thought of it as my incredible luck. I always took it for granted.

I grew up with my head held high, I got the best of education. My father did not stop there. He would continuously push me to be more practical, to be able to take decisions, to form my independent opinions. What he did then, now is called Life Skills Training.

While writing this,  images of me and my father pottering about flood my mind. In school as part of arts & craft training, we were taught various things like collage making, mask making, paper pulp (ugggh it sure is a stinky process) and painting on earthen flower vases. I took to pottery painting like a duck to water. I just loved it and pretty soon I was painting on vases, ash trays, flower pots, little decorative pieces etc. Soon friends and family started buying these pieces from me. In this my father was my champion cheer leader, motivator and of course chief investor in my teenage business venture. He would 'loan' me money to buy the raw material, but when I went to repay him the money after selling off the pieces, he would ask me to keep the principal along with the profit!

Apart from these, my father had/has a weird kind of faith in me. He thinks I can fix almost anything or suggest a solution ranging from a broken leg of a chair to his sitting problem in his office. I am not sure what was/is the source of this faith, but I remember grumbling to my mother in my teenage that I am not Jill of all trades and my mother laughing about it. Now I am filled with humble pride. Yes humble pride, you need to experience this weirdly harmonious emotion to know it exists.

Those were the days before D.I.Y., specially in India where there was a surplus of cheap labour floating around, needing work. Yet I remember working with my father painting and varnishing the cane and wooden furniture in our house, fixing odd things in and around home. He is a great proponent of do-it-yourself. I also helped him change the odd light bulb, I remember him explaining to me why a tube light needs a choker.

While growing up he dragged me with him, sometimes it used to fill me with teenage angst, but mostly I enjoyed doing stuff with him. Apart from the hands-on work, I remember sitting in  car garages, while the mechanics worked on the car, visiting carpenter's workshop, mulling over how to reuse an old cumbersome almirah, pouring over paint samples, selecting material for the curtains (they were all tailor made)...the list is pretty endless.

My father gave me my first pocket money at the age of 12. It was Rs. 40 for a week and I was told that I had to manage my own money, keep it safe and spend it sensibly. I remember how proud I was and how jealous most of my classmates were.

The next year was also big year for me. It was the year when I was asked to go to school alone. School was 20 minutes walk from home and along the way I had to cross two majorly busy roads. I remember my mother being worried. But my father insisted that I should learn to navigate  the streets on my own.

Learning bank operations on my own, followed hard on heels, along with going to pay the odd electricity/telephone bills, filing a complaint... By the time I turned 14, I was not only responsible for going and returning from school on my own. I had to make a detour, go to the junior school, pick up my younger brother and bring him home too. Most of the kids my age had their mothers coming to pick them up and there I was, the big sister, being responsible for my younger brother.

I was never ever sent somewhere with my younger brother as my guardian/companion. A common occurrence in India. Or was when I was growing up. A practice which I find really humiliating. Every-time parents send a younger sibling, especially male out with the elder sibling, especially a female, the girl's confidence takes a beating. She is told she is not capable of being in-charge, but someone who is younger to her, but a male, is. He can look after her and bring her back home safe.

But I am diverting. Lets get back to my story.

Of course I was not totally happy with all the extra work and responsibility that was heaped on me. There were fights at home, arguments and screams. But when we both had cooled down, my father would explain to me that rights/privileges like being independent, having my own pocket money had some counter responsibilities/duties like going to the bank or bringing my brother home from school.

In hindsight I realize he was helping me become my own person and teaching me  to be independent and to take decisions.

This is just a small slice of my pre and early teens. To this day my father continues to be my rock, his faith in me is my strength. At the age of 28, I won a very prestigious scholarship to a foreign university. I was 28 and single, meanwhile a somondho/rishta came for me. My father did not even bother to consult me. He said "my daughter has own something which most people dream about. I will not stop her. I am sure she will get married at the right time, to the right person." He is the father I had the confidence  to call one fine day and declare that I have met a guy whom I want to marry. My father calmly replied back "I trust your judgement, if you have chosen someone, I am sure he is worthy of sharing your life". 

So is my father the soldier Blogadda's campaign is searching for?

Of course he is. He is one of two chief architects (the other being my mother) of my life. His ideas, principles, his beliefs he passed onto me. With his efforts he molded me to be who I am today. He could have taken the easy route and raised me traditionally. It could have been simple, certainly cheaper and much less trouble. But he did not.

He stood up and poured in all his time, energy and resources to bring me up to be an independent and modern Indian woman who knows who she is and is mighty proud of it.

I salute him.

Thank you Baba!

This post is a part of #Soldierforwomen in association with BlogAdda.com

Cherry Blossoms...

UK has loads of cherry trees which are now in blossom. Some photographs we clicked during one of our walks in our favourite parkland.

Hope you are enjoying the spring too!

