tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86629989696842625792024-02-20T23:05:42.041+05:30Literary SojournLiterary Sojourn
my Literary Journey ...Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.comBlogger460125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-31272878669796098042022-11-12T13:46:00.007+05:302022-11-12T19:34:06.945+05:30Book Review: How to Live your Life<p></p><div style="text-align: left;">Title: How to Live your Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAR0jR3wMfzk77JeD1KgpQHftHrbQ6bDN3rR8m8jsN1jcrnkGSUEkuQNHk162WUnEsPJLCxlHB1samKZ5YwI73lb7qK9X2zVu7kuCwvyTj2GQPk3IgIeFkjJxidXQI6vXgq0Bb5oecWPlg2nE9cmLnJ35qBJiz9xS4ulGA9QcUsIhnCx1J2YjHjAiX/s499/howtoliveyourlife.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="332" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAR0jR3wMfzk77JeD1KgpQHftHrbQ6bDN3rR8m8jsN1jcrnkGSUEkuQNHk162WUnEsPJLCxlHB1samKZ5YwI73lb7qK9X2zVu7kuCwvyTj2GQPk3IgIeFkjJxidXQI6vXgq0Bb5oecWPlg2nE9cmLnJ35qBJiz9xS4ulGA9QcUsIhnCx1J2YjHjAiX/w133-h200/howtoliveyourlife.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>Author: Ruskin Bond</div><div style="text-align: left;">Publisher: Harper Collins</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have a special liking for the writing style of Ruskin Bond. His writings, especially when he writes about his daily routine, his home, his life, his morning walks and his love for nature, are simple, engaging and refreshing. His words just effortlessly ferry the readers to a land where time moves sluggishly and where one gets to soak in the natural surroundings. His words coax one - to develop a fresh eye to appreciate the tiny creatures on thin blades of grass, to admire the mettle of tender hill flowers against the rocky backdrop, to look for the sparkle of fireflies and to desire to be in the wide verdure. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">How to Live your Life is a collection of his personal notes and suggestions on various aspects of life. One can call it a compilation of his wisdom simplified in the form of brief quotes and suggestions. I specifically likes the subtle way in which one chapter ends and the next one picks from the last thread of the previous one. One can keep coming back to this book to read a page or two for the peace and calmness, which are the hallmarks of his writings.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I cannot complete this review without mentioning that I expected a little more, rather much more from this book which came out as a celebration of his 88th birthday. I felt it ran too short on quality content and substance for the readers to chew on. From an author who has lived such a fulfilling life, I am not convinced that he had so little to summarise and share at this juncture of his life. </div><p></p>Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-81315852911508221182022-04-23T13:39:00.001+05:302022-04-23T13:39:37.103+05:30Book Review: The Search<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.7px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Title: The Search</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgu_ogtHukzzyuQNAC7smlz3MpedRjsczA8RiLhUtfsXMVU5-a0klUi-Mlwjmrnzs2Ub3BjsyV9G9KtWJdfPm-BfJMcGGrllC86iD3seKSOttK0Mm9_CglYV8GnT-cJzyeWAXjYJD_q-g4m7hLWloBb0mRUwTISDOAJdwI7RkWNUemesK4nprOX8nVT" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="334" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgu_ogtHukzzyuQNAC7smlz3MpedRjsczA8RiLhUtfsXMVU5-a0klUi-Mlwjmrnzs2Ub3BjsyV9G9KtWJdfPm-BfJMcGGrllC86iD3seKSOttK0Mm9_CglYV8GnT-cJzyeWAXjYJD_q-g4m7hLWloBb0mRUwTISDOAJdwI7RkWNUemesK4nprOX8nVT" width="160" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.7px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Author: Sajita Nair</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.7px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Publisher: Juggernaut</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.7px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Format: Kindle edition</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.7px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> </p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.7px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">The Search is the story of an eighteen-year old girl Laya who is portrayed as a regular vivacious girl of her age. Her doting parents, loving friends, a boyfriend and a fun-filled college life complete the picture of her life. A certain event in her life pushes her to take up the quest for her roots more seriously and urgently. As the story progresses, she comes across as a strong-willed person who decides to stand alone than to cave under societal pressures or norms. As she continues to walk on her chosen path, her loved ones join her and provide her the much needed support. While riding the emotional waves at various levels, she realises how going ahead with one decision brings her the wisdom to make peace with the situation of her biological parents.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.7px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"> </p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.7px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">The narrative is quite fast paced. The first significant turning point comes a little too soon but then the readers get hooked to that momentum. Story is engaging and as one keeps turning pages, one is actually hoping for the same happy ending where the author leads the readers to. Plot is not complicated and it is handled with ease as well. This story is about a young adult and for young adults. I like how author has attempted to highlight the significance of learning to take responsibility for the choices made. The new age young adults feel free and empowered to make choices and take their own decisions, but wisdom is in always remembering that some choices have life changing consequences.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.7px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"> </p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14.7px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">I remember reviewing Sajita's first book - She's a Jolly Good Fellow, more than a decade back. Not wasting anytime on frivolous characters and events in storytelling has been her forte which I really appreciate. Having said that, personally I was expecting a little more in terms of substance in whatever comes out of Sajita's pen. I will look forward to her next writing attempts for that.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p></div>Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-38998469202611639682020-10-29T07:47:00.001+05:302021-05-27T07:51:16.938+05:30Whispers of Silence<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-family: lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;">Someone once told me, when two individuals start enjoying the silence between them, that is when they get completely comfortable with each other. I was too young to understand it at that time and kept wondering for quite some time that day, what does enjoying silence mean? It can simply be called an observation or a belief of that person but somehow it stayed with me all through the years. I guess I can really appreciate the depth of this statement completely now. Two individuals can stay comfortably in silence only when they no longer feel the necessity to fill the space with their voice powered thoughts. A lot can be said without actually saying any of it and a lot can be heard without actually hearing any of that. If there is a connection, it naturally gets conveyed from one heart to another while in the absence of that connect, no amount of words seem adequate to do the needful.</div><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;"> </div><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;">Voice doesn’t take long or much to become noise.</div><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;"> </div><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;">After many years of being introduced to the magic of silence, today I want to extend it a little further. When we start enjoying silence in solitude, that is when we get completely comfortable with who we are. We feel liberated from the obligation of keeping our faculties gainfully engaged and we make peace with our surroundings but more importantly we enter a peaceful state with ourselves which transcends all strata.</div><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;"><br /></div><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;">Silence entails letting things be, without getting invested in them, including the thoughts. It implies withdrawal of energies from what is outside to what is inside. Silence of a person does not imply indifference towards oneself or towards the surroundings. Nor is it burdened by any emotion as emotions usually have the capability of clouding all in their vicinity and thus can rob the essence of true silence.</div><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;"><br /></div><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;">The wonders of what comes after having experienced silence in its true spirit, can be felt only after achieving that, it can neither be explained nor can it be pretended. Only in silence can we get to delight in the opera of - the palpitations of our heart, the sound of our breath, the flow of our life blood and the analysis and inferences of our mind at work.</div><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;"><br /></div><div class="revue-p" style="box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;">It is in silence that one gets to actually meet, know and understand one’s own self - completely and thoroughly.</div></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-family: lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"> </div>Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-84594391912953028872020-09-26T07:47:00.000+05:302021-05-27T07:53:00.218+05:30Change of Guard<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">The long
ferocious summer days come with a dazzling orange blanket stretched in the
open, almost endlessly, reducing everything in sight, to cinders. Anyone who
dares to not bow to the sheer strength and power of fire, is befittingly
disciplined. They continue to test the endurance and fortitude of one and all,
day after day, incessantly. It appears that during this time, the Sun and its
accoutrements embody attributes like valour, firmness and unwavering resolve.</span></p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">I for
one, follow the path of this ball of fire, pretty closely. I keep waiting to
see its fiery cloak recede up the walls and the tall trees late in the evening
after a prolonged summer day. That is the precursor to the time when finally
the moon is permitted to offer its soothing hand to the scorched bodies and
souls as if trying to heal the wounded warriors of a war after sundown. </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">But
lately, the air is carrying the harbinger of change… </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Although
the bright scorching sun during the daytime still tries to deceive one into
believing otherwise but it falls short in covering up those telltale signs. The
dawns and dusks hold the testimony to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are some very subtle signs that the change of guard is happening
in nature these days. It is<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>just a
matter of days before one would see no resemblance of the fire-spitting sun
with its lack-lustered incarnation. </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Winters
have a completely different spectacle for the viewers who generally enjoy
watching nature's drama in awe and admiration. There are days when one can
easily mistake the sun for the moon, as the former appears as cold and as white
as the latter. On such days, it is best to stay indoors, hibernate and wait for
the sole brightest star to live up to its glorious reputation. </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">When the
Sun does decide to appear with its benevolent warmth on some of the winter
days, it naturally becomes the most cherished entity for one and all. I love to
keep a close watch on the path of its rays on those days too. The same orange
cape that seems to be unshrinkable on the heat spewing days, tends to be in a
tearing hurry to recede back soon. </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Seeing it
moving thus, I often wonder: </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">what if I
could pull down the last corner of the sunrays that is about to move up the
wall leaving me longing for more, </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">what if I
could tuck it nicely underneath me like a quilt on those freezing nights, </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">what if I
could knit a sweater out of those bright orange sunrays and wear them day and
night</p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">what if I
could hold those close to me when I am cold, </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">what if
they could keep me thawed with their warmth and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>love always.</p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">what if I
could convince even the eerie icy winds to take a nap under their warm cover …</p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">what if…</p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">And once
again, the orange hue becomes much more than just a colour - an embodiment of
warmth, care, affection and endless joy.</p>
<!--EndFragment-->Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-11670984829588486772020-08-13T07:43:00.000+05:302021-05-27T07:45:25.116+05:30Tea and Me<p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">Dear Tea,</span></p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">You made
an entry into my life quite unceremoniously. I think it was sometime during the
hostel years. The evening snack in the hostel mess was always laced with your
aromatic presence. I started enjoying your "made for each other"
combination with samosa/bread-pakora/potato-cutlet, during that time. The
little chit chat with the batchmates and sometimes with others across batches
after a long college day made it a classic unwinding time for us - sitting
wherever one felt like - on the stairs leading to the mess, on the green lawn
or on the chairs set in random arrangement. Sometimes those trivial talks
turned into serious discussions on certain topics, planning for some upcoming
hostel event,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or confiding in each
other. There is something special about unregimented times, it even manages to
open the unlocked doors and unvisited corners of one's heart. </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Dear tea,
during the same time, your Sunday morning appearances became very special for
my mother and I at home. After five days of college, I would look forward to be
with her for the weekend. Somehow Sunday got unofficially designated as the day
for certain time consuming activities like - oiling and washing hair, doing
laundry and finally packing the bag in the evening for the next five days in
the hostel. Incidentally that was the era when TV programmes had very limited
interference in people's daily routines. Rangoli (a medley of Bollywood songs
presented on a certain theme) was among a few TV programmes which my mother and
I enjoyed watching together. So that half an hour in the morning became our
together time - head massage by my mother, tea drinking and Rangoli watching.
The same picture comes to my mind whenever I feel the urge to define the word
'relaxation'.</p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Tea, I
could see that you were slowly becoming more and more dear to me but I really
appreciated that you never tried to impose yourself on me nor did you try to
claim any undue favour. Your mere 4-5 sips satiated me always, never meddling
with the rest of my food habits. You stayed by my side as a very understanding
and dependable friend who always surfaced to give a virtual warm hug whenever I
needed one. </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Moving on
to the next phase of life. Dear tea, you integrated beautifully in the routine
of the two of us. The weekdays, with the office routine of the both of us, were
a little rushed but you always brought a welcome pause on the weekends. The
times, post relatively<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>elaborate weekend
breakfasts(I should rather call them brunch) still hold a special place in my
heart . It was the time to talk, to share, to watch an old Hindi movie in the
foreign lands (the charm of which is something entirely different) and similar
such. We both were studying for a few courses after marriage and our house at
that time almost looked like a hostel room. You brought the much needed breaks
when we studied late into the nights. </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">I think
it was during this time that I realised that for me you are not just a
beverage, you are a feeling, an emotion, a state of mind, a fantasy and much
more. You bring me immense pleasure and joy when I share you with a person whom
I love and admire. I think this is the reason, weekend tea-times are still very
special to me. </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Many
years have passed since you made your first appearance in my life and I can say
- I don't drink tea because I have to, but because I look forward to the whole
picture that becomes perfect with your presence.</p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">There are
actually certain images in my mind which get more beautiful and worthy to
strive for when I imagine them with you in a tiny, bright-hued cup, infusing
the perception of leisure to the whole illustration.</p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Dear tea,
I want you to know that you are a cherished companion, a friend and a very
significant part of my fantasies of happy, peaceful and relaxed times.</p>
<p lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">So, thank
you for being you!!!</p>
<!--EndFragment-->Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-26601267231571912522020-06-12T11:17:00.001+05:302020-09-20T11:27:51.665+05:30Oneness...<p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As I sat today to write something, I wondered what should it be: my analysis of the unprecedented times that we all are witnessing currently, about the wisdom this situation has(or should have) imparted to humankind, about my personal learning curve, on nature getting a free reign to exhibit its prowess or perhaps something on the many disturbing issues - precious lives being reduced to mere numbers, endless woes of migrant workers and underprivileged or similar such.</span></span></p><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am sure all of us have read, analysed and discussed at length about these over the past three months. I decided to refrain from all, despite the fact that I strongly feel about each one mentioned (and many more unlisted).</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Even if the times are gripped in the tangles of fear, uncertainty and anxiety, life doesn’t cease to continue. In fact, these are precisely the times which offer immense opportunities to an individual to reorient oneself towards what one deems absolutely significant in one’s life. </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For me, it is something that gives me perspective, solace and peace. Hence trying to bind that feeling in words here:</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am the sparkling dew drops on a new petal</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am a tiny crease on one of the shriveled faces</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am in the dimness of the dusk and of the dawn</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am in the brilliance of the bright noon</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am the crowning splash on the rising wave</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am the lowest point in the ebbing ocean</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am that silence in the darkest spot of the night</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am also the deafening noise surrounding the peace</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am a tiny speck on the slope of a mighty mountain</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am that fluffy cloud shadowing the summit of the cliff</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am the froth dancing with a merry cascading river</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am a pebble happily settled mutely on the river bed</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am at the zenith of the towering redwood tree</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am a blade of grass rising its head from the crack of soil</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am in the varied merging hues in the sky</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am the pristine white and also the stark black</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: content-box;" /></span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am in the vastness of this “Nature” and yet</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am in the minutest of the details in everything</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I reside silently in every thought and every emotion</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am also in the multitude of actions and the activities</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am in all and all are in me, validating the oneness</span></div><div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I know, I am just a part of that ultimate supreme</span></div><div class="revue-h2" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 20px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 28px; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 8px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">h<strong style="box-sizing: content-box;">E</strong> always resides in m<strong style="box-sizing: content-box;">E</strong> and <strong style="box-sizing: content-box;"><em style="box-sizing: content-box;">I</em></strong> in h<strong style="box-sizing: content-box;">Im </strong>and thus</span></div><div class="revue-h2" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-size: 20px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 28px; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 8px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am, what He wants me to be !!!</span></div>Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-77887708032271381202020-04-25T10:20:00.005+05:302020-09-20T11:28:18.143+05:30To 5, from 45<p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I see her quite vividly in a floral printed frilly frock.<br />She was fidgety and feisty - a bundle of boundless energy, enthusiasm and excitement, hardly knowing what all that truly meant. She had time to spare for everything in the world - from accompanying whoever stepped out of the house, to giving company to one and all, from being a part of any conversation in the house, to being a spectator or a listener anytime anywhere and for anyone who desired to have (or not) one. With time, she grew up to be a strong-willed and an impassioned individual. She developed emotions, rather fierce - of any and all kinds. She loved deeply and hated even more passionately. Situations and experiences in life continued to essay the script of her life. At 45, if I see that same 5 year old around, I would love to tell her a few things to remember, as life begins its task of carving her with its knives and chisels -<br /> <br />Adding grace is good but the sprint in your feet is too high a price to pay for it.<br />Embrace every emotion but let the deluge of emotions not wash away the natural sparkle in your eyes.<br />Laugh more and longer, and do not let this laughter lose the directions to your lips ever.<br /> <br />Do not let the definition of your identity lean on the presence or pleasure of any ‘name, place, animal or thing’. Make an effort to keep redefining yourself - for yourself.<br />Do not be afraid of voicing your opinion but set it free from the condition of being heard.<br />Do not let the quantum of work worry you ever. Feel grateful that you have been handpicked for the same.<br />Don’t wait for anything or anybody because it tends to siphon the energy reservoir of a being. Know and remember that yearning does not make things happen.<br />Work extra hard to not let the battering of years wane the innocent twinkle in your eyes.<br /> <br />Always retain your energy, enthusiasm and excitement, rather, keep refueling them from time to time.<br />Feel free to harbour strong feelings and emotions, nurture them warmly, guard them protectively but learn to not let them seep through to your inner self. <br />Do ensure to have that 'spare time’ always because only when the required is accomplished efficiently, does one get the opportunity to knock the doors of possibilities and potentialities.<br />Let your dreams soar high because they must. Value them because they are most dear to you. Chase them because no one else can and will.<br />Feel proud of your accomplishments (significant or otherwise) because you would know exactly what all went in making each one possible. <br /> </span></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span face="lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white;">Live every moment before it hands you over to the next. </span> </span></div>Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-62451977328385736422019-07-23T10:07:00.001+05:302020-09-20T11:28:39.070+05:30Everyday masterpiece...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
There is
a change, rather a shift. When it started, I savoured the feeling considering
it to be an exception but I am happy that it has lasted the initial euphoria
stage and now it seems to have settled for good. Well, predicting anything to
last forever is pretty preposterous, yet, for me 'for good' has itself taken a
new meaning, which is - as long as it (anything) happily stays with me. </div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I think I
have spent the last couple of decades or so of my life trying to run a
competition against time. I often derived an exceptional thrill in packing
maximum in minimum so that every moment is used to the fullest. In fact I have
tried to manage parallel processing on various fronts so that every moment
becomes manifolds. In my mind, I have planned before leaving the bed - which
sequence should I follow to gain the most. I do not have any regrets for having
spent a good number of years doing so. But all of a sudden this changed one
fine day. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Early in
the morning while coming back from my usual yoga practice I heard my mind
telling me, rather commanding me thus<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-
there is no hurry, there is no rush, do everything peacefully, sit comfortably
to have breakfast, it is perfectly fine if the lunch gets ready by the lunch
time only and not way in advance and it is permitted to do activities
sequentially. I listened to my mind that day, I slowed down and I thoroughly
enjoyed that pace. I could not help noticing a certain calmness engulfing me
engaged in this manner. I enjoyed every single moment that day, although none
was power packed. From that day on, I have been mindfully trying to work at the
new pace. There is no tearing hurry to squeeze out time for some more of this
or that - art work, reading, cooking, learning new things and many more. I
realised, there is no competition that I have to take part in. I do not have to
prove to anybody that I could read a certain number of books in a year, that I
could cook five dishes in one hour, that I could make a piece of art worthy of
appreciation. Even if I cook only one dish in a couple of hours - it is not
less than any piece of art. It is for me, because it gives me immense
satisfaction after having created it. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
More than
a year back, owing to some health issues I felt the need to hire a cook for the
daily cooking. It continued for a year or so and I rationalised the new setup
thinking that there is no charm or fun in cooking the same classic everyday
dishes. I should rather devote my time and energy to adding newer things to my
skill set in different fields. Incidentally, that feeling also changed with the
altered pace. There may not be any glamour in cooking the same old dishes but
then every mundane activity is an opportunity to perfect it even more while
completely dedicating oneself in that time to that activity. There is nothing
which cannot be turned into a masterpiece. Isn't it? </div>
<br />
<br /></div>
Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-31312230527160734732019-05-21T12:15:00.000+05:302019-05-21T12:15:11.990+05:30Backyard Special 'Garam Masala'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
As I sat
today sifting through the pages of my food memories, a very peculiar leaf
brought a smile to my face as the whole scene written on that page danced
before my eyes. The brightness of the day, the wide expanse of the backyard(so
it seemed to my little eyes at that time) of our paternal house, that custom
made cemented water tank with its heavy iron lid, a green patch running along
the width of the backyard and our all-purpose foldable cot - all of which<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>may seem very insignificant but added up to
make a beautiful cherished memory. Oh yes, and there was that swing too which
was the last entrant in the backyard. It was very intelligently designed by our
father. The inverted 'V' on both the sides and the top horizontal bar were made
up of old poles of TV antennas of the olden times. Two iron hooks on the
horizontal bar held four chains and the loose ends of the chains had smaller
hooks which held the grooves of the cane seat.</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I think I
have mentioned many times through my stories that the Sun in all its glory was
highly valued, almost revered by our mother. Her daily routine would begin much
earlier than the first rays of the Sun to gladly receive them. Her activities
in and around the house remained in close tandem with the trajectory of the sun
as it crossed our backyard. Though it was never specified explicitly but It was
almost sacrilegious to be sitting in the rooms in artificial light when natural
light was abundantly available outside. I think, all through the school years,
especially till 10th class, I have studied in the backyard during the daytime.
It was only in higher classes, when I sought complete isolation while studying,
that I started sitting in a closed room even during the day. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Here I
would like to mention the role that the backyard played in our lives as we were
growing up. It was a very significant extension of our house which happened to
be open. The doors that opened up into the backyard were never bolted, and were
often kept wide open to facilitate the ease of movement in and out. Now that I
am writing about it, I think this small practice made all the difference in
seamlessly integrating the open space into the covered portion of the house. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
In
summers, the days would begin very early in our home. It was almost a ritual to
go out in the backyard as soon as one left the bed in the morning. Reading
newspaper, having the morning tea, cleaning and chopping vegetables, running
the washing machine in a corner, studying or just lazing around - that area
would silently witness all. As the day progressed and the heat intensified, the
cool confines of the covered region gave refuge to us. But with sun going down
at dusk, the activities in and around the backyard increased again, almost
compensating for the time lost because of blazing heat. </div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
In
winters, however, the routine almost reversed, chilly mornings and evenings
were spent indoors but the golden sun was diligently chased as soon as its rays
made their appearance in the backyard.</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
How can I
miss mentioning one very significant aspect of mother's routine? I have grown
up seeing two big copper plates (thaali) in our kitchen. The bigger<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>out of the two had raised edges while the
smaller one was a flat plate. They were taken out when some spices, vegetables,
grains and similar such<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>were to be
handpicked or<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>dried in sun. In fact,
almost invariably one or both of them would be out for one thing or the other.
In the scene that is photographically engraved in my memory, I clearly see
those plates with some contents lying on the lid of the cemented water tank,
although their position kept changing, following the path of sunrays in the
backyard. From time to time mother would buy whole spices for Punjabi garam
masala. The same were<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>first diligently
handpicked, spread on those plates for sunning and then taken to the nearest
flour mill for grinding. Somehow those plates with a variety of contents in
them very subtly contributed to making - that backyard a well inhabited place
and our house a home. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Even as I
set up my own home after marriage, I never used the store bought garam masala
as mother would plan to keep it ready for me to take along during every visit.
This continued till the last year that she graced us with her presence. I have
started using store bought garam masala and sometimes I prepare it at home too
but for me, garam masala means much more than the final garnish on a cooked
dish. </div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-24241734911152606932019-04-26T05:42:00.000+05:302019-04-26T05:42:39.868+05:30Sharing Peanuts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="revue-p" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-family: lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px;">
<!--StartFragment-->
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Memories
of childhood always bring a whiff of nostalgia with them. There is something,
rather many things about that phase which make it so very special. As we keep
moving away from that time, the past
picture keeps getting better and better, isn't it? I consider it a
zooming-out effect which brings out the essence of the complete
perspective. </div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
We often
tend to go back to some of those disjointed flashes from the past to relive the
soul of the bygone time. Whenever they surface, they invariably manage to bring
an innocent smile to our face. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
We had a
small traditional tandoor in our house which our father got made on order. I
think it was made using the body of an old cylindrical drum which had its own
lid too. It was a functional tandoor and at least once in a month, usually on a
Sunday, tandoori rotis were made to go along with dal-makhani. As far as I
remember, it was not a trivial activity. Cleaning the tandoor, preparing it,
heating it up sufficiently for the rotis - all this itself would take some
considerable time before actual roti making action. After its use, it was
allowed to cool down, cleaned properly and secured with the lid. </div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I am not
sure how and when but some years down the line, the usage of tandoor became
less frequent. I think it was the time when father got posted to another city.
It was later given away to somebody but strangely its lid was retained. I think
it was a very smart move as that lid in its upside down avatar, naturally
became a serving plate for the birds. Mostly house sparrows, mainas, crows and
red vented bulbuls used to visit our home. Out of these the house sparrows were
the most frequent ones and often came in large numbers. Those were the times
when house sparrows were easily seen in the city. Mother would keep some bajra
seeds, bits and pieces of the first roti that was cooked every day and any left
over roti or rice in that plate, along with water in a deep terracotta pot -
for the birds to feast on. I remember every day, early in the morning, while
tidying up the house and the backyard, mother would clean up that plate and the
water bowl and would refill both with fresh supplies. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
During
summers, early morning was the time when the sparrows would visit looking for
their first meal of the day, in good numbers. Their chirping, altercations and
bantering were a part of the background noise in our home. Their numbers would
dwindle as the day became hotter. The pattern reversed in winters. House
sparrows would come solo, in pairs, and in groups when sun brought some respite
from the chill. </div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I carry
one particular memory of those winter afternoons. Natural light, fresh air and
winter sun are perhaps a few things out of many which were highly valued by
mother. She always encouraged us to sit and study in the backyard to make the
most of these three. After returning home from school during those winter days,
we were served food outside on the foldable cot. While basking in the warmth of
the sun, we would indulge in the last course of
any winter meal - roasted peanuts and gazak. Many birds, especially
house sparrows used to pay us a visit during that time and we would gently
flick some peanuts to their side too though cautiously, trying not to scare
them away. It was a sheer delight to watch them feast on those peanuts and I
must admit a little bit of sense of individual achievement that they ate what
one offered. While writing this I can very vividly see that scene in front of
my eyes where we all ate peanuts together. Years passed in almost fast forward
manner, I moved out of the parental house first for my masters and then to
build a separate abode after marriage. On every visit to that house, I couldn't
help notice lesser and lesser sparrows coming to the backyard for food. They
were fast getting pushed away by the bigger and stronger mainas. </div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
House
sparrows were tiny little birds, females had pale brown and grey coats while
males had brighter black, white and brown markings. They were very shy
birds. Sadly, they have become extinct in our city now. I miss them, because
their chirpiness and their companionship are an integral part of my childhood
memories. They remain the loveable background sound, in fact, music in my
reminiscences. </div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
We do
have feathered visitors in our new house here too. After searching online for
their name, I came to know that they are Jungle Babblers. They are bigger,
brown coated birds with long tails and they chirp loudly. I scatter bread
crumbs, leftover rice and pieces of first chapatti of the day for them on the
backyard wall. They also visit in groups to eat and then fly away together.
They are much stronger and fearless, rather aggressive than my old feathered
friends. I like feeding them but I miss the little ones dearly, more so in
winters when I eat peanuts.</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Dear sparrows, this is my tribute to you. You will always have a special place in my memories. </div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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</div>
Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-50965572332598542622019-04-22T11:18:00.000+05:302019-04-22T11:18:45.285+05:30Soul-less Bread Butter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I was in
the second year of my under-grad. It was the last Friday of the first month of
that year. The college day was about to end, just one more lecture was to be
attended. I was about to reach the designated lecture hall with my batchmates,
when all of a sudden I decided to skip that class and to go home. My friends
were quite surprised because there was no reason to not attend that class that
day. We were just 20 odd girls in the non-medical section and if and whenever
we decided to bunk a lecture, we would preferably do it together and would even
inform the lecturer about our absence. Somehow that day it was different and it
still is a mystery to me why I decided to head home. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I reached
home and saw my mother coming out from the main entrance as if she was
expecting to meet me outside. I was on my two-wheeler mobike. She asked me to
go to the post office and send a telegram to my paternal auntie who lived in
Karnal at that time, requesting her to come immediately. Those were the times
when phones were not omnipresent. Auntie often used to visit us and would stay
with us for longer durations too. Her presence used to uplift the mood of
everyone at home. My father was not keeping well for some days and it was
getting very depressing at home. That was the year when only I was at home with
my parents. My eldest sister was married, my brother had taken up his first job
in the capital city and my second sister was away studying in another city. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I went
inside, kept my college bag and saw my father breathing a little heavily though
he was sleeping peacefully. He was on a high dose of medicine for the past
couple of weeks and that could have triggered this irregular breathing - we<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>rationalized and did not feel right to
disturb his sleep. I went to the post office and returned back in about half an
hour. I saw my mother standing at the gate as if desperately waiting for me to
come back. We rushed inside and on seeing father's condition, it was clear that
something was seriously wrong. The events that followed are just a haze in my
mind. Our tenants who were on the first floor of our house came first, followed
by some neighbours; a doctor was called; my eldest sister and her family came;
our living room was cleared out and sitting arrangement was done on the floor;
our entrance was thrown open as more people had started pouring in and many
more were expected through the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br />
Just like that, a person had become a body. </div>
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I
experienced a strange type of dichotomy surrounding myself then - time was
dragging slowly but things were happening at a strange pace; mind was numb but
a lot of noise in the mind didn't cease to pause even for a moment; there was
deathly silence in the atmosphere but people around were engaged in various
tasks. By midnight, our house was full of friends, relatives and acquaintances.
There was a constant supply of tea and eatables for them from the homes in our
neighbourhood. I came to know that day that until the body is cremated, the
kitchen fire cannot be lit. Night gradually merged into dawn and somebody
brought bread and Amul butter from the nearby Verka booth. I don't know who,
but someone opened the packets and started smearing un-melted cold butter on
raw un-toasted bread slices while another started passing them around for all
to take a few. The serving plate reached me. I did not have any appetite so I
declined but I was almost forced to pick one up by the well meaning individual
who was serving them. I had not had this kind of breakfast ever in my life
until then. The first morsel of it felt as if I was trying to push a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>hard something down my throat and it was
being resisted by a big lump in the throat which was obstructing the
passageway. That day the dryness, the coldness and the drabness of that bread
slice left a lasting imprint on my senses in many different ways. </div>
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Bread-butter
combination remains the coldest breakfast option for me, no matter how much I
try to partake it just off the stove. Somehow the memories of that morning come
rushing back to me. The same bread-butter paid another visit to us a few years
back when we bid adieu to our mother. It was almost like déjà vu to me that
day, my whole being including the senses already knew that day and that
breakfast option. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The
coldness that fissures of heart bring about overpowers everything else. </div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-52240734227970266592019-04-16T10:01:00.002+05:302019-04-16T10:01:52.233+05:30'Bread Pakora' Test<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I wonder how we learn to understand our natural instincts and insecurities, which often, naturally get tamed or taper down, as we progress adding years to our lives. In our home - being a picky eater or openly expressing displeasure for any particular food item - were categorically disapproved. However, fondness for some and distaste for other dishes existed nonetheless. I remember not being very enthused about any dish which had chana dal or chana besan in it, whether it was Punjabi kadhi, chana dal, vegetable pakoras or bread pakoras. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It is quite ironical though, that I derive a special pleasure in cooking Punjabi Kadhi and vegetable pakoras now. I truly believe that making the perfect Kadhi and vegetable pakoras is nothing less than an art and an expression of pure love for cooking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">While usual breakfast options at home, during school days, were either some stuffed parantha, missi roti or similar such. Sundays and holidays were a little special and different. This was simply because we had more time to indulge in some fancy dish in the morning. Variety of breads and bread preparations were not very common when we were growing up, especially in our home. While I enjoyed all the bread preparations that our mother would prepare, bread pakora was the only one that bothered me immensely. That was not the case with my siblings but I just managed to endure the bread pakoras somehow. It was a common practice that our mother would always make a little extra breakfast so that if anybody felt hungry again before the next meal, there was something handy to satiate that mild hunger pang.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Our mother did her under-grad in Mathematics from a Government college in Delhi where one of her professors was this young girl who had just finished her own education. Many years passed, our parents got married and established their home at Chandigarh where my father was posted at that time. It was at the local bus stand while waiting for her bus, my mother met the same professor and they both recognised each other instantly. The bond which was at a very nascent stage during the college days as a teacher and a taught, started developing and flourishing. She had a son who was younger to me by a year and I was the youngest in our family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I was in one of the primary classes. It was one of the days during our school summer holidays when we had bread pakoras for our breakfast and the day was progressing like any uneventful day. At around noon, our door bell rang and we had visitors - professor aunty and her son. By then they were frequent visitors at our place. I must mention here that aunty had an impeccable taste in her crisp cotton sarees that she draped to college. Whenever she came directly from college, she would be nothing less than a sight to behold. She also had an excellent gift of gab and always had an inexhaustible reservoir of stories to narrate about her students, her co-teachers and their respective families, college politics, her own extended family which stayed in Punjab and much more. Even though we had never met any of her acquaintances ever, yet we knew so much about each one of them, all thanks to her superlative skill of describing things in detail, inciting interest in her listeners. Whenever she came to our home, she would invariably stay over for the upcoming meal of the day, which was sandwiched between a couple of sessions of tea and snacks. I think she was rather proud of her inability to cook delicious food and complimented her ex-student profusely on how well she cooked simple dishes yet filled with flavour and taste. She had no qualms in accepting that cooking was a chore for her, which somehow had to be carried out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That day, it was a little different. She had come to drop her son off for a few hours at our place as she had a meeting in the college which she could not afford to miss. After about half an hour or so, my mother reheated the bread pakoras and served them to all of us including professor aunty’s son. While we were still warming up to the idea of picking a piece to put in our respective plates, the young guest wasted no time and gulped almost five of those pakora pieces down his throat. It was only when the last one was left that we realised that all the others had been polished off by the little one. My elder siblings were amused by the display of his innocence and how comfortably he ate at our home but I was a different story altogether. I almost threw a fit in the kitchen where mother was preparing lunch. I was angry and was almost in tears. And what was my grouse? Why didn’t mother keep some bread pakoras for me separately because as it was I had had very little in the morning, so I had the right to have some kept exclusively for me. Strange, isn’t it? Given that I hardly enjoyed eating bread pakoras …. never had more than the bare minimum of this dish whenever it was served and never bothered to pick one even when it was served again for everyone - what was all this grievance about? I do not remember the details of how mother pacified me but the memory of my reaction has stayed fresh in my mind to this date. It took me many years of maturity to understand that this is the natural instinct of possessing things, even when they are not required. This instinct is quite commonly and openly seen in children but sometimes the same continues into adulthood too. It is for us to check whether it is just to satisfy this ownership impulse behind any action or is there some real meaning for doing the same. For me, I try to run my thoughts and actions through my ‘bread-pakora test’, to course correct in case required. </span></div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-1727745437584509292019-04-03T13:06:00.000+05:302019-04-03T13:10:01.962+05:30Say Yes to 'Garlic Bread'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When I
look back I feel it was during the under-grad time in college that I started
acknowledging and understanding my own preferences, anxieties and of course my
idiosyncrasies too. Incidentally this period also became 'the first' for many
things and one of those was self-imposed discipline of rules and regulations
for myself. Somehow during this time I got really impressed by the idea of four
ashrams of a human life that our ancient sages and seers had propounded. My
mind conceived a certain image of an ideal student as a seeker of knowledge who
must - abstain from all pleasures of life, lead a simple ascetic kind of life
and concentrate on learning and enhancing knowledge. On the practical level, I
deliberately restricted the number of dresses that I wore to college to less
than a double digit and the same were invariably in dull pastel shades. During
the exams my attire had to be white only. This self created regimen befitting a
student life was just not restricted to the apparel; I tried my best to keep
the rest of the lifestyle justifying that stage of life. I started considering
it a virtue to alienate myself from anything 'new', 'current', 'in vogue' or
'in trend' whether it was a latest movie, a different cuisine, any branded
item, well, you get an idea… </div>
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While I
was preparing for certain entrance examinations during the final year of my
under-grad, I started reading various monthly/fortnightly magazines dedicated
to current affairs, regularly. One of them was Competition Success Review. It
was pretty readable, covered detailed stories on significant current events,
had some success stories to motivate aspiring candidates for UPSC and carried
some sample papers of different competition exams. There was another magazine -
Competition Master, which was a little expensive but had better paper quality. </div>
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I
continued the habit of reading some interesting articles and success stories
from these magazines during the years of my masters degree although I could not
follow them very regularly. During the last semester, in one of the issues of
CSR, I happened to see an advertisement for an essay competition. I think from
very early on, I somehow got this notion that I could write and I should write.
Though I never wrote anything, yet the idea of writing always fascinated me.
Perhaps that advertisement did the trick and I compiled an essay on the given
topic and sent it to the specified address. </div>
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Penultimate
semester is actually the last one in the college because the last semester is
training in a company. So the last semester in the college and hostel is
supposed to be a little busy time with campus placements happening almost every
week along with regular coursework of that sem. And to top it all, the feeling
starts sinking in that the student life, the college and hostel time - all are
going to end soon. As is expected in such situations, I completely forgot about my entry in that essay
competition. Semester finally ended, we parted ways assuring each other that we
would keep meeting and would stay in touch always. Training period began and
once again I found myself in a state where I was trying to learn the ropes in a
completely new setting - a company environment. Thankfully I was doing this
training in my hometown so the comfort of home and mother's care were there to
lend a soothing balm to my anxious nerves. Once during that time I was passing
through our local market, when a very young looking girl stopped me and asked
me if I was that Vibha who had won CSR's competition. By then the essay and the
competition had completely faded out of my memory. I think I reacted very
dumbly to her excitement and she must have considered me a totally lost person.
After putting considerable stress on my mind, I recalled the essay competition
and went to the nearby bookstore to buy latest issue of the CSR magazine. Sure
enough, my essay was adjudged the best in the category and my passport size
photograph was staring at me along with my write-up. </div>
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<span lang="en-US">The
following week, I received the same information by post and was invited to
participate in the second round of competitions which was supposed to be held
in the capital city. The event was spread over three days with various rounds
of - quizzes, group discussions, interviews and a finale which was supposed to
be a big event at a prestigious venue with many bigwigs gracing the event. The
night before the finale I came to know that my name was in the top three female
contestants who were to appear for a spotlight round on stage in front of the
huge audience. Can I just say - I was nervous because there is no way I can
explain the number and type of butterflies that I had in my stomach that day
when my name was called out for the spotlight round. None other than the famous
</span><span lang="en-IN">Derek O’Brien (in his previous avatar) was the quiz
host of that round. It was a rapid fire round in which we were supposed to
answer as many questions as possible in 30 seconds. I answered the first five
questions correctly and then he began the sixth question thus - 'In a garlic
bread…' I did not let him complete the question and shot back 'pass'. As was
expected, the audience laughed and then Derek completed the question - '…, what
is it that gives the garlic flavour?' I did not have any time to curse myself
for passing that straight forward question but there, at that very moment, I
realised that it was a clear outcome of my (closed)mindset - anything new or
trendy needed to be shunned as it went against the image that my mind approved
of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I think there was a certain
degree of pride that I had started taking in how I remained true to my ideals.
Needless to say whenever there is any mention of garlic bread since then, the
memory of that evening resurfaces. More importantly, that episode taught me a
great lesson to be aware and course correct when the mind inadvertently
approves or disapproves a certain thing even before giving it a fair chance to
express itself. </span></div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-71303577183919392562019-03-23T08:32:00.005+05:302019-03-23T08:32:41.524+05:30For it to be a "Kofta Curry" day...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="color: purple; font-family: inherit;">There are days that get etched on our mental surface through some very strange associations. It did take me a while to realise that in my mind there is a distinct nomenclature of some days by food items that somehow got coupled with the circumstances or moods of those days. For instance there are kofta curry days and bread-butter days while there are times which bring back the memories of the settings of my first vegetable manchurian day or that dahi-bhalla day. If I am not able to make myself clear by this brief introduction, don’t fret, here I am bringing a sample through one of my dear ones - the Kofta curry day.</span></i></div>
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It had been extremely muggy the whole day. In fact, for past many days, a blanket of dust had covered the sky not letting any of its hues to even peep through, what to talk of the sun. It was as if the sun never had any shine of its own, rather it appeared nothing more than a pale straw-coloured ball painted on a dull background. Its arrival and exit could only be felt through the day break and nightfall but its signatory brightness was nowhere to be seen. Well, sometimes a little child’s antics do manage to dupe the audience into believing that the gathering of Nobel laureates is indeed for his tricks. Likewise, the thick brownish grey spread was enjoying its spell, for a little extended period then as if testing the patience of mere mortals like us. Every summer, this does happen at least once, if not more. These are the times when heat actually becomes unbearable and the days seem to drag laboriously sucking every single ounce of energy and vigour that it spots anywhere. People can be heard talking about the weather and respite is sought desperately by everyone - animate or even inanimate perhaps. </div>
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It was the month of June and a brand new academic session had just begun. I was still trying to get into the rhythm of the college routine after having spent almost the entire life up till then as a school student. For twelve of seventeen years of my life, I had belonged to the same educational institution. All of a sudden, it was hard to call this new place my own. So many things had changed in such a short span of time. To name just a miniscule of the almost unending list - comfort of the same uniform, same red brick walls, the arc shaped board on which the name of the school was engraved, the same school bus and the same bus driver who had been a silent witness to many batches crossing various thresholds of growing up - all just disappeared with the last day of the school. No wonder, I was feeling like a complete alien in the new surroundings as a small fish does in a big pond away from her own people.</div>
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The final bell rang indicating the end of another college day. It was a long day as the regular lectures were followed by a Chemistry lab session. Mixing some chemicals as instructed, checking the odour and colour of the resultant and measuring the final quantity - everything was done and the observations were recorded in the oversized practical notebook. Lab coats were off and packed in the bags. I headed towards my Atlas bicycle waving adieu to my peers some of whom were already near the college exit gate and a few were walking towards their respective bikes and scooters/scootys.</div>
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I had hardly reached the first turn about 200m away from the college gate, when the sullen silence that was ominously hanging in the environment gave way to loud rumbling of clouds. Almost magically, the scene got a complete makeover as if the sky was trying to cast away the thick blanket of dust with vengeance. In no time, it started to rain. Well, calling that thing ‘rain’, is a gross understatement. It was a downpour which seemed like the heavens above were incessantly spilling buckets and buckets of water over. There was no option of going back to the college, nor did I consider it even once. Riding fast in that rain to reach home as soon as possible, was the only possibility that I was focused on.</div>
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What a scene it was, nothing that I had experienced ever before, nor was there any chance of experiencing something like that earlier. Anytime outside home, it was the cocoon like protection of the school and of the school bus that kept me shielded from coming face to face with any of the elements directly and for such an extended period. Or was it something else at work that day?</div>
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I guess, I know now, it was the first ever - unhindered, unobstructed and unadulterated one-on-one with the rain that day and what an experience that was. In a very short stretch of distance I was drenched, no, I was soaked to the bone. And when that happened, almost instantly it liberated me in a very mysterious way. I stopped trying to cover myself from what was coming on to me. The head which had naturally bent down to reduce the impact of the showers, automatically turned up. Somehow, it dawned on me that what was coming to me was meant for me and I got ready to take it as it is - in its complete entirety and its regal opulence. Though it didn’t seem like a deep learning at that time but having lived such days many times after that, I know that it is indeed a very significant learning. Rather than concentrating on how to avert the situation, I was starting to enjoy channelizing my energy towards soaking in what those moments were offering to me. At that time, my whole being rejoiced in that feeling and the rest of the distance got covered just in a blur.</div>
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I parked my bicycle on its stand and rang the door bell. My mother opened the door with worried look on her face seeing my dripping condition but she was amused to see that her expressions were answered by a wide smile dancing on my face. I was shivering badly and immediately changed into dry clothes. I opened my tightly braided tresses and dried them with the towel. By then my lunch was already laid out on a newspaper spread on the bed where my father and my eldest sister were sitting with the bedroom window open. Clearly they were sitting and chatting there for quite some time and were enjoying the respite the change in the weather had brought. I was surprised to see father relaxing at home at that time of the day as it was a regular office day. I later came to know that he had taken half day off to attend to some bank work. I think by then I had understood one thing about myself. My spirits generally soared seeing happy and lively talk at home. I was already basking in the delight that the new understanding on the road had brought to me and the scene at home simply added to my cheerfulness.</div>
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Mother had served kofta curry with white rice which was not a classic combination. Usually kofta curry was served with chapatti but I have been a rice lover and seeing steaming hot rice in front of me just gladdened my heart to no end. Seemingly nothing was special or extraordinary, yet everything was just right the way they were and little did I know at that time that the same would become memorable for eternity. Many decades have passed since then and there have been some times over these years which have qualified to be similar to that kofta-curry day. It is any day when one gets to marvel at the simple joys of life which become extraordinary in their own unique way.</div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-13889899109801592682019-01-05T21:54:00.000+05:302019-01-19T21:55:30.454+05:30Mouthpiece #68<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Grateful to be back...</div>
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I have been very irregular with my newsletter in 2018 and regularity is one thing that I had seriously committed to (to myself) when I began writing my mouthpiece every fortnight. I think I had become a part of a nice rhythm when the mind would start working on the idea for the upcoming mouthpiece and a week prior to posting it, I would start composing my thoughts into something coherent. After many months of having left it, I was going through some of the pieces last week and I could actually go back to the state in which those were written. I could still feel the pleasure I derived while writing some. Though a long time has passed since I last posted anything on this platform, I would like to resume this routine once again while reverently bowing down to the uncertainties in life.</div>
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continue <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-68-125093">here...</a></div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-80971751921509417962017-11-18T07:24:00.000+05:302017-11-18T07:24:29.855+05:30Mouthpiece #63<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For the clinking-clanking love...</div>
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(<b style="box-sizing: content-box;">Alert:</b> it is a long one, please bear with me)</div>
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I don’t know how it came to me but it did one day. I think I can even remember the precise moment when it happened. While I have been at the receiving end of the joy it was bringing to me every single time but this was the moment when I acknowledged it and decided to write about it. I think now I know how it feels to be deeply in love. I wonder why did not I think about it earlier, but I guess, nature has its own plan of sending things one’s way. I very humbly accept it and thank the cosmos (the kaaynaat) for letting me bask in this fuzzy feeling which, I think, is definitely a little more than just love.</div>
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Without further ado, let me just plunge into divulging the mysterious ‘it’ - it is my adoration and fondness for the unsung heroes in any kitchen - the pots and pans, the friers and cookers, the scoopers and servers, the spatulas and turners, the griddles and skillets, the cutters and knives, the blenders and mixers… oh, the list is just so long.</div>
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Why, unsung heroes because we talk, hear and make a lot of fuss about what to cook, how to cook, which ingredients to choose, how to ensure quality and taste all along, but never give the ones who actually make cooking possible, their due.</div>
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So my dear companions in kitchen, I am feeling extremely happy to be expressing my gratitude for you today through this platform.</div>
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Well it began with the basic stainless-steel kitchen set that I began my journey in kitchen with. It had all the basic components from cooking utensils to serving dishes, plates, spoons and forks. Looking back at that time from now, I can say that working with familiar sonorous sound of steel utensils in the foreign land did play some role in making me feel comfortable in the new kitchen. Inaugurating the brand new metallic utensils with some sweet dish to mark beginning of their life with me, was a small ritual that I liked following at that time. Though the set had very limited number of pieces but it was quite sufficient to cook a decent meal and to even serve some guests.</div>
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My mother played a significant role in increasing my kitchen possessions. On every visit back home, she would have kept something to grace my kitchen even further. From new stylish stainless steel glasses, big thalis with raised edges, futura anodized cooker, sets of dibbas for pinnis/snacks to spatulas of different sizes, shapes and styles - she would keep one thing or the other ready along with innumerable other gifts to be packed with me while going back. My kitchen kept getting richer and richer and I enjoyed working with new utensils experimenting to my heart’s content. I think it was in Banaglore that I started developing a soft corner for tea cups and the sight of bright coloured, fancy, quirky tea cups started alluring me into buying some of them. Well, this softness did not remain restricted to tea cups only, it swelled and gradually engulfed many other items too.</div>
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Just the other day I was going through my prized possessions and realised that I actually have <b style="box-sizing: content-box;">9 kadaahis (pans)</b>. Dear readers, before you question my sanity, I can explain. There is one <i style="box-sizing: content-box;">big iron one</i> which I take out to make methi-aloo, kala-chana for the ashtami puja and for that lip smacking ajwain-waale-small-potatoes. How can I cook these three in any other kadaahi because that richness of colour can only be lent by an iron utensil. Moving on to <i style="box-sizing: content-box;">three aluminium kadaahis</i> of three different sizes. These were gifted by mummy from time to time and come very handy for all kinds of tadkas, dry sabzis, halwas, panjiris, and in fact, almost anything that needs steam cooking but not pressure cooking. There is one specific <i style="box-sizing: content-box;">kadaahi for deep frying</i> and using any other kadaahi for this purpose is almost sacrilegious. So I have already explained the reason behind the existence of 5. There are <i style="box-sizing: content-box;">two small ones</i>, one with lid and other without. The lidded one is typically used for keeping the leftover liquid-subzis because I prefer to reheat them on the gas-top. The other small one is to fit in where nothing else works like making ghee out of butter, small quantity of tadka for dal or for making manchurian etc. There is <i style="box-sizing: content-box;">one super big kadaahi</i> which sees the light of the day when besan-ki-pinni, gajar-ka-halwa or gobhi-gajar-shalgum pickle is to be made or even for cooking hakka noodles. It is wide mouthed and allows more surface area to work on. Okay, now for the last one which is my recent prized possession. This one is the latest addition in my kitchen which I purchased two years back and it is <i style="box-sizing: content-box;">non-stick kadaahi</i>. I like to handle it very gently for the sabzis which need just tender steam and not too much frying and scraping of the surface.</div>
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Coming to spatulas and turners, I would not bore you with the number of them that I have but there is good enough reason for each one of them to be present inside my kitchen cabinet. One cannot just work in a big kadaahi or pan with a small serving spoon, or serve with long handle-spatulas. There needs to be a specific one for a specific task - big scooper kinds for cooking gravy-sabzis, flatter ones for lifting and turning dry-sabzis, turners of different kinds for tawas and griddles, specific ones for deep frying, wooden spatulas for non-stick pans and pots - you get the point, right?</div>
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And cookers, let me just tell you that I have five of them and no, no one can replace any other. They are there because they are very much needed and used. The latest being the new Prestige cooker which is a delight to work with. I think I did mention it a few times at home how I have fallen in love with this cooker. I like the safety valve of it which actually starts dancing when the steam is building up inside. The cute podgy whistle sits prettily on the top. Another good part is that this cooker comes with a glass lid too, so the cooker can be used as serving bowl when the cooking is done. I think I have blessed that soul many times who came up with design. May God increase your tribe :)</div>
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I think I do get a certain pleasure in taking the right utensil and spatula out once I decide what is to be cooked and this combination is almost fixed for different dishes. It is fixed to such an extent that there is a designated pan for my peels and pips too. No, no, I did not buy it purposely. It came with my OTG, it was actually an iron baking dish but after many years of use, it started showing some signs of wear and tear but I did not want to part with it. So I employed it at another designation. I am sure, it doesn’t feel bad because it has no replacement in this new position. It is the first thing that gets picked up when I start my work in the kitchen every single day with raw ingredients. I think if we just go by the companionship, I think I have the maximum with this pan.</div>
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Since last Diwali I have started a new tradition, and to tell you frankly, I have complimented myself many times for coming up with this. I have decided to gift my kitchenmates a new companion every Diwali. It began with a set of microwavable casseroles and last Diwali it was, of course, my Prestige 2l cooker.</div>
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My dear kitchen comrades, thank you for being there and for being you. Each one of you is valued and appreciated for adding your unique 'clink’ and 'clank’ to my cooking.</div>
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What's new in the kitchen? Crispy Halwa</div>
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I was introduced to this dish by my mother-in-law, who is a wonderful cook herself. She knows how to bring out the best flavours with just some very basic ingredients. There are many dishes that I have learnt to cook from her but I think she makes the best crispy halwa. Crispy halwa? It sounds pretty strange isn’t it? The texture and the smart twist that it gives to the regular sooji halwa is just amazing. Since I had never seen her making it, I did not have the confidence of doing justice to it for a very long time. But as I got more comfortable in the kitchen, many things started feeling/appearing more logical. There is a feel that one begins to develop around various ingredients and their unique flavours. One fine day, I just attempted making it and it turned out to be a grand success.</div>
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After having made it many times now, I feel making this halwa is even simpler than the regular Suji halwa. Crispy halwa is one-pot dish which does not even require preparation of separate sugar solution. I would say, this is a jazzy and stylish version of the good old halwa and when you have guests over, it surely will earn you some brownie points as a chef.</div>
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Ingredients:</div>
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Suji: 1 cup</div>
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Sugar: 1 cup</div>
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Milk: 1 cup</div>
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Cardamom: 2 (coarsely ground seeds)</div>
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Raisins and almonds: 1 cup</div>
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Ghee: ¾ cup</div>
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Take suji, sugar and milk in a bowl, mix well and let them rest for 1-2 hours. In a heavy bottomed pan, pour ghee and warm it up. Pour the suji-sugar-milk mixture in the hot ghee and immediately start scarping the bottom of the pan as the mixture tends to stick to the pan. Reduce the flame and keep frying while continuously stirring for partly crispy partly soft feel of the content. It will start leaving the pan gradually. At this time add the cardamom powder and nuts. Serve it hot for that mmm… experience. </div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-90180973289705804212017-11-14T06:27:00.000+05:302017-11-14T06:27:06.798+05:30Mouthpiece #62<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Happy Birthday to you...</div>
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Dear Mummy,</div>
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It is your 76th birthday today, of which 72 summers you spent in this mortal world. Though you have concluded your worldly journey already, but for us, this day is significant and will remain so till we breathe our last. This message is to update you on what all occurred and happened in our lives since the time you bade us goodbye. Yes, it still feels like a scripted goodbye when we all got just enough time to be together for that one last time - the five of us, who held the fort together when we found ourselves at the receiving end of a visit of death God in our house. It took away with it our big umbrella who was supposed to be protecting and guiding us through all ups and downs of life which had just started to unfold for us. The path was never hurdle free post that but borrowing from your seemingly inexhaustible reservoir of fortitude, we managed to walk continuously - sometimes sprinting while at others just barely dragging our feet. We became your identity and you ours although our individual paths took us all in different directions and to different destinations. We were rather unware of this strong coupling and reliance, nor perhaps was there any reason to register it consciously. Sometimes the absence of something makes one realise the indispensability of the same much more clearly. It is almost like air, we don’t see it but it nurtures us with its life giving nature. Your going away felt like a huge jolt to all of us, so much so that we were almost stunned into complete silence for many months that followed. Disbelief that this could happen to us, extreme grief of the ultimate separation, sad sinking in of the new reality of losing both the parents and unappealing future of walking without you - all of this was too overwhelming, much beyond our capacity to handle. During that unprecedented difficult time, what eventually gave us direction and some semblance of normalcy was your way of handling things - seek refuge from none other than the supreme power and continue dispensing the duties that are expected of us.</div>
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God’s benevolent grace was at play once again, as we started experiencing peace in the state of immersing ourselves in more and more work in whichever capacity we could do. This was the period when we all practically got detached from the outer world as a big churning was happening in our insides. I being the youngest can confidently say this on behalf of all my elder siblings because I know and to tell you the truth, I feel, this is an outcome of what all you worked for all your life. Our four different hearts still beat to the same rhythm that you had so lovingly composed and compiled.</div>
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We have moved on. We have moved on from the time when we cried our hearts out for losing the unconditional love, care and support to the current times when we are trying to be the one for someone in our lives. If not for many, at least for a few. You have made even this goal seemingly achievable for us because we have seen a live example in our lives in you. You truly epitomised the meaning of unequivocal devotion in your life.</div>
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With each passing day, month and year, we admire you even more, for - your divine grace in equally unmatched simplicity, your strength of character in front of formidable hurdles, your wisdom in weeding out complexity from the thoughts, your immense ability to forgive, forget and smile, your poise in choosing to be insignificant while working as a fulcrum, and your unflinching faith that we all are always well taken care of by the divine hand.</div>
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You went away with a deep sense of satisfaction that you did what all you could in every phase of life and in every role that you were entrusted with. We wish and hope that we all achieve that state when it is time for us to conclude our journeys. Deep in our hearts we know we have your benign hand on our heads always.</div>
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So long.</div>
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Hostel Evenings and Break Pakora...</div>
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Often some foods get associated with places and people and just the mention of one reminds the other. For me, bread pakora is one classic example which brings back the memories of hostel days. After attending long day of lectures and after having endured non-palatable lunch, evening tea and the accompanying snack were the most sought after and the most delicious offerings of the hostel mess. The snack was either two small cutlets, a bread roll or a bread pakora with potato stuffing. If one was lucky enough to reach there on time, one could even have it right out of the frying pan. By default each person got one helping of the snack but the bonus used to be the extra one which landed up amongst us thanks to those who could not have ‘such an oily’ food. I think bread pakora rose to being one of my favourites only during that time and since then it has retained its position among the most loved snacks.</div>
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These days I purposely prepare a little extra aloo parantha filling and save some for the evening bread pakoras.</div>
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Here is how to prepare the filling:</div>
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Potatoes : 2 (boiled and peeled)</div>
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Onions : ½ medium size (finely chopped)</div>
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Green chillies : 1 (finely chopped)</div>
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Coriander leaves : 2 tbsp (finely chopped)</div>
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Ajwain : ¼ tsp</div>
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Anardana powder : ¼ tsp (optional)</div>
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Garam Masala : ¼ tsp</div>
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Red chilli powder : a pinch</div>
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Salt : to taste</div>
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Mash the potatoes in a big bowl and add all the ingredients to it . Mix the whole thing really nicely so that it forms a smooth and consistent lump of mixture.</div>
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Ingredients for the batter</div>
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Besan : 1 cup</div>
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Water :</div>
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MDH chana masala : ½ tsp</div>
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Cumin seeds : ½ tsp</div>
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Baking soda : a pinch</div>
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Salt : to taste</div>
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Mustard oil : 4 cups (for deep frying)</div>
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Mix all the ingredients really well and keep it aside for 10-15 minutes so that there are no lumps left. The batter should be as thick/thin as idli batter. It should not be runny as it will spread when put in the oil. Now once the batter and the filling are ready, cut the bread slices in half (preferably diagonally because bread pakoras look good in that shape). Spread potato mixture on one slice, cover it with another, press it gently, dip it in the batter and drop it in hot oil. Fry it from both the sides and serve it hot with tamarind and mint chutneys. </div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-68205939036682622292017-10-20T16:14:00.002+05:302017-10-20T16:14:43.173+05:30Mouthpiece #61<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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मन के मोती...</div>
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एक पथिक मैं किसी राह की,</div>
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एक मुसाफ़िर अपनी ही धुन की |</div>
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कूद-फाँद के कभी संभल के,</div>
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फ़ूँक-फ़ूँक के या मस्ती में,</div>
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रुके नहीं पग थमे नहीं पग,</div>
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था भी कहाँ कोई और विकल्प ?</div>
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continue <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-61-77134">here</a>...<br />
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For that Glimpse from the Past</div>
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(This I wrote for another platform, posting it here…)</div>
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Bags were packed, weighed, not once but multiple times. Not more than 24 hours were left for one more journey to begin. In fact, one of the smaller journeys within a bigger journey of life. Where did the last few days fly away, she didn’t realise. Now with a cup of tea in her hand, she could actually feel the frantic pace at which she had been working for the past week or so. Her mind ran through all the lists that she had made as she prepared for her impending journey to meet her children in USA - gifts for each one of her children and grandchildren, her signature delicacies for every family - various sweetmeats (especially besan laddoo), a medley of pickles and what not. Not to forget innumerable things that needed to be taken care of before closing the house for 3-4 months.</div>
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continue <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-61-77134">here</a>...</div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-20920851843383047502017-10-07T06:06:00.002+05:302017-10-07T06:06:30.717+05:30Mouthpiece #60<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Say 'yes'</div>
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During any single day, the kind of activities we indulge in, has a big component of our own interests, preferences and likings. This is because, our inclinations comprise our basic innate nature and we tend to drift towards what feeds them. However, there are times when it feels that the demands of people around us (usually our dear ones) are expecting some adjustment in the way we want to spend our time or energy. I call it a classic stage setting for a mental conflict. </div>
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continue <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-60-76174">here</a>...<br />
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Hide and Seek</div>
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There is something very strange about grief. With time you feel you have overpowered it, you notice that perhaps grief has left your side after what seemed like just a big blob of time barely resembling days or nights. A daybreak starts getting noticeable again and so does a nightfall. It doesn’t go unnoticed that your mouth has not lost its ability to stretch itself into a smile after all. Once again you naturally start participating in the conversations that happen around you without the same getting phased out completely.</div>
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<span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">continue </span><a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-60-76174" style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">...</span></div>
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What's cooking? Dahi-bhalle</div>
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Story behind dahi bhalle? Yes, in fact there is one, though a very small one. As I have mentioned earlier, there are some foods which get associated with certain places and certain occasions. Dahi-bhalle fall in this category as they were strongly associated with astami-puja at our home. Ashtami kanya pujan is done with traditional poori-chana-halwa combination and I remember how the same were prepared with highest degree of cleanliness and purity. Mummy was very particular about a few things. The kitchen should be sparkling clean before this puja, not even a single unwashed dish should be anywhere in the kitchen. The cooking used to begin pretty early in the morning so that puja is done well before school/office time. Along with the regular combination of poori-chana-halwa, dahi-bhalle were a part of the meal too. I did not much care about dahi-bhalle on any other days but they somehow held a great importance on these days which fall twice in a year.</div>
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Though this was not the tradition in my marital home but dahi-bhalle as chaat (with tamarind chutney) has been a regular feature on any special meals. The perfection of the bhalle is in their softness while retaining the shape intact.</div>
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<span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">recipe </span><a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-60-76174" style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">...</span></div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-37397713644853729432017-09-30T06:29:00.003+05:302017-09-30T06:29:45.523+05:30Mouthpiece #59<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sometimes one just needs a nudge for the deep-seated feelings to come pouring out. This happened with me recently when I was asked to compose an article on Bangalore for a prestigious magazine ‘Atulya Bharat’ and after writing it, I felt, perhaps this is what I have been wanting to do for a very long time. So here is a tribute to my soul-city : Bangalore. </div>
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बैंगलोर - कुछ ज़्यादा अपना सा</div>
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जीवन पर्यन्त हम अनेकों शख्सियतों से मिलते हैं | कइओं को करीब से जानने का मौका मिलता है तो कइओं से सिर्फ औपचारिकता का सम्बन्ध ही बन पाता है | पर कुछ ऐसे व्यक्तित्व के मालिक होते हैं जो हमारे अति आत्मीय जन बन जाते हैं| उनके साथ चाहे कम ही समय व्यतीत किया जाए पर ऐसी अनुभूति होती है मानो वे हमें सदियों से जानते और समझते हैं और ऐसी ही भावना हमारी उनके लिए भी होती है| उनके साथ किसी भी औपचारिकता की कोई आवश्यकता ही महसूस नहीं होती| उनके साथ बात करना ऐसा जान पड़ता है जैसे हम अपने आप से ही बात करे रहे हों|</div>
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continue <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-59-73175">here</a>...<br />
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What's Cooking? Samosa's Twin-Sister</div>
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If anything comes close to my all time favourite samosa, then it has to be aloo tikki. And if served with mildly-spiced chole, chopped onion, tamarind chutney, mint chutney, grated radish and curd on top - what else can one ask for? A perfect tikki brings about the perfect contrast between crispy exterior and the soft inside part. While samosa making is a little more involved and time-consuming process, tikkis can be prepared in relatively much less time for satiating the taste buds royally.</div>
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">recipe </span><a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-59-73175" style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">...</span></div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-3542211247835290682017-09-09T12:15:00.004+05:302017-09-09T12:15:50.057+05:30Mouthpiece #58<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Precarious first steps...</div>
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The first couple of pencil marks on a blank paper, in an attempt to begin a sketch; the first few stitches of an embroidery on a fabric laying the foundation of a beautiful tapestry someday; the first sparse strokes of a loaded brush hoping to give shape to a beautiful image on canvas; the first few disjoint sentences jotted down to build a fluid story over a period of time, the first few jerky steps taken, hoping to get in a rhythm of running and many similar such - all begin with a mixed feelings of unsureness and an optimism of seeing something getting created sooner or later.</div>
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continue <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-58-70479">here</a>...<br />
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Psychological impact...</div>
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I feel, psychological influence is quite underrated. Sometimes, in very mysterious ways, logic and reasoning don’t seem to work at all. However, what can work as magic is the confidence that one seeks from the loved one in the time of personal crisis. I remember the time when I was coping with grief a few years back, dragging of days and nights during that phase is nothing more than a blur to me now. </div>
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<span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">continue </span><a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-58-70479" style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">...</span></div>
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What's cooking? Wheat-flour halwa</div>
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This dish has a very special place in my heart for many reasons. How can I forget that this was the first dessert that I attempted to cook independently and can still recollect those doubts that were creeping up almost at every stage of halwa preparation. It was the day when I was to remove my auspicious chuda (a set of red and white bangles that are traditionally worn in a Punjabi wedding and are taken off after minimum of 40 days) in US. I was advised by the family back home that I should prepare some sweet dish to offer to the Gods and to mark this occasion. In my parental home, Suji halwa was a regular but not the wheat flour halwa so I had not seen it being cooked from close quarters. But my fascination for wheat halwa had started long back when I partook it in one of the Gurudwaras in Chandigarh and later many times in Dukh Niwaaran Gurudwara, Patiala.</div>
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<span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">recipe </span><a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-58-70479" style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">...</span></div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-3329623307265491702017-08-19T07:01:00.004+05:302017-08-19T07:01:54.888+05:30Mouthpiece #57<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I am who I am</div>
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I think I chose to let go of my “identity” when I quit the job to be a stay at home mom. Because usually what we do, forms our identity, especially in our society where the work is tightly associated with certain designations outside, monthly pay checks, growth in any organisation and climbing the ladder towards zenith.</div>
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continue <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-57-68531">here</a>...<br />
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What's cooking? Vegetable pakoras</div>
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I very vividly remember those wintry and/or rainy evenings when the dinner used to be ‘something different’, different from the regular affair of dal-roti or sabzi-roti. Why not rice-dal or rice-sabzi because rice at night was quite unheard of, especially in traditional Punjabi households. But those evenings, followed by those dinners were, well, DIFFERENT because vegetable pakoras adorned the menu for those nights. The preparation for pakoras used to begin pretty early - vegetables were cut in specific shapes and sizes, besan (chana flour) was mixed in water well in advance, the batter was infused with multitude of flavors of - grated garlic-garlic, finely chopped green chillies and coriander leaves; and the mustard oil was heated up in a big wok. The whiff of flavours emanating from the kitchen used to be just too irresistible. I clearly remember how those minutes waiting for the dinner call were so killing. Now when I look back, I really wonder, how big and special were those little joys of life.</div>
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<span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">continue </span><a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-57-68531" style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">...</span></div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-90612052234364908182017-08-19T06:59:00.001+05:302017-08-19T06:59:58.687+05:30Mouthpiece #56<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Paradoxical or what?</div>
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न बाँधो इस अनवरत उन्मुक्त उड़ान को</div>
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समय की बेड़ी से इसे सरोकार ही क्यों हो ?</div>
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आंतरिक संयम को बाहरी चर्या क्यों,</div>
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मन के भावों को शब्दों का बाना क्यों ?</div>
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शायद कभी क्षितिज को न छू पाऊँ,</div>
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शायद कभी सबसे ऊँचा न उड़ पाऊँ,</div>
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शायद क्षमता की सीमा में बंध जाऊं,</div>
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पर मन की स्वछंदता को क्यों न पाऊँ |</div>
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लौट कर आऊँगी अपने घरोंदे पर फिर भी,</div>
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विस्तृत आसमान अधिक अपना सा लगे तो भी |</div>
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मन की एक तार काया के बंधनों से है जुडी,</div>
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चाहे बाकी सब अपने आशियाँ में हैं सिमटी |</div>
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This verse that I wrote a couple of years back, often comes to my mind whenever I introspect or rather open my eyes inwards. I do see myself as a free spirit that soars beyond all borders and boundaries, that cruises in a trans like peaceful state and to whom all restraints, whatsoever, are unknown.</div>
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continue <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-56-65814">here</a>...<br />
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On Raksha-Bandhan</div>
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Came across this beautifully written poem by Prasoon Joshi, so sharing it here:</div>
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बेहेन अक्सर तुमसे बड़ी होती है,</div>
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उम्र में चाहे छोटी हो,</div>
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पर एक बड़ा सा एहसास लेकर खड़ी होती है,</div>
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बेहेन अक्सर तुमसे बड़ी होती है,</div>
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उसे मालूम होता है तुम देर रात लौटोगे,</div>
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तभी चुपकेसे से दरवाज़ा खुला छोड़ देती है,</div>
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उसे पता होता है की तुम झूट बोल रहे हो,</div>
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और बस मुस्कुरा कर उसे ढक देती है,</div>
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वो तुमसे लड़ती है पर लड़ती नहीं,</div>
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वो अक्सर हार कर जीतती रही तुमसे,</div>
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जिससे कभी चोट नहीं लगती ऐसी एक छड़ी है,</div>
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पर राखी के दिन जब एक पतला सा धागा बांधती है कलाई पे ,</div>
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मैं कोशिश करता हूँ बड़ा होने की,</div>
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धागों के इसरार पर ही सही ,</div>
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कुछ पल के लिए मैं बड़ा होता हूँ,</div>
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एक मीठा सा रिश्ता निभाने के लिए खड़ा होता हूँ,</div>
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नहीं तो अक्सर बेहेन ही तुमसे बड़ी होती है,</div>
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उम्र में चाहे छोटी हो, पर एक बड़ा सा एहसास लेकर खड़ी होती है |</div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-80216875378058459312017-08-19T06:57:00.002+05:302017-08-19T06:57:29.199+05:30Mouthpiece #55<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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बहुत याद करती हूँ</div>
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माँ तुम्हें मैं बहुत याद करती हूँ,</div>
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असीमित प्यार के भण्डार को याद करती हूँ |</div>
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तुम्हारे हाथों की गर्माहट को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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तुम्हारी आँखों के भावों को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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तुम्हारी प्यारी मुस्कुराहट को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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मुझे ‘बेटी’ कह कर पुकारने को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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मेरे अनकहे बोलों को समझने को याद करती हूँ |</div>
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मेरी गलतियों को भूल जाने को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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मेरी हर बात को मान देने को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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मुझे जानने के एहसास को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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मेरे साथ होने के संतोष को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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तुम सब जानती हो, उस भरोसे को याद करती हूँ |</div>
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तुम्हारे साये में बैठने को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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तुम्हारे किस्से कहानियों को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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तुम्हारे सुझावों सलाहों को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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बात-बात में बात कह देने को याद करती हूँ,</div>
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तुम्हारी सरल जीवनशैली को याद करती हूँ |</div>
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सालों ही बीत गए तुम्हें देखे हुए,</div>
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तुम्हारे होने की अनुभूति को याद करती हूँ |</div>
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माँ मैं तुम्हें बहुत याद करती हूँ |</div>
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Reading time...</div>
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Read ‘Same Soul, Many Bodies’ by Dr. Brian Weiss. His books dispel almost all doubts about soul being immortal and take up different bodies at the right time. His cases highlight the fact that what we are experiencing has explanation in our previous births. In this particular book, he is even able to make use of his progression theory on some of his patients to heal their present. An interesting read. Have ordered another book by the same author.</div>
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What's cooking? Rava idli</div>
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‘जैसा देस वैसा भेस’ - When in Rome, do as Romans do. I would rather modify it to ’जैसा देस वैसा खाना’ - When in Rome, eat what Romans eat. I don’t know about Rome but happily adopted this when we were in Bangalore. It is in fact a great way to make use of the local produce as well. Coming to Rava idli now. Idli’s various avtaars were absolutely unknown to me before Bangalore became our home for almost seven years. I especially liked a good number of options for healthy, light and not very expensive breakfast options that are available at almost every other corner throughout the city. I think this is true about most of the South Indian cities as well. There in one of the Darshini hotels we ordered Rava idli for the first time and there was no looking back post that. It immediately got an entry in my 'to try dishes’ that day itself. I checked with some of my friends for the exact proportions and ingredients. After many iterations over the years, I have come up with the following recipe which gives consistent results every single time. This usually works as a handy option when nothing else comes to mind. Moreover, it can be prepared quickly as one is spared of soaking and grinding part of the regular rice idlis.</div>
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recipe <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-55-64101">here</a>...</div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662998969684262579.post-23103098949268499662017-08-19T06:53:00.001+05:302017-08-19T06:53:34.829+05:30Mouthpiece #54<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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काश...</div>
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काश…</div>
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आज फिर वही छोटी सी बच्ची बन जाऊँ,</div>
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जिसे प्यार से बुलाने के अनेकों ही नाम थे,</div>
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स्कूल में लिखवाए नाम को कम ही जानते थे |</div>
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जिसे झालर वाली फ्रॉक पहनने का शौक था,</div>
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फ्रॉक पर बने फ़ूलों से भी ज़्यादा खिला चेहरा था |</div>
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जिसे खूब ज़िद करना आता था और मनवाना भी,</div>
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जिसकी आँखों में ही बसते थे अनगिनत सपने भी |</div>
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continue <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-54-62387">here</a>...</div>
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What's cooking in the kitchen? Classic Aloo-parantha</div>
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Nothing beats a good aloo parantha as a breakfast delicacy in Punjabi homes and the good part is, it can be prepared all through the year, as the main ingredients - potatoes and onions are always available.<br />
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continue <a href="https://www.getrevue.co/profile/vibha-sharma/issues/mouthpiece-54-62387">here</a>...</div>
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Vibhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07251018763698523629noreply@blogger.com0