Immortal, Perhaps

I enjoyed the different interpretations of my previous poem, so I felt the urge to write another one in a similar vein, the only difference being that this has been done consciously, and hence rather poorly.

So, let me know what you think this poem is trying to convey! :)

In Passing

Read my new poem here

A Memorable Concert

The curtains went up sharp at 6pm. Bowing before us with folded hands was an artiste par excellence – Nityashree Mahadevan. Granddaughter of the legendary D.K. Pattamal on one side and the late Palghat Mani Iyer on the other, with DK Jayaraman as her grand uncle, Nityashree’s musical credentials are, without doubt, impeccable.



But it was the banner behind her that made me catch my breath, and my eyes suddenly brimmed with unexpected tears.

The banner read "Programme Sponsored By Sri RR in memory of Smt R". Memories of R surfaced unbidden – the way she smiled, the way she pulled at her dress while talking, the way she tugged at colleagues’ ties, and stamped on their shoes…

R was my colleague – we both joined the company in the same batch. She was fun-loving, very pretty, and was a deadly combination of innocence and seductiveness. I always envied her candour and complete lack of inhibition. She bantered with both managers and colleagues in the same carefree way. In one session, all of us sat around exchanging notes on how the lucky ones had met the love of their lives. Hers was straight out a movie – a ragging session in college followed by some serious wooing by a stricken senior. They were going to be married soon. In fact, we all attended their marriage. We lost touch after my marriage, since we moved away almost immediately.

So, I experienced the deepest sense of shock when I received an email (almost 9 years ago) saying that R had passed away. On a picnic. In quicksand. Ironically, we had read about the accident online in Deccan Herald, but had never imagined that it was someone we knew. DH and I simply could not believe it – she had been so young and happily married, with a little son. Fate could not be so cruel. We kept reminiscing about our past moments with her, and suddenly life seemed so unpredictable. Every time I thought of her, and her last moments, I would feel a rush of emotion and a kind of helplessness.

I later learnt from a friend that RR, her husband, had been totally devastated. I cannot even imagine what it must have been like for him during that phase. He has since moved on in life (bless him), but every year, he organizes a cultural event, mostly Carnatic music, around the time of her birthday, to honour her memory. This year, I finally managed to make it.

The music was simply divine. I was transported to another world as it permeated my very being, and I listened in fascination as Nityashree alternately cajoled and commanded the swaras around, concocting a veritable feast for the soul. It was so beautiful that words simply cannot do justice to the experience.

At the end of the concert, satiated and blissful, I stood up and surveyed the crowd, who in all probability did not even know R. Even in her absence, R had touched the lives of so many people.

It’s so easy to be cynical about love as over-rated and over-hyped, but somehow it brought to mind the reason why Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal.

Loneliness

Read my new poem here

Street-Smart

It's a quiet afternoon. The whirring of the fan and the distant rumble of a vehicle are the only sounds that puncture the silence. The sun is high in the sky, and people have escaped to shady refuges, possibly for a snooze.

All of a sudden, a banshee-like wail pierces the air. It startles a few birds that chirrup in protest. Afternoon naps are disrupted rudely, and people are cross.

It's the man with the decorated bull and the nadaswaram. His strategy is perfect.

Pick a time when people hate to be disturbed.
Play the instrument as badly as you possibly can.

And voila! He is assured of his "hush-money".

Recipes for the Impatient

Well, well, well! Surprises never cease. I would have thought I would be the last person to share recipes with anyone, since I have as much interest in cooking as an ant presumably has in life on Mars. However, some instincts are to be simply respected, and gotten over with.

So, here are two recipes. The main USP is that they are extremely simple and very quick to make -- ideal for bachelors/bachelorettes. One makes a perfect crunchy evening snack to go with a hot cup of chai, and the other makes for a very filling breakfast. Both are poha-based (poha=avalakki=pressed rice?).

Crunchy Evening Snack
Ingredients
2 cups “soft” thin poha
½ cup peanuts
1 tsp mustard
1 tsp urad dal
4 red chillies
1 pinch asafoetida
1 pinch turmeric
5 tsp oil
Salt to taste

Please bear in mind that the measures given are purely incidental. I’m not really sure if what I use is a teaspoon or not, and I just pour in the groundnut and poha till I feel it’s enough!

Anyway, heat the oil in a pan, add the asafoetida and mustard, and when the latter pops, add the groundnuts, chillies and urad dal. Fry till the stuff is kind of reddish – if it’s turned black, you’ve gone too far – abort the operation and begin again. You could toss in other nuts too, I guess, unless they decline to be fried.

Dump in the poha, sprinkle turmeric and salt, and keep stirring, preferably on low heat, till the corners of the poha grains kind of wilt, and the poha turns crisp. Let the mixture cool before you start munching, unless you prefer burning your mouth. I like it best when it’s still hot, and love to shoot spoonfuls down without pause.