Celebrating International Women's Day

Lets Celebrate International Women's Day By:
Being who we are,

Living a dignified life, free from the fear of persecution & violence,

Not having to bow down to anything or anyone,

Enjoying the freedom of expression and the right to practice/not practice religion,

Making decisions about our own lives and bodies,

Controlling our own properties and incomes,

Having the strength to walk out of abusive relationships,

Reaching for the stars and helping each other get there!

*****

P.S. Found the quote in the photograph in Facebook, could not trace the author, loved it and wanted to share it with you.

P.P.S. Had to draw a sari clad woman flying on a broomstick, I am no artist as my cartoon shows clearly. This is just for fun!

P.P.P.S. Most comrades (men) understand the need for this day to spread awareness on women's issues. We women salute you and welcome you in our struggle. We dearly need your support.

P.P.P.P.S. The leftover men out there, yes you should also have a men's day (why don't you get organised and start something?), yes we know there are some women out there who twist the laws to their own advantages. Your brother's friend's uncle's distant cousin's friend's friend has had a bad experience. We empathise. Now start counting how many women you know who have had horrible experiences. Give us a break, will ya? You men have been making, breaking,  twisting laws for centuries and then a couple of  progressive laws like the Domestic Violence Act in India and the divorce laws in the West come (and not even implemented properly) and you men cannot stop cribbing! And you say we women are cry babies....

P.P.P.P.P.S. Lets spread the word, share this far and wide please!

Postcards From Holiday...

Few days  in a charming sea side town, walking along the sandy beach, roaming  in the markets, meeting nice people, eating good food, soaking in a bit of culture and of course shopping! The weather was really mild which made walks and sitting on the beach a pleasure. The sun was also up and about, keeping us company :-)

Gazing at the sea is such a pleasure....I love to watch the waves come crashing on the sand and the way white foam covers the beach like a coffee overspill...

Since it was off season the beach was pretty empty...which suited us just fine...

 Who doesn't like a little me time on his/her own? I sure do :-)

Imagine working in such a cool office! People kept flocking over to this guy and was chatting with him...maybe they wanted to know if there were any vacancies? :-)

 Yes it is a toy train...yes in the middle of a busy town centre...yes it works, very much so...yes, yes adults get to ride on it as well...it starts from the beach and huffs and puffs its way up the cliffs to this quaint little town...all the kids we passed, stopped doing whatever they were doing (building sand castles, running around, playing, chasing after their dogs, pestering their parents, licking ice lollies) and waved like mad....we waved right back :-)

 Now for some couple time...

This little boy had a great time playing with the waves...his parents were sitting a little away...he occasionally looked back to check on them, reassured that they were still there, he played on....sea waves make great playmates...did you ever befriend them? 

A beach experience is never complete without an ice cream...be it a multicoloured lolly or a cone!

Leaving you with this quintessential roundabout photo without which no English pier is complete....how I loved these rides as a little girl.....

Loves, Old & New

*****

Dog eared copy of Agatha Christie's ''They Came To Baghdad'' with all sorts of odd paper scraps tucked between the pages...my grandfather's; the man from whom I inherited an unquenchable thirst for reading!

Old handbag, faded & shabby, dismally frayed at the edges, the one I never use, yet shy from throwing away...the worn-out smooth leather brings me peace...

Bunch of orange roses given with a shy smile and received with a glad heart....a magical moment trapped forever...yet it repeats itself with continuing reassurance :-)

Sharing food and laughter with one's own...eating with hands...licking the fingers dry...giggling over nothing and everything...stuffing oneself silly....lazing in the aftermath....

Cake slowly rising to life in the oven...the house smelling of oranges, vanilla, cinnamon...a cup of tea waiting impatiently to give it company...

Nourishing song...celebrates love, friendship, building bridges, holding hands...carries bits of India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, sung by people who create unique music-scapes...reverberates long after...

Simple home cooked meal on a lazy afternoon...a pass-me-down recipe...the known taste filling you with reassurance, comfort & contentment...the aromas bringing a host of memories flocking back...

Sound of church bells wafting in from the distance...filling the air with rich sounds....and promises....

Macaroons, a crazy French concoction, which is soft and melt in the mouth oh-so-sweetly...you just cannot stop at one...ever....and the colours....so pretty...

Pottering around the house... DIY art projects... lavishing some TLC.... the house laps up.... transforms itself into a home....warm and inviting...for us....

Cosy rooms, buffered from the cold and the winter chill...cuddling on the couch...sharing, loving, talking...

Rows and rows of silver ear-rings....much worn...yet not old...never out of favour...or fashion...a cherished collection...ever growing...

The garden...a tiny piece of heaven...the air feels fresher...the sky looks brighter....the soul lighter...days when the sun comes out....pure bliss...

Walk along the Thames....exploring London's many bridges...discovering lazy by-lanes...busy markets... starching beneath layers of history... a great city...many have explored before...many will after...yet one cannot help...but be filled with wonder...

*****

P.S. This is partially taken from my latest post in my other blog Kitchen Karma. Of course if you want to know about the food bit, you need to take a peek there.

P.P.S. We are going on a short holiday this weekend. Will catch up once I am back. Hopefully will be able to bring you stories from our trip :-)

Have A Relaxed Weekend...

