Happy 70th Birthday, Appa

Let me count the smiles and, some more memories pick...

I remember our boxing (rather butting) sessions. Little me rearing back and charging ahead, head lowered and targetted at your tummy...ouch! I did that even into adoloscence, I know I know...

I remember the trips to the cinema so vividly. Amma riding pillion and me standing before you and holding the Vijay Super scooter's handles. I used to concentrate and push at the handles honestly believing that I was helping you ride the scooter.I thought if I eased pressure the vehicle would lose speed and eventually stop :-D

I remember our very own customised water park :-D The well at Ochira. Tiny me squatting with all the eagerness of a puppy waiting for you to draw up those buckets of cool, clear water and sending it cascading down my head!

I dont clearly remember when and who started me on reading but I think I owe that to you (later on,several others helped hone the habit). I do remember clutching eagerly at the copies of 'Muthassi','Poombatta', 'Balarama'and all those vernacular children's literature of yore you bought for me. When at 6, I left to stay with paatti at Salem, the books followed me there too via post.Thank you! I am yet to outgrow the excitement :-)

I remember our solo journey to seek admission in a new high school back in Kerala. Amma was still mourning paatti.You used the opportunity to remind me how we we should take extra care of amma now that both her parents were no more around.In the euphoria of coming back to stay with my own mom and dad I admit I din't quite grasp the seriousness of what you were telling me right then.As an adult, I realise how kind you really were.

I remember the Sarkkara payasams and unniyappams you made for me. Nothing to beat those in taste, yet! I also remember it was you who taught me how to take a swag of Kingfisher or Kalyani...lol!

In a region that vastly expected women, especially wives, to be secondary citizens who were at the beck and call of the men in their lives, you sowed the seeds of self respect in tiny me by the equation you shared with amma. "You are a professional and an independent adult, why do you even ask me whatever it is you wish to do", is something I've overheard from my parent's conversation and picked upto be stored in my own memory box.

I remember a lot more things...but my biggest grouse with you is how you vamooshed away from my life, with no warning, no good bye! Happy 70th Birthday to you, my dearest Appa. Yesterday marked the end of my eighth year without you around.Even now, whenever a major struggle tries to pull me down I wish so hard you were here to say, " Don't worry! Everything will be alright". When physical pain overwhelmes me I think you would've found a remedy if only you were around! I miss you so!

"Happy" Women's Day

Finally watched the 'banned' documentary, a day ago. Had avoided initially simply because I was worried it would trigger depression once again. The way it did 2 years ago along with a few other incidents including the 5 year old's brutalization( at Delhi again, took place almost simultaneously, was ignored by mainstream media).

A part of me was glad it was banned. Wait! don't bring out the brickbats yet! India losing image or politicians losing face had absolutely nothing to do with my thought. I think we've carried that Ostrich syndrome long enough and more. The bodh gaya incident involving the japanese girl, the swiss cyclist gang rape in Delhi, the Russian woman assault by a rick guy etcetera etcetera ...we lost face a long while ago. The UK government foreign travel site warns its women to exercise caution while travelling to India because of "increasing assaults on women", Thomas reuters placed us at the 4th most dangerous country in the world for women eons ago. bah! what face are we trying to save in the outside world.Banning a documentary is going to do no good, at all. What worried me was the fact that enough and more emphasis was given on the views regarding women held by the rapist and their defence counsel. Counter it or not, those views are shared by en number of male and female dorkheads out there. And, I worried that a few "more" morons would find "extra" endorsement in the statements and decide to act it out too.

Plus, I also felt the documentary tried to score a few brownie points for the perpetrators. Example: interviewing the wife and child of an accused and airing her desperate, " My husband won't do such things. If he is given capital punsihment, how will I live? I will also die and also kill my toddler" (not verbatim) etc etc. Plus those shots on how the pathetic living standards and childhood deprivation could've played a part in grooming their personalities. Arre behanji, rapists in India transcend class, creed, and lifestyles. For us, it is more a patriarchal society's way of asserting superiority on what it deligently believes is an inferior creation. Don't we have oh! so many movies that show how the taming of the shrew hapens when the macho gives her a tight slap...lo behold! she becomes 'exemplary woman'! This, I felt, took the onus away from the men and put it elsewhere.

This being said, I'm glad that a foreign journalist decided to make this documentary and the bbc aired it. Why? That dorkhead of a defence counsel made his statement regarding setting fire to his recalcitrant daughter/sister two years ago. The only difference is that this time it made a lot of us sit up, listen closely, and retaliate. Also saw a newsreport that said the Bar council too 'finally' decided to issue atleast a show cause or face the music notice to these guys. I also hope the freshly raked up furore will instigate our politicians and lawmakers to do something even if it just to save face amidst the western world.

I saw a few comments floating around saying how we were over emphasising this one case of rape while thousands of others get neglected. My take is, if atleast one makes us raise arms against a common cause, makes the ones weilding power sit up, take notice, and try bring about something that would benefit us all, why are you complaining?

PS: It was heartwarming to listen to Jyoti's parents views on the girl child, heart wrenching to see their pain. I bow to their quiet stoicism. RIP Jyoti. I hope we learn to treat our women as living beings capable of physical/emotional pain. Devi, daughter, wife, sister, etc etc jaaye baad main. Living breathing human being, bas woh kaafi hain.

Arachuvitta Sambhar with Sambhar leaves (waterleaf/Talinum fruticosum)

Sambhar Cheera (Waterleaf/Talinum fruticosum) is found growing with wild abundance in the backyards of my native town. The succulent plant is a nutritional treasure trove - Vit A, Vit C, iron, and calcium.

I've used a variation of the archuvitta sambhar (where fresh coconut and whole spices are light roasted and ground to make sambhar masala) to add the fresh bunch of waterleaves I chanced upon in the market. Having a little girl who is allergic to diary fat I'm constantly looking at different vegetarian sources of calcium to be included into her diet. Traditional cuisine that emphasises on the need to cook from whole and fresh ingredients, I've found, is the best guide.

Sambhar cheera (waterleaf) - a large bunch
Tomatoes - 3-4 meium sized, ripe ones
Small onions (shallots) - 6-8 Nos
Garlic - 6-8 cloves
Ginger - 1/4 inch piece
Green chillies - 2 Nos
Turmeric powder - 1 teaspoon
Sambhar parippu (Toor dhal/yellow pigeon peas) - 1 cup
Water - 2 cups

Rinse out the toor dhal well and pressure cook it with everything except the waterleaves added. About 5 whistles on medium flame is what I do.


For the masala

Fresh, grated coconut - 2 dessertspoons
Fenugreek seeds - 1/4 teaspoon
Pepper corns - a few
Cumin (jeera) - 1/2 teaspoon
Coriander powder - 1 dessertspoon
Asafoetida - a small piece (I use teh block variety). else, substitute with 1/4 teaspoon of powder.

Dry roast everything, except teh coriander powder, till the coconut begins to turn lightly golden, add teh coriander powder and saute till an aroma arises. Switch off flame and grind to very fine paste adding little water.

Rinse and chop the waterleaf bunch. Throw into a thick bottomed pan and add 1/2 a cup of water. Add in teh ground masala and simmer for a couple of minutes. Remove the cooked toor dhal mix from teh pressure cooker and using a ladle blend the dhal and tomatoes well. Add into teh simmering masala. Add more water if the gravy is too thick. Add salt to taste.

For tempering

Warm a pan and add a couple of teaspoons of sesame oil. Add a teaspoon of mustard seeds and allow them to crackle. Add a couple of dry red chillies and curry leaves. When roasted, top teh sambhar with this.

PS: I add additional vegetables to this sambhar, at times. This time I added a couple of carrots. I pressure cooked them along with the lentils.

A tangy slice from childhood

The once in a year 'exhibition (fair)' that came to Salem town was the annual highlight of my childhood right from age 5 to 11. New age kids living in the current era of fairs and exhibitions almost every month, and theme parks and fun rides at every nook and corner will never be able to comprehend the magic that an almost rustic, annual event held for me.

Giant wheel rides that made the stomach go woo wooh woosh; fluffy and oh! so pink cotton candy right out of the churning machine that seemed almost like magic; dinner plate sized 'appalam' (rice pappad) with a sprinkling of red chilli powder; 50 paisa worth bubble solutions; miniature kitchen sets that were tiny replicas of steel pots, tavas, and pans; little boats that propelled on water fuelled by the oil and wick lamps placed inside; magic shows; and yes, the 'new frock' bought from the one of the stalls at the fair.
Nothing to beat that boundless joy and unadulterated fun those simple days held.

The view from my window

I woke to warm fingers caressing my face. Someone had opened the blinds and let the early morning rays peek in and onto my face.

The morning, as seen through my bedroom window, was a resplendent medley of colours.The huge Jacaranda tree was abuzz with life. Every branch seemed to be flaunting its profusion of lilac & violet flowers. A cool gentle breeze gently cajoled a few flowers to float down from their high perches. A natural carpet was slowly being woven on the ground below.MAARIE, the milkman was returning home with his bevy of bovine beauties.

Every day, at dawn, Maarie arrives with his herd in tow and milks his cows as his 'clients' - the neighbourhood restaurateurs & chai shop walahs, watch on. “It’s for the benefit of all those new generation non-believers who think I give them diluted milk”, he says in disgust. Maarie belongs to an indeterminate time in history and no one really knew how old he was.

Grandpa has already started his morning round of poojas. He has his private conversations with Aditya, the sun god, every day.I am so glad spring’s here and I am even more pleased that I woke up in time to watch the world in celebration.

Week 14 - A list of my favourite things...

Some of my most favourite"st" things are associated to smells. My husband accuses me of having an extra sharp olafactory sense, I could be a police dog replacement, or so he says :-D

-The waft from earth after the first showers. So warm, so invigorating, so full of hope.

-The smell of temples.The divine aroma of freshly made sandlewood paste, incense, camphor, gingelly oil, parijatha & jasmine flowers, and sacred ash (bhasma) take me back to my thatha's (grandfather) house at Salem; if I close my eyes and concentrate I can revoke this fragrance that used to fill the home after his early morning pooja session.

-The mild perfume of Pond's cold cream.As a child, the smell of Ponds Cold cream heralded my mom's arrival.To me then, the round, white plastic bottle held the secret to beauty :-)

-The clean, beautiful special fragrance of babies. Just can't get enough of this one. I love holding my little one close and take in a great whiff of this before she grows too big and it all vanishes.This is not to be confused with the trademark Johnson's baby product smells, the yuck smell of babies whose mothers lag in the hygiene department, or the smell of tots smothered in oil and talcum powder. The baby smell is unique to all babies, kept clean and subsist on milk.The smell continues, well into toddlerhood unless the baby belongs to mommies who've already set up beautification regimens of colognes, and perfumes, and fragrance lotions.

- The smell of books. I love rustling the pages of a new book and breathing deep. Bliss! The mustier, older books are ok too. Lesser bliss ;-)

-Freshly ground coffee smells sexy to me though I'm a hardcore tea lover.

- Women's perfumes with undertones of musk :-)

I think my list of favourites are never ending, so let me stop for now :-)

With unseen strings, I stay attached...

This week our theme is "The very first time..." The key lies in the ellipsis, it could be the tale of our first ever, whatever:-)So, let me tell you the tale of the first ever gang I ever belonged to. We were a gang of nine - 8 girls and 1 boy on the tow, each as different as chalk from cheese. The all brains one, the femme fatale, the joker, the serene as a buddha type, the forever complex stricken, the nymphette, the hot headed one,and the always practical made up the girls team. The lone male was nicknamed 'the comet' by my dad because he tailed us around and also because it was around that time comet shoemaker-levy was creating news.
College in Kerala always implied scores of unprecedented holidays thanks to the gazillion student political parties and their who-knows-what-for strikes. We used these days quite effectively landing as a mob into any one of our homes or going for movies.The practical one lived with her mother in a small one room apartment they'd taken in a women's help organization cum hostel. Her dad worked in the middle east and since mom and daughter were alone they chose this small nest of women comaraderie as home. It worked well for us too since it was just a hop, skip, and jump away from college. So, it was there we landed mostly and aunty (P's mother) was the most cordial of hosts. In fact, P's lunches were so delicious that Buddha and Joker, who sat next to her in class, finished it all up by mid morning. Hot headed got all worked up over this, at times, but I can't recall them ever having a show down over this. The gang did not take hot head seriously, anyway.
Towards the end of the first year of college P and her mom took up a  lovely little house even closer to college because her dad was going to retire and come back to live with his family. Initially, I remember feeling a little apprehensive about this sudden intrusion into our freedom but that wore out. I still remember the warmth with which P's dad greeted us when we first met him. With time, I came to love him almost as much as I did P and I could sense he too harboured a special, fatherly affection towards me. We just clicked. That genuine click of affection never happened with any of the others' parents, who were all equally cordial and nice. With time, I realize that God was perhaps priming us for what was to come.
As usual, our gang too had its share of cliques."A" and "D" were bosom buddies but "E" thought "A" was HER best friend, "B" wanted to be best friends with "F" who tried to run away as fast as she could,"G" was quite clueless, "C" was popular most and everyone wanted to be friends with her, while "P" remained the glue that held us all together. Someone was actively trying to woo comet and we had a tough time stifling the urge to slap the stupid female and save our comet since he then was really and truly a helpless, innocent, unworldy little chap.
The road inclined a little steeply from P's house to college. Her gait was as steady and slow as her practical disposition. I remember trying to impatiently pull her hand and make her go faster. She would try but stop in a couple of minutes, smiling and breathing in equal profusion.
Days and months rolled by and after what was the best time of our lives (subjective comment), it was the study holidays before the final exams.University exams in Kerala, in those days, extended over weeks and by the time they got over and the results were declared admissions in most other states, for higher studies, would be closed. It was the begining of April when our class teacher called me up and told me P was sick. He said she had a urinary tract infection but it was not bad.
It was easter week and since the exams were still days away I goaded my parents to take me for movie, a second show. On the way, on impulse I asked my dad if he would take me to P's house since she was sick. We live a good 25 kilometeres from the city (and the college and the theatre) and dad who generally did not accomodate impulsive social visits readily agreed, this time. I was elated that he agreed and really excited that I was going to pay P a 'surprise' visit. But when we got to her place, the door was locked. Someone told us that they had gone to church for Maundy Thursday. But just as I was getting back into the car, I heard P's voice excitedly calling out to me from further below the road, her dad and she were just coming back. I was so so thrilled. She told me she was just fine and I asked her to come along with us to the movie, which she refused. After jabbering away for some more time, I left. P, as usual came out of the gate to wave.
On sunday morning, April the 7th, 1996, Easter day, my class teacher called me again. To tell me, that P had died.
Years have rolled on. I visit P's home each time I go to Kerala. I feel I somehow owe her that especialy since fate made it so that I was the only one from the gang to have met her so close to death. Also, because I see her dad's eyes light up each time I go and her mom stifle a sob each time I hug them both, as fondly as I have hugged her. Uncle died a year ago. The last I met him, he was sick and a muscle debilitating condition had made walking without help, impossible. I lingered around for sometime, jabbering as usual but deciding in my mind that I should convince him and aunty to move into a cared residential facility, just for safety. I hadn't driven two kilometers from their house when I recieved a missed call on my mobile, from uncle. I called back immediately, worried. He simply said, "I wanted to check if I had your new number right". It was an unspoken request to come and see him again before I flew back to Muscat. So, I went back a few days later with Abhi. Uncle desperately held onto my hand and suddenly Abhi broke into violent and uncontrollable crying. I left soon after since she wouldn't stop. I knew I had seen uncle for the last time. I met aunty the last time I went to Kerala, it is much more difficult with uncle not being around. To see a soul in absolute lonliness.
P was the first ever friend I lost, to death.This is the first time ever that I write it down.