Breakfast Bowl
Ingredients
2 ½ cups “hard” thick poha
2 medium sized onions
1 tsp mustard
1 tsp urad dal
1 ½ tsp dhania powder
1 ½ tsp jeera powder
½ tsp pepper powder
1 ½ tsp chilli powder
1 pinch asafoetida
1 pinch turmeric
5 tsp oil
Salt to taste

Wash and soak the poha in cold water. Chop the two onions into small pieces. Heat the oil in a pan, add asafoetida and mustard, and urad dal after the latter pops. Dump the onions and fry them till pale pink. I guess you could use green chillies too, but I don’t since our house is still PG-rated. Meanwhile -- notice the parallel processing -- drain the poha, add the dhania, jeera, pepper, chilli and turmeric powders, and the salt, and mix well. Add this mix to the pan, and stir well for about 6-8 mins. A generous dollop of ghee added towards the end and stirred in, together with chopped coriander, makes for a yummy, filling breakfast dish, in under 15 mins.

Enjoy maadi!

Indian Idol

So, Abhijeet Sawant is The First Indian Idol!



I remember seeing him in one of the earlier shows, and what stuck to me was the memory of someone who appeared very gentle and calm. Maybe appearances are deceptive, but whatever I've seen of him in the last few episodes seems to confirm that impression.

Though it's easy to dismiss the whole thing as one big tamasha, what touched me the most was when they showed the parents of Abhijeet and Amit. It brought home the fact that behind all this glitz and glamour, there were real people affected by this show, whose new-found fame and fortune were very real to them. To see their sons singing and dancing like superstars in a Bollywood movie must have overwhelmed the families, to say the least.

The other thing I liked was the sportsmanship (if I can call it that) exhibited by all the finalists, including the winner, after the winner was announced. It didn't seem like it was an act - it seemed quite genuine.

I am just amazed at the abundant talent that thrives in our country. And what is particularly heartening is that nowadays more and more channels are opening up for people to earn a livelihood in what they enjoy doing the most - that's true liberalization for me.

The Return of The Gifts!

Yesterday, I went to one of these “Departmental Stores” to buy a gift for yet another birthday. I am positively puking with the number of birthdays I’ve had to attend these past few weeks! And I’ve developed an abhorrence towards Winnie the Pooh. I used to think of Pooh as adorable and cuddly and sweet; now, I detest the very sight of that red-vested, honey-hogging glutton of a bear! One of the birthday parties I went to had the critter plastered all over: in cut-outs, wrappers, stickers, and what-not! To top it all, the “return gift” was a book with Tigger bouncing all over the place! I wanted to bounce right out of the party.

Which brings me to another crib. Who started this habit of return gifts? Doubtless some adult who didn’t feel like going all the way to the store to return something he/she didn’t want anyway. Has anyone ever experienced the sheer frustration of choosing a return gift which satisfies ALL the following criteria:

1. Looks good
2. Looks substantial
3. Is useful
4. Within budget
5. Store has enough pieces

Which brings me to the topic of lil D’s birthday. We didn’t plan on celebrating it with cake-vake and stuff like that. My mother was aghast. What do you mean, she thundered over the phone, how can you inflict such punishment on your little girl? Don’t you know the rule? You HAVE to celebrate birthdays till kids are five years old. (After that, they’ll organize the parties themselves – by issuing all the invites unbeknownest to you, of course!) I meekly surrendered. Mothers know best, I consoled myself. And made my TO-DO list in greatest detail.

1. Streamers
2. Balloons
3. Cake
4. Snacks
5. RETURN GIFTS

I optimistically marched off to the nearest supermarket. Alas, foolish me! Little did I suspect what lay in store for me. I found cute photo-frames – sorry madam, we have only these 8 pieces. I found cute bowls – sorry madam, we don’t have any more unsealed pieces. I found cute boxes – way above budget. I found a humungous collection of plastic brushes – I couldn’t see them being useful except for mothers to spank their kids, which new-age mothers don’t believe in anyway. I found another set of cute bowls – with black marks in EACH and EVERY one of them – what HAD they been used for?

I was weary from trudging 5 kms up and down the aisles of the brightly lit store, and panicking every time my mobile beeped with an SMS from baby-sitting DH. Out of desperation, I closed my eyes, picked up the first thing I could see, and lugged a crateful to the check-out counter before you could say “Winnie the Pooh”.

Utter chaos characterized the party with spilt Coke, smashed cake, crushed chips, overflowing garbage bags, and an overstuffed fridge. But I must admit, mothers do know best: lil D had an absolutely smashing time and was thrilled to bits by the whole affair.

I’ve digressed so much from what I originally wanted to write about (about the departmental store and memories of other stores, just in case you're curious), so I’ll just stop here and save that for another blog.