Hello folks, how is your weekend going? Mine started with a breakfast, enjoyed in the serenity of our garden.

Have A Happy Val Day

Happy Val Day dear friends.

This lavender filled,

little felt heart

was given to me

last Christmas

by a little girl called Olivia :-)

Of Greetings, Blogger's Blocks and New Ventures....

Dear Readers,

New Year's Greetings! 

Am so relieved to have made it before the Valentine's Day....you see once I wished a friend in May....now that was bit of a stretch, even by my standards, but February, first week at that, is fine, is it not? Oh please say yes!

Now that I am finally here and writing, I must also apologize  for my dismal blogging performance (long gaps between posts) in the last six months. I hope you have missed me much. I sure did miss you lots.

Wish I could say that I went on an exciting expedition to meet the old woman in the moon or  spent six months playing with the penguins in the Galapagos Islands!

Sadly I only have some utterly mundane excuses to offer to you. 

You see it all started when I decided to go off to India. I got so excited at the prospect of going home after two years that I completely fell off the blog-wagon. There was also the usual last minute rushes and too much to do and too little time to do it in kind of problems.

Still I thought I will bring back from India many stories to tell you.

Alas soon after returning from India (with all the lovely stories as promised) the dreaded blogger's block hit me! I could not string together a few words, let alone a blog post,  to save my blog. 

I was brimming full of stories to share, but would they do me the courtesy of writing themselves down, oh no, not they. Unsatisfactory drafts started crowding my inbox. Words, my old friends,  failed me to take your heart away!

However with the new year, I decided to reclaim my writing and hoped that a brand new story may bring back the old glory.

A new blog, Kitchen Karma. 

In this blog I talk about FOOD, the food I love, foods which cheer me up, memories associated with certain foods, traditions around food, new cuisines I try, restaurants & cafes I eat in, people who motivate me to cook and much, much more. 

Of course apart from all that talking about all that copious amounts of food, I am actually going to do some cooking too. And I am going to share my kitchen adventures and experiments with you. The whole range from the regular home fare to exotic gourmet dishes and everything in between--baking, street, party, picnic, festival, soul, comfort....

Of course this blog, my pet, stays, unaltered.

I need your august company on both my blogs and eagerly await your comments, my unending source of good cheer and motivation. 

Yours,

Affectionately and sincerely,

Being back....

Ever since I got back from India, friends have been asking me 'how was your trip home?' I tell them it has been great, it was so nice to be back, be with my folks, meet friends and the whole family. After repeating the same answer a dozen times or so it started to sound a little lame to me. I was wondering if I asked myself the same question what would the answer be?

Hmmmm.....

After a gap of two years home was....

Lovely.... the smile on my parents' faces...their oh-so-familiar faces looked a little older, bit more weathered but the smiles were bright and luminescent...for that smile alone the trip was so worth it....

Two years and not a single thing had changed in my room...walking into my room felt like walking back in time...my bangle hanger stuffed with glass bangles which I have long overgrown, my little bedside self filled with presents from friends, some long lost, some still in touch...old college and university notes in my book shelf....I smile and tell Ma 'you should have cleared all this junk'. She says 'its your room, you do that'. Ah yes my room....I left home in 2002 since then lived in numerous houses but if there was a place which I call my own it would be this room....coming back to it was so gratifying...

Waking up in the morning to the smell of gorom cha (hot tea) and paar ar dokan er kochuri torkari ar jilipi (vegetable curry with fried Indian bread and a desert from a shop near our house). The best breakfast in the whole world as far as I am concerned. Oh I do love my share of pancakes and eggs benedict...but I did not grow up eating those, I grew up eating this breakfast on Sundays and other holidays. The breakfast was as awesome as ever....

Meeting my family...the nice ones, the happy ones, the bitchy ones, the gossips ones...the whole jing bang. I know people turn up their noses whenever the word 'family' crops up...my family is the same as everyone's...a little mad, a little kind, a little critical, a little supportive, a little genuine, a little fake....But do I enjoy being with them? Boy yes! I would not change them for anything...the nicer ones I absolutely treasure and the not-so-nicer ones, oh well if we cut them off  from our lives whom would be gossiping about? So the lot of them stay...big family get together at home means a lot of work but also means laughter, old stories retold a thousandth time, little groups talking about different things, everyone squeezing in small places for one big adda (chat)....my family was as entertaining as ever....

Meeting old friends is like a sepia photograph coming alive....you take up where you left off..... like you have never been apart....you may have become  older, fatter, bald-er, richer, poorer, successful, unsuccessful but to these people you can be just yourself, no need for pretence, no need for explanations, you laugh at silly things, you cry if you need to, go a little mad but still you know they will welcome you next time you visit....

And India...how can I not mention the confusion, the chaos, the muddle, the dirt, the craziness that is India? Being back felt good, really, really good, like I was sleeping for so long and suddenly I am awake.

So a trip back home was like replenishing the wine carafe with your best wine and hoping that it would last till the next trip home......

Celebrating Durga Pujo

Prelude: This post is about Durga Pujo which happens every year in autumn and the most important festival of the Bengalis. We believe that Ma Durga or Goddess Durga comes to visit her parents' home with her four children Lakhi (Goddess of Wealth), Saraswati (Goddess of Knowledge), Ganesh (elephant faced God of Wisdom) and Kartik (God of Good Looks). Ma Durga kills Mahishashur who is a demon and symbolises all things evil, thus bringing in peace and prosperity. The festival starts on the sixth day of the Hindu calender which is called sosthi, and goes on till doshomi which is the 10th day and in between are saptami the 7th day, ashtami the eight day and nabami the 9th day. On doshomi it is believed that Ma Durga and her children go back to Mount Kailash where her husband Lord Shiva waits for her. This is symbolised by dunking of idols in the Hoogly River. 


Bengalis kind of live for this festival, before the festival there is major shopping done and gifts mostly clothes (saris for women and dhooti punjabi for men) are exchanged. It is essential to wear new clothes and shoes on the days of Durga Pujo. The prayer and rituals are conducted by Bramhins and the general public offer prayers during anjali which happens each morning from soptomi to nobomi. Bengalis usually fast for this and soon after anjali they are given prosad which are fruits and sweet offerings given to Goddess and then distributed. Bhog is the rice offered to the Goddess and then distributed about the public generally during lunch. 


After doshomi people visit each other's houses to offer bijoya greetings and are generally offered home made sweets and savoury stuff.


Clubs in Kolkata go all out for this festival, each club tires to have the best pujo and this results in fabulous idols and decorations and lights. The city decks up for those 5 days and it is definitely worth a visit!

Facebook feed is filled with various Durga pujos happening all over Kolkata, some photos of Bombay, Delhi and Bangalore as well. Sitting in my London home on nabami, twiddling my thumbs and wondering what my parents in Kolkata and my brother in Bombay are up to. By now, I think to myself my parents must have come back home for a brief rest after lunch in one pujo bari, before they go out for the sondhya arati. My brother is supposed to be acting in a theatre in a pujo pandal tonight. Wonder if he got off early from office.

I do not call them, there is no point, right now they are all too busy. Let the pujo madness get over, bijoya is the time when we exchange greetings and reconnect. To catch up on the gossip, to know who came home to Kolkata this year, which or rather whose sari had impressed my mom the most, who wore the most flamboyant dhooti, which pujo won the most number of prizes etc etc.

If I close my eyes, I can eye Kolkata in my mind's eye. After the frenzy of ashtami night with the pujo reaching its zenith with sandhipujo when Ma Durga  kills mahishashur, nabami is always a slower day.

*By now people are mostly tired, *they have been out since panchami or sasthi checking out all the favourite clubs and the last few year's winners, *been stuck in long traffic jams, *driven around in circles for car parking, *the late nights, if not all nighters, *their new shoes have wrecked pretty thorough damage on their feet resulting in bad limps, *new clothes on all the previous days made their bodies uncomfortable, *the best and most often the most uncomfortable (read heavy kanjiveeram saris and gorod er dhootis) has been worn on asthami night,  *and oh the constant eating out-- the puchkas, jhal muris and bhel puris followed by the long queues for biriyanis and chaaps starts taking a toll by nabami.

So nabami, the third day of durga pujo, the ninth day if you translate from Bangla, starts slow. Then suddenly mid morning there is announcement on the para ar club er pujo or mike about anjali starting soon. Suddenly that announcement brings home the fact that you are late, no terribly late, today is the last chance for anjali, lets hurry. Anjali and prasad over, time to check out the winners of Asian Paints Pujo competition-- yes like always Maddox Square has got the best pujo ambience award, which is that obscure club which has got the best idol? 'You know luckily we checked it out on Sashti itself' one or two smug Bengali is sure to say to his/her friend, like they got a tip from Ma Durga herself that club would win in two days time.

It is like I am not there, but yet I am there. In my mind's eye I see it all. The rush for anjali, how the pujo mandops empty after the anjali, a few kids sitting on the chairs, shooting caps on their toy pistols, the smell of faint gunpowder in the air, a few people helping thakur mashi  getting ready for Ma er bhog, incense sticks giving off that sweet sticky smell, Hemanta's rabindrasangeet blaring out from the loud speakers. The restaurants start filling up, those who had fasted on asthami are ready to eat on nabami. Already  there is an air of despondency. Nabami heralds the end of the pujo, dashami is all about Ma going home. There is a heaviness in the hearts of the Bengalis, pujo is almost over for another year. So make the most of nabami evening. Soon after lunch, people will head back home for a brief rest, before decking up for the last evening of the festivities. The next day's evening is all about Ma ar jawa, so very different in tone and mood.

