'Bread Pakora' Test

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. 

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. 

 

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.

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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. 

Mouthpiece #56

Paradoxical or what?

न बाँधो इस अनवरत उन्मुक्त उड़ान को समय की बेड़ी से इसे सरोकार ही क्यों हो ? आंतरिक संयम को बाहरी चर्या क्यों, मन के भावों को शब्दों का बाना क्यों ? शायद कभी क्षितिज को न छू पाऊँ, शायद कभी सबसे ऊँचा न उड़ पाऊँ, शायद क्षमता की सीमा में बंध जाऊं, पर मन की स्वछंदता को क्यों न पाऊँ | लौट कर आऊँगी अपने घरोंदे पर फिर भी, विस्तृत आसमान अधिक अपना सा लगे तो भी | मन की एक तार काया के बंधनों से है जुडी, चाहे बाकी सब अपने आशियाँ में हैं सिमटी | 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. continue here... On Raksha-Bandhan Came across this beautifully written poem by Prasoon Joshi, so sharing it here: बेहेन अक्सर तुमसे बड़ी होती है, उम्र में चाहे छोटी हो, पर एक बड़ा सा एहसास लेकर खड़ी होती है, बेहेन अक्सर तुमसे बड़ी होती है, उसे मालूम होता है तुम देर रात लौटोगे, तभी चुपकेसे से दरवाज़ा खुला छोड़ देती है, उसे पता होता है की तुम झूट बोल रहे हो, और बस मुस्कुरा कर उसे ढक देती है, वो तुमसे लड़ती है पर लड़ती नहीं, वो अक्सर हार कर जीतती रही तुमसे, जिससे कभी चोट नहीं लगती ऐसी एक छड़ी है, पर राखी के दिन जब एक पतला सा धागा बांधती है कलाई पे , मैं कोशिश करता हूँ बड़ा होने की, धागों के इसरार पर ही सही , कुछ पल के लिए मैं बड़ा होता हूँ, एक मीठा सा रिश्ता निभाने के लिए खड़ा होता हूँ, नहीं तो अक्सर बेहेन ही तुमसे बड़ी होती है, उम्र में चाहे छोटी हो, पर एक बड़ा सा एहसास लेकर खड़ी होती है |

Mouthpiece #9

Fear Not!

Once at Varanasi, as Swami Vivekananda was coming out of the temple of Mother Durga, he was surrounded by a large number of chattering monkeys. They seemed to  be threatening him. Swamiji did not want them to catch hold of him, so he started to run away. But the monkeys chased him.Continue reading here... What's Brewing ? Chowmein Style Bambino Roasted Bambino - 1 cupOil - 2 tbspGarlic - 4 pods (pound)Onion - 1 cup (sliced)Carrots - ½ cup (cut in thin strips)Beans - ½ cup (chopped)Cabbage - 1 cup (cut in thin strips)Capsicum - ½ cup (cut in thin strips)Green onions - ½ cup (chopped greens)Salt Black pepper - 1 tspSoya Sauce (light) - 1 tspChing’s Green chilli sauce - 1tspVinegar - ½ tspