Conveyer Belt Syndrome

I don’t know why everyone says air travel is faster. I swear it takes the same amount of time for me. Seriously..if you include the time I have to wait to collect my baggage (Have you noticed, how it is luggage in trains, but baggage in airlines? Why?! I don’t want to be collecting baggage!).

I believe all of us are born with conveyer belt kundlis. It all seems pre-determined to me. Otherwise why would my luggage always come last? Always! No matter when I check in, what I do. Mine is the last solitary bag on the conveyer belt, looking relieved to be out of the confines of the aircraft. And if you are one of those people whose bags come first, get off my blog RIGHT NOW!

These are the people who bug me the most, the ones whose bags come first. They look around with smug expressions, looking at us lesser mortals who still have to wait. They say “excuse me, that’s mine”, even if no one is blocking their way. They pick up their bag, lift their noses up towards the sky, glance at the other passengers as if to say “good luck to you, I am done” and walk away slowly, with 100 pairs of eyes looking at their backs wistfully. In my head, I always imagine them tripping and falling. 

Then there are the people who think each bag is theirs. No matter that colour, what size the bag is, they pick it up to check if their secret symbol is on it (much like the Bengali aunty I saw on my recent trip. First she picked up a sleek black bag, then she picked up a hideous multi coloured bag which should never have been made. I was beginning to wonder if she thought it was a shop with live ramp walk by the luggage or maybe a sushi bar or something, when she picked up a big red suitcase and left…let’s hope it really belonged to her!!) They turn it this way and that and look all over, in the hope that something, some mark will prove that this bag is theirs. Usually the bag has to be rejected by at least three members of the family before its put back on the conveyer belt. Man, woman and the wisest of them all – the child. “No mummy, this is not ours”… and that’s when the bag goes back on its circuitous journey to its rightful owner who is probably wondering if aliens have kidnapped his luggage. These people are the reason those florescent green suitcases were introduced. 

There are various kinds of luggage too. There are shiny, clean bags, with designer labels. There are suitcases that have been covered in various layers of protection, much like monkey capped east Indians. Among all this, there is always a single piece of luggage that goes round and round on the belt, waiting for its owner to claim it. No one touches this bag (Well..except that family which should have bought the florescent green bags). It rambles along, looking bored, like women who are sick of waiting for their husbands who are always late. 

First Round - Hello people. I can see he isn’t here yet. I’ll be back

Second round – So he isn’t here yet. Typical.Always taking me for granted

Third Round – What are you staring at? (To the Family – Don’t you dare pick me up again.. this is my third round you **%##)

The owner of such luggage is, usually, a man, with low bladder control.

A Pasta Post

Many things inspire me. But very feebly! I mean, I always stop to admire sunsets and full moons and all things pretty, but I don’t usually do anything about it. Not that there is much you can do about a sunset anyway..but that’s beside the point. I take a photo and put it in my archives for use later on. “Later on” seldom arrives. But I ALWAYS take the photo.

Recently, I was very highly inspired by a few extremely pretty looking tomatoes. I couldn’t stop admiring them at the store, much to my co-shopper’s annoyance! I proceeded to buy a few, bring them home and then went crazy taking photos. I am sure the tomatoes were a little taken aback in the beginning but by the end even they looked exasperated. I could almost hear one of them asking me to “get a life” and I was very sad to see one roll down and fall on the floor out of frustration (We don’t discuss boring things like gravity on this blog).

At this critical moment, my aforementioned co-shopper came into the room and asked that all important question – “what should we do about dinner”. We debated the point for a while, to qualify as responsible East Indians and decided on Pasta. Red sauce pasta. I refuse to call it Arabiata because I don’t think it’s got anything to do with Arabia!

It usually takes a maximum of 30 minutes to make pasta, 15 out of which is spent day dreaming. It is easy and simple and almost always comes out nice. I am sure you already know the recipe, but I have pictures and so I will give it to you again.. and call it MY version ;-)

Since it is red sauce pasta and we can’t put blood in it, we use tomatoes. If you are nice, you will blanch the tomatoes and take the peels off and puree them. I couldn’t take the emotional pressure of killing the pretty tomatoes, step by step like this, so I just put them in the blender, peel and seeds intact. Roughage is good for digestion!!

Now I like lots of veggies in MY pasta, so I chopped beans, carrots, green, red and yellow bell peppers and mushrooms. I also add babycorn, sweet corn and even baked beans sometimes. I like to blanch the beans and carrots (and babycorn if I am adding it), fry the mushrooms with a little oil and I leave the capsicums raw.

In a little olive oil or butter, fry chopped onions till they are translucent, add a little chopped garlic and then add the tomato puree. Add salt, pepper and oregano. I always add a little ketchup to it, makes it more…interesting, shall we say? Let the sauce bubble away for a while and then add the blanched vegetables. I add the fried mushrooms and the capsicums last. Add the boiled pasta, mix well, grate some cheese on top and that’s your pasta done! Oh sorry, MY version of the pasta done!!

Now, you can try it, take pictures of the pasta, and post the same on your blog and call it your version!!

Sunsets and Solitude

I managed to find a place to sit, on the otherwise crowded promenade on Marine Drive, one evening. Me, my camera and a cup of tea...

Every evening there is always a lot of hustle bustle in the area. People in cars honking, wanting the ones in front of them to miraculously disappear, hawkers trying to sell bhelpuri and other assorted food items, laughter of college groups, whispered conversations of young couples, and the huffing and puffing of evening walkers with headphones, oblivious to all these noises. Sometimes I feel even the Sun must find it tedious to set in these circumstances everyday!

I, however, was rewarded with a spectacular sunset that day. The pictures don't come very close to the real thing, but hope you like them!

The Dream Factory

Continuing the Little girl series...


The Dream Factory

One day she got lost. She was on her way back from the forest, where she had spent time sulking. Her brother had teased her mercilessly and laughed at her when she cried. The forest always calmed her down and she sat there for hours together.

She was hopping around, looking at trees and flowers. So deep was she in thought, that she hadn’t realized where she was going. This happened to her often enough, but she never learnt! This time, she was really lost and all alone.

“Lets see where this path goes”, she thought, when she saw a silvery road. The minute she put a foot on it, she knew there was something different. The trees looked purple and the sky was yellow! There were pink birds flying. Behind a blue cloud was a green sun, with black eyes and even a nose! She was amazed and giggled at the sun and it winked back at her! “Its weird, but I feel”, she thought “that I’ve been here before”.

           
She walked on the silvery road and reached a big house with a small door. She opened it and stepped inside, to see the most amazing sight! Lots of little people, with pointed hats and even more pointed noses, seemed to be busy at work. They were all singing a song and working to the rhythm. They were working at a big white machine which let out orange smoke!! She walked around in a daze and bumped into one little person’s long pointed nose! “Hey, look where you are going, you almost broke my nose”, he said.

           
The little girl was scared and big tears welled up in her big eyes. The little person felt sorry that he had screamed at her and asked her in a gentle voice, “Who are you, my child, and what are you doing here?” The little girl was sobbing quietly and he spoke again, “ Don’t cry, dear girl, tell me your name”. By then, however, more pointed noses with little people attached to them, gathered around her. Their noses got tangled with each other and they poked each other! She laughed at this, the little girl, and wiped her tears and told them her name. No one heard her though, in all the confusion, so we still don’t know!

          
One little person with a big pointed hat and the biggest pointed nose came to her with a lollypop and she took it gladly and looked at him and said, “why do you have such a big nose?”. He smiled gently and said, “Because I am the chief dream maker”.

“What is that?”, she asked.

“Well. Where do you think you are, my child? This is the Dream Factory!”

The little girl looked confused. The little person, with the biggest nose, smiled at her and told her to come along. “I will show you around”, he said and took her hand in his.

            
“People have a lot of wishes”, he said “They want different things. Some people want money, lots of it, and some want big houses. Some people just desire good food and some only think of clothes! I know a girl who only wishes for shoes! We smell their desires (“oh! That’s what the big noses are for!” exclaimed the little girl)”, said the chief, nodding his head, “and we make dreams for them. So that, at least in their sleep, they might have what they want. They wake up with good thoughts and live another day in hope”

           

“Why would anyone want those things? After all they are just things!” wondered the girl aloud.

“Not everyone is like you, dear girl, not everyone wants only a colorful world”

The girl was amazed the chief knew, and was embarrassed. “Don’t be shy, my child, I smelt your wish myself. When you had passed by one day, on your way to the forest. I created your dream myself. Its was new and wonderful. But, don’t think others’ dreams are bad. Dreams are never good or bad. They are just dreams.”

The little girl nodded wisely and then exclaimed, “Oh, that’s why I thought I knew that road! I had dreamt of it!!” All the little people laughed with her and showed her the dreams they made. She had a mischievous thought then.

“Can you tell me what my brother wishes for?”

“No, dear girl, because his wishes are his own. You would be pleasantly surprised if you knew, but I can’t tell you. I can, however, tell you what his dream will be tonight!!”

The girl was ecstatic then she saw her brother’s dream. She smiled at it (No, we cant tell you what it was!!). She hopped and skipped all the way home, for they showed her the way back.

The brother came running to her and asked her where she had been. She smiled at him and kept quiet. He started teasing her then again, hoping to make her mad at him! But nothing bothered her anymore! When they were going to bed, her brother was still teasing her and she told him she knew what he dreamt of, she knew everything! She told him what he would dream of that night and went to sleep, smiling. When she woke up the next morning, she saw her brother sitting on his bed, looking utterly confused! She laughed at him and ran away before he could ask anything!!

My Mum's recipe- for life..and also Pudina Biriyani!!

“Mummyyyyy, tell me how to make biriyani please. You know the recipe?”

“Of course! First you take 60 bucks from your pocket money, then start your bike, go to Cooks, pay up and you shall have your biriyani!!” (Cooks is a small restaurant in Bhubaneswar, and if you are the owner, please pay or at least thank me for this free publicity).

That’s my mum for you. Her philosophy in life was simple- Why bother?! She used the theory of comparative advantage very well. They can make it better than us, why should we take the pains!

Don’t get me wrong, she was a fantastic cook. She always made awesome stuff. You couldn’t disagree with that. She made sure we all agreed, in her “subtle” ways. First she would put the dish on the table saying, “I’ve made fantastic alu gobi today”. And then she would ask us, “Isnt it good?”!!!

Her interest in the culinary art increased considerably over the years. She made killer “podopitha”, amazing alu chops and awesome chutneys. But her speciality has to be the Pudina Biriyani. She had mastered the recipe which is more a pulao then a biriyani. (I don’t know what the difference is, I just wanted to sound intelligent. You could ask my friend, the weekend epicurean, but I doubt even she would know!) Every time anyone came home, she made the pudina biriyani. I suggested once that we ask the guests what they would like to have. She was scandalized and said what if they ask for something complicated which we won’t know how to make! But the truth is, the biriyani came out perfect every single time and we all loved it.

I made the mistake of asking her for the recipe. Now, if you had the privilege of knowing her, you would understand that she did not believe in giving out exact measurements. So the recipe that follows shall be vague and you shall just have to adjust.

·    Grind together pudina (mint leaves), dhaniya (coriander leaves), onion, garlic and ginger. How much of each? “Haven’t you learnt yet to not ask?” my mother must be screaming from up above! I usually find pudina should be double the amount of dhaniya.

·    Put Dhaniya powder, jeera powder, red chilli powder haldi and salt in the paste. Mix chicken in it and cook it in the pressure cooker for one seeti (I am really bad at giving out recipes.. it’s genetic, what can I do?). Now if you are making a veg version, then don’t put the chicken. Okay, you knew that? How nice!!

·    Heat refined oil, in a thick bottomed vessel. Put curry leaves, dry red chillies and chopped onion and fry. Add washed and dried rice. Mum always used the regular rice since the aroma comes from pudina. Fry the rice for a while. Add the chicken mixture to this. And add water (twice the amount of rice). Cover and cook.

·    Once the water dries, take it off heat. Mum used to put the vessel on a heated pan, and let the rice get cooked in steam.

She usually made a raita with grated cucumber to have with the biriyani and the combination was awesome. I have tried this recipe and though it comes out nice, it never is like hers. Obviously, look at the way she gave me the recipe!

There are so many things I could tell you about her. The way she could endlessly watch planes taking off or landing, the way she tortured my friends, threatening them with the “ruk ruk ruk” dance or the fact that she always wanted to wear Margaret Thatcher type clothes! She was childlike, always smiling, never complaining. She was simple but really very special. I know this blog space wasn’t meant to have personal messages, but for mummy, I will make an exception.

There was a lot to learn from you mummy- your zeal for life, your ability to forgive and forget and smile at all times. I hope I have got at least a few of your good qualities. And if I ever, ever made you sad or upset, please do forgive me for it. I miss you....  I trust you still forget the punch lines of all your jokes...!

Row 14, Flight 6E 257

Flight 6E 257. From Bhubaneswar to Mumbai. Seat No. 14D, E and F. Three passengers. All three sad. All three cried, sniffed, slept and wrote in their diaries during the three hour long flight. D wrote down his expenses, F wrote some addresses and E, this blog post. 

D didn’t speak much. Sobbed quietly. Probably being a man, he couldn’t cry openly. His cabin baggage was a thin plastic bag, out of which he took out some fruit and ate during the break.  He kept looking ahead, towards the captain’s cabin, hoping, it seemed to urge the pilot to go faster. He was fidgety and restless. He slept when the food trolley came and pretended he didn’t hear  the air hostess when she called him. He looked left and right and slowly took out a pocket diary and pen. He wrote down his expenses date-wise. He wrote it down till the 2^nd decimal point. He added it up and did some thinking. Then he hung his head, cried some more, put his diary back and looked heaven wards in despair. We were 10 kms above sea level, the pilot informed us, so probably closer to God! He muttered something, put his seat back, and went to sleep. 

F was different. She was in bright clothes, and wore a lot of gold. She was on the phone whenever it was allowed. She spoke in Oriya, which most of us understood. She had to speak loudly, for the person at the other end couldn’t hear. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand, hoping it would muffle her voice. She didn’t realise, probably, that the chances of her meeting any of us again were really slim and that no one gave two hoots about her family problems. That’s what seems to be the issue.  When I had walked in, she was on the phone. She stopped when we took off and again spoke during the break. She cried when she wasn’t speaking on the phone, putting up a brave front. “Don’t worry, all will be okay, such things happen..I will come very soon again”. Hang up. Sniff sniff.  Call back again! I imagined old, ailing parents, a sister in a bad marriage, some relatives with monetary problems...but couldn’t decide what her problem was. She blew her nose, switched off her phone and went to sleep, looking worried still.

I took out my diary then and started writing. I had been faking sleep till then. Why had I been sobbing? Well, that’s a REALLY long story. A blog post wouldn’t do justice to it. It will probably be a book. A “Jhumpa Lahiri type deep book” as some might say!!

I looked around. The world seemed normal otherwise. People were eyeing the pretty air hostess. Wanting water, asking really dumb questions (“Emergency door has to be opened only during emergency no? “ I mean... really!!) Looked like it was only us passengers in 14 D, E and F who were worried and sad. Different people, different problems, all brought together by some divine intervention to row 14! (I am not counting A, B and C. They were foreigners and everyone knows foreigners don’t have any problems. What? They really don’t!) Wonder how we would deal with our lives and what would become of us once we landed. I wanted to hug them both, a group hug of row 14 (Indian nationals only) and tell them that things would be better and that they shouldn’t give up. But well, they were both snoring now (in rhythm, no less!!), so that couldn’t happen. Plus, it would be really weird for them. They didn’t know me. To them, I would always be the girl in 14 E, who came sat, sniffed, wiped her tears, pretended no one saw and then proceeded to eat a whole bar of chocolate!

Where ever you are, 14 D and F, have faith. Things will be better soon.

About a Girl

I have always wanted to tell stories. Ever since I read my first Enid Blyton book, about kids having lemonade, and tins of tongue (whatever that is!). Then went on to Jane Austen's novels and got lost in old british characters and words like "whither"..even courtroom dramas of Perry Mason and Della Street... And finally went mad after Harry Potter!

Offlate there have been many firsts in my life. I am trying everything I have ever wanted and not wanted to do. So I thought why not this too. Started writing a little.. any feedback will be welcome :-)

About a girl

This is the story of a girl, simple, yet special in her own way. Born to parents who loved her more than anyone, she grew up dreaming and not sharing her dreams with anyone. Why, you ask? She knows not herself. "I am like this only", she says to anyone who asks.

Her father was a magician, but no one knew!! (And you dare not tell anyone!) He could turn sorrow into happiness! People came from far and wide to meet him. He smiled at everyone he met and they felt their problems disappear. They would wonder how!? They would ask him. He would wink at them and say he was a doctor.

Her mother was a fairy. Calm and serene, she loved everyone and everyone loved her, be it man, woman or animal. She had a beautiful voice and could talk to birds! She loved to watch them fly. All day long she could sit and watch birds fly! They came to her and sang for her and she laughed with them. And oh so magical was her laugh!

She had a brother, a brat he was, with twinkling eyes and a wicked smile! He loved her, but never told her, a strange boy he was! He would sit on trees and talk to leaves. He had a magical voice too, even better than his mum. No one knew of it, except the little girl. He would sing for her when they were alone, and she would laugh and clap!! It was their little secret he said not to be shared with the world.

People thought there was something strange about this family, something special, but didn't know what. They would look at their house and wonder- stop, stare and listen. Sounds of laughter and joy, and was that some music they heard? They would move closer, to take a peek. But all seemed normal. They would shake their heads and walk away. Smiling, wondering what it was about these people!! Up, above, beyond the clouds, God heard these thoughts and smiled. "These poor souls don't know", he thought "that this is a magical family".

Wherever they went, this magical family, they spread love and laughter. "The clowns" some called them fondly, but never did they mind. They went around, being the clowns, and their faces always without frowns! They had many adventures, but that's a story for another day. Because this is the story of the little girl, simple yet special, who grew up dreaming and not sharing her dreams with anyone. Her name, you ask? Sadly no one remembers!