For this Bengali, pujo this year is in Camden Town Centre. Done the two essentials of pujo anjali and bhog, missed out on sondhye arati and pandal hopping. A small slice of Kolkata replicated in Camden Town Centre...old friends meet, grown up kids shock their parents' friends accompanied by 'oma koto boro hoye gechis' (how big you have grown, Bengalis are over keen of saying this). Yesterday we ate our bhog listening to three ladies chatting about how someone's in-laws are so liberal as to allow her to wear trousers (in traditional Bengali household wearing Western clothes was a strict no no till very, very recently, some still cling on). My husband made a snide remark about how much these ladies can talk. But I loved their conversation...it was a slice of home. It was just the kind of conversation I can hear my mother having with her friends or my aunts. It might sound petty to someone from outside, but having grown up in that society, I know what this means to its matrons. Teenage was the time when I revolted against these notions, now I smile fondly, ready to defend those ladies if needed!

Being away from Kolkata pujo for so many years has changed my definition of pujo. Pujo no longer means shopping till I drop, pandal hopping, long queues, traffic jams, rushing for anjali, hom er tika, bhog er luchi..............it means a time steeped in nostalgia, time for fond memories to resurface, a time to miss home so much that it becomes almost a physical pain. I may not be physically present, but my heart and soul definitely is. Pujo is when every Bengali goes home, at least in his/her heart!

Pre-birthday....

With my birthday knocking rather loudly just round the corner, thought I would jot down some bits and pieces of who I am this pre-birthday-y gloriously sunny Thursday afternoon. Why today of all days? Don't know, just in the mood to write I guess. Purpose: Nothing really. Okay found one---they will make me laugh in a couple of year's time.

So onto the bits and bobs...

I type with one hand while my other hand clutches a Cornetto cone which is threatening to melt and drip onto the keyboard. The fact that the laptop is perched rather precariously on my lap, while I am half hanging from the sofa while trying to nudge the cushions into a comfort giving position is not helping matters either. If there was ever a wobbly set up, this is the one! You may ask why do I have to type like this? Specially since I am using my husband's beloved laptop. Frankly balancing is a bit of harmless fun (since husband is not at home, he cannot get a heart attack from what he does not see)....and I do not worry about dripping the ice cream.....at the cost of my humility I have to say I am the very expert at not wasting even a bit of ice cream!

I read romance books every night and often during the day too. Reading romance makes me happy, relaxes me and brings a silly grin on my face.  Are these not good enough reasons? Do you need more? Mmmm okay....reading romance is infinitely better than reading about another hanging order, mother locking her children up, floods destroying entire villages, gruesome murders, politicians messing the world up, mother earth dangerously warming up etc etc etc....if you are still not convinced just open today's newspaper!

I HATE a dirty house, bedroom strewn with clothes, kitchen counter in a mess with dishes piled up, cushions on the floor, sofa filled with bits and pieces and no place to sit in the drawing room....but more than that I HATE cleaning this up.....in my home it is like a constant one-upmanship with the mess. This vexes me no end....even my dreams have changed, knight-in-shinning-armour has been replaced by an expert maid and a pristine house! I so feel middle aged....

I am so boringly normal that it is pitiful! I wish I were a witch, or a magician or a fortune teller or even a tarot card reader. But, no I am just a boring ol' me and sadly tea leaves look just like tea leaves to me. Wish I could be a gypsy or a sailor.....though I am sure after a while I would tire of moving around so much and would just want to be home! If I have one thing in spades that is paradoxes!

It is almost 3 months since I have given up chewing gums. Yes you read it right the first time round...no more chewing gums for me. Why? Leaving apart damaging the pearly whites, did you know one teeny tiny chewy gum takes 50 years to degenerate? That is longer that many people live on this earth. I cannot leave behind an earth full of chewed gums when I depart hence the decision. And best bit is I do not even miss it. If only I could leave carbonated drinks this easily and firmly....*sigh*....

Glorious, fantastic ideas (THE IDEA) crowd my head always at the wrong moment, mostly when I am drifting off to sleep or miles away from my laptop and then when I need to remember them, they obstinately refuse to come back! Which is frustrating because I am convinced that with the right ideas I can change the world, or at least have a go at the laborious chore....

I have something of a world kitchen happening at home. My husband is never sure what dish is going to hit him for dinner--last one month I have cooked up Filipino, Korean, Mexican, British, Italian, Chinese, American and of course Indian cuisine. Not all have been glorious success. My attempts at sun dried tomatoes resulted in sad charring of two kgs of juicy ripe tomatoes. RIP tomatoes. I shall always remember you.....

I am in art &craft mood recently and painting lots of stuff with Indian kitsch and how I love all the glorious colours :-)

I am going home for a visit soon and it is still a few weeks away and am trying to control my excitement and act cool. Lets see how long I can do this cool act. Just the thought of home makes me smile crazily. Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy....

I am disappointed that summer has come to an end yet thrilled at autumn.....autumn means durga pujo, dhak er awaj, kash fool, notun jama, narkol naru, bhog, dhup dhuno, lokkhi pujo, bhaiphota, khawa dawa, hasha hashi, golpo adda..... autumn means festivals, meeting friends and family, smiles, laughter, cuddles and joy, cosy jumpers,  old trunks, oranges, long walks, falling leaves, childhood memories, nostalgia, coming of winter and of Christmas......

I have a to-do list as long as both my arms (mmmmm not long enough, throw in the feet too) and here I am day dreaming and wishing away!

[Dialogue with the self: Please lets not talk about shrinking duties and other baddies, two years later I will definitely not be wanting to read about this! I want good stuff, so that I can smile fondly at myself and think 'oh I was such a sweet young thing back then'. Seriously Suchismita sometimes you are such a spoil sport! Okay, okay sorry, you carry on, just later don't tell me......NO, no I won't tell you anything, shut up and let me luxuriate in happy thoughts!]

Birthday wishes....

I want a total make-over this birthday. I want new hair (curly permed type), new body (size eight), new height (5.6, no 5.8), new eyes (green or violet), new nose (any nose would be better than what I have) new clothes (gypsy skirts with tinkering bells), new shoes (red, dangerously long heeled boots but which will be miraculously soft and a joy to walk even run in, but hold on if I 5.8 then would I be needing heels?)....I want to retain my skin, my ear rings and my hair colour.

I want a bank full of money at my disposal, to spend as I wish, to shop till I drop, to buy anything I want, to be my own queen (you get the point right? No, no, not you.  Money Goddess Lakshmi ji please hear my pleas).

Of course world peace, withering away of class and caste and all things bad....

I also
want........................................................,................................................even....................................................................also..............................and............................oh yes and also.......................................and of course...............last but not the least..........................!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am not daft enough to wish all my wishes openly....some wishes should be kept a secret.....pssssssttttttttt.......

Train, train hurry up....

Have you ever been on those trains? Those slow moving ones which start at okay speed, but something happens pretty early in the journey and they  gradually loose all speed, let numerous other trains to overtake them and  seem happy to move at a snail's pace, if at all. They seem to forget that some unlucky passengers are travelling in them, and have absolutely no urge to speed up and reach the final destination. They stop at each and every obscure and sleepy station and also at times in the middle of nowhere. Once the train comes to a screeching halt, you look out expecting to see a busy platform and people hurrying about, instead you see a deserted platform, the shutters down on the stalls, no sign of any waiting passenger or any porter. You can see the gate of the tiny one platform station and outside looks equally dismal. You wonder where this place is and if anyone stays here at all. But more importantly why did this train stop here? No one alighted here and there is no sign of anyone wanting to board the train. It is as if the train is waiting for the passengers to make up their minds, to journey or not to journey. As if the train is saying, 'do not worry I have infinite time, you make up your mind, I will wait for you here'.

 The train whose journey never seems to be coming to an end, neither it seems like the train wants to finish the journey. Sitting inside your blood pressure steadily rises at the inane behaviour of the train...at times you feel like throttling the driver, shake him/her hard, something, anything to make him/her to speed up. The worst part is not having any control over the situation. I know wise people would say not to freak out when you cannot control external circumstances. But easier said than done.  I agree some of the passengers seem least bothered and are happily taking a nap or reading a book. Unfortunately I am not one of them, I cannot relax while the train refuses to behave like a proper modern day train living in a busy world, carrying people who are keen to reach their destinations as quickly as possible.

Sometimes I wonder why these trains behave the way they do? It is that the driver suddenly looses all interest in driving the train? Maybe s/he had a fight with their partner or got a scolding from their boss or generally not feeling up to it. Maybe that day they want to visit every obscure station on the route so that these stations do not feel left out by their busy cousins. Who knows? The possibilities are endless and fodder for idle brains such a mine!

Cartoon train image is taken from here and the rail tracks image is taken from here.

Knitting? Who me? Couldn't be...

Lately I have been going through a lot of inspiring knitting and stitching blogs. Regular, everyday people like you and me are doing such incredible work! Imagine knitting yourself a long scarf which protects your throat from the chilly wind and goes all the way down to kiss your feet or piecing together a patchwork quilt for your bed or stitching a cheerful bunting to add a splash of colour to your window! How I wish I could do all or even either one of these. *Sigh*

There are usually two kinds of emotions which surface while I ogle at the designs and the handiwork. Deep respect for the artists who knit/stitch these dreams and a wee bit, (no, feeling self-righteous I shall not lie) even deeper envy. There I said it, I am envious of all those people who can knit and stitch and create such fabulous things. As you may have guessed by now, I cannot stitch even a button properly without drawing blood from my finger and knitting, lets not even go there. I just do not get it how the knitters poke the two needles into each other with a bit of wool and out comes a gorgeous scarf! Yes it seems way too much like rocket science to me!

As if not having any of those skills was not bad enough, I feel like I am letting down my genes by being so talentless. Okay let me start from the beginning and tell you the whole story. My grandmother is an expert at stitching clothes. I have grown up wearing her lovely creations. And she was just not any clothe maker, during my teen-ages, if I wanted to wear a particular design worn by an actress in a particular movie, she would watch that movie and soon that dress would come to me, all lovely and ready for me to wear and show off.  Her talents did not stop here, among other things she is good at complicated embroidery, crochet, knitting. You name it and she can do it and do it so very well. She is the sort who do not need patterns, she can look at a design once and knows what the pattern is.

My mother did not inherit the whole range from her but she is an amazing knitter and also does crochet stuff. Between my grandmother and mother, we never had to buy any sweaters or caps or scarves. Once the summer heat ebbed a little, my mother always had knitting bag with her, whenever she had a little leisure, the needles would come out and she would be clicking away while chatting with us, drinking tea, watching television or even talking over the phone.She got my aunt who lives in Japan to get her crotch books from there. She never could read the instructions in Japanese but just looking at the photographs she could decipher what was going on and hey and presto we had lovely pieces of crochet all over the house. When I looked at the books all I saw were designs similar to spider webs. I just loved looking at the glossy after products and the way they did the photo shoots.

 Talent is not sparse in my family-- almost all my aunts are good at all these stuff. There are so many lovely Indian stitches like kantha, Gujrati and some of my aunts got trained at the Viswa Bharati University at Shantiniketan to take the tradition forward. One of my favourite cousin sister has also started doing this work. My favourite aunt creates little pieces of handicrafts with scraps of clothes, bits of lace, odd buttons or broken pieces of ear rings. When I was young she used to make me little coin pouches, pencil bags, dresses for dolls, hair clips and many more such lovely stuff.

While growing up I loved being at the receiving end, and sadly I took all this creativity for granted. Our school being a coeducation there was no stress on knitting, there were a couple of easy assignments, but mostly we were left alone to manage traffic and fix electricity circuits with the boys. Which was a huge relief to me, as I realised early on in life I do not have the patience or aptitude to knit or stitch. I just do not. In fact I used to scoff at girls studying in girls only schools who were taught knitting and stitching. To the feminist me, girls being taught knitting and stitching was as stereotype as you could get.

This idea carried me through my life easily. In my mind there was a very clear distinction--traditional women sit at home and stitch/.knit, while dynamic young women like me went out into the world.

Now that I have grown up a little, hopefully have become a bit more mature and most importantly have loads of time on my hands my thoughts are no longer so tightly boxed.  Now when I see lovely handmade stuff, I wish that I could do these. I regret not learning the skills from my grandma and ma when I had the time and opportunity.I realise that because of my ideas, it is me who lost out on learning great skills. Had I learnt how to knit or stitch I would have not become less feminist but maybe a more creative person. More importantly I shudder to think what will happen if I ever have a daughter. It seems in our family there is a steady decline in the talent quota with each passing generation. Maybe we are slowly going back to where we came from. Now that is not a pretty thought!

All you fabulous knitters/stitchers carry on with your creativity and  I promise to admire you and your creations from afar. If you ever have a bit of a spare time and some wool or a piece of cloth lying around, please do hesitate to make me something. I maybe rubbish at knitting/stitching but I am very good at thanking kind people and taking care of the handmade stuff! So long....!

Girl knitting image is taken from here, stitching machine image from here and the basket of wool image is taken from here.

Earth laughs in flowers*...

Look what I found growing in abundance in our back garden! It is what in Bangla we call togor phool. Google calls it the Crepe Jasmine. I love this flower and the mild sweet smell it gives out.


Since this flower grows in abundance where ever it gets a little space, even a city child like me was familiar with it. In my mamarbari (maternal grandparents house) there was a togor gaach/ tree which grew in one part of their uthan/back yard. How I loved the tree and to pick these flowers, since they were within my easy reach and playing with them on lazy summer afternoons when everyone else was taking a siesta. 


Holding a handful of the flowers in our London garden, I smell them and  it takes me right back to my childhood days. My grandmother used this flower to decorate her prayer room. She, my grandmother has moved several houses since then, but that quaint prayer room with its shutters drawn to keep out the scorching sun rays, decorated with flowers and alpona (motifs drawn with rice powder), smelling of flowers and incense floats in my mind's eye. It is as if my mind has opened an old album and memories, old yet vivid in their intensity, tumble out. It feels just like yesterday and not two decades ago that I was a kid who played in that room. The smell, the sound of laughter, indulgent smiles on my grandparents' faces, small feet pattering on the cement floor all come rushing back. I feel cocooned in love and warmth.


A train whooshes by in a gust of wind, rattling the fences, a small bird flies away in fright and my reverie is broken. Memories of childhood fade borne away by the hurrying train and I am left standing in the garden in bright sunlight. The memories linger, leaving a smile on my face.


The tree in our back garden does not belong to us. It is actually our neighbour's tree, but it has made our garden its own by climbing over the fence. Finding the flowers in bloom in our back garden is actually like finding a fragment of my childhood back :-) 


Ever since my brother and cousin sister went back to India, I have been in the grip of a strange lethargy. I function normally, but my heart is not in it. I started at least three blog posts, but finished none. Stumbling upon these flowers made me sit up and smile!

* A quote from "Hamatreya",  Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Garden Cafe, Tottenham...

We keep passing this cafe on our way to the Seven Sisters Tube Station. Kept seeing parts of the book shelves from the bus, so one day decided to check this place out. It is a lovely cafe, right next to the bus stop on the main road. They have both garden and inside seating. Since the couple of days we went there, it was pretty cold, we generally have sat inside. But must check it out their lovely garden, now that the sun is out and shinning (oh well at times!).

The best thing about this cafe is its ambiance. They have a wall full of books and also space for musicians to play. The space is pretty big and you can spread out and not feel cramped. I would happily go back there any day just for the space. It feels more like sitting someone's home, than eating in a cafe. This is an ideal space to go with a big group of friends just to chill out.

The menu has a mix of all day breakfast and Turkish fare. The food is wee bit over priced compared to other Turkish joints in and around North London.

For starters, we had our staple--humus, olives and Turkish bread. I love this bread, it is so soft and fluffy and we can literally finish a whole basket of bread just with humus. The humus was fresh and tasty, much less dripping in olive oil than other places, but no less flavourful.

For the main I ordered grilled chicken breast which came with rice, salad, grilled veggies and mint sauce. The chicken was good, succulent and juicy, the rice much less greasy than I am used to and the salad lovely but the grilled pepper stole the show.  It was perfect, crunchy yet well done. The tomato went to my husband, who said the tomato was as good.

Of course my husband cannot go to a Turkish place and not order lamb. Forgetting the name, basically it was chunky pieces of lamb meat served with mashed potato and veggies like mushroom and pepper.

Loved the mint. In most of the Turkish restaurants they serve something on the house at the end...we have had Turkish tea, small piece of Baklava and here they serve mint mouth fresheners. If you are wondering around Tottenham, this is a good place to visit.

Tea With Friends...

Went to this place in Covent Garden, was so busy chatting, did not notice the name of this place. We had coffee and awesome desserts!

Waffle with maple syrup and fresh fruits

Dark chocolate tart

Strawberry tart with clotted cream

Shri Rathiga....

My husband tells me that Rathiga is Radha's Tamilian version. Do not know if Rathiga/Radha was a good cook, but this quaint restaurant, just off the Ilford town centre is super awesome and delivers good food every time we go there.

We found this by chance, we had gone to the Cineworld in Ilford to see 'No One Killed Jessica' and got hungry. Most of the places looked unappetizing, walked along the High Road, directed by my husband's android phone to this place called Shri Rathiga, where the web announced authentic South India cuisine is served. By the time we landed there, they had closed for lunch. But a nice waiter kindly let us in and said he could serve us just doass and idlis. We were famished and I was in a dosa craving phase, so we settled down. The food that came swept us off our feet and cost us less than a tenner!(They had a lunch special going on at that time) Ever since we have become regulars, never mind the almost one hour bus journey. We happily settle ourselves on the upper deck of the London double decker buses in anticipation of good food and pass the hour gazing out of the window (which I hog by my birth right) and chatting (spending quality husband and wife time).

A few weeks back during our lunch there, I ordered Chicken 65 which is absolutely yummy and  is quickly becoming my staple starter there. It is chicken marinated in spices and deep fried. It has a kick but not too hot and super delicious. I can easily polish off two/three such plates! My husband ordered Guntur Kodi Vepudu-- boneless chicken fried in a special Andhra sauce and served dry. Man this had a super kick. When you put the first fork full into your mouth, it gives you such a kick, that kind of wakes you from a deep slumber and makes you come alive. Once your taste buds have gotten over the heat shock, you become aware of the rest of the spices. This being several notches over my usual heat standard, I told my husband that he could finish it himself. But I just could not stay away from it.

This time we ordered meat dosas-- I ordered mutton dosa and my husband chicken dosa. A sneak peak into mine. The meat was soft and succulent and was not too hot, but super flavorful. But truth to be told I prefer my dosa vegetarian. I was missing the aloo ka sabji. I think in future I will stick to their ghee roasted paper masala dosa. Apart from the masal inside, the dosas are light and crispy, just like they should be.

Ah the chutneys. No review of Shri Rathiga can be complete without the chutneys they serve. The first time when we went there, they put this tri colour chutney pot right in front of our nose and went away to prepare the dosa. Like I mentioned I was famished and the chutneys were so yummy that I almost finished them before the dosas made an appearance! My husband kept teasing me that they will not let us eat here next time cos we finish off all their chutneys. The four times we have eaten there, the chutneys are always fresh and oh so tasty.

And their sambar-- my husband having lived in the South for over 5 years and having eaten in  numerous friends' homes, is very sambar specific. In London's most popular South India chain restaurant he hated the sambar, calling it watered down and some other choice words. But here he loves it, he claims they make it Tamilian style, a little sweet or something. Every time we eat there, I get a lecture on how the different Southern states make sambar in different styles, but now when I need to write about it, do not remember a word of it! Shows where my attention was during those lectures. Me, am not a sambar aficionado, but I do like the taste of a good sambar. 

I think this restaurant can safely be called London's best South Indian food joint and we love going back there. We hope their chef does not run away till the time we are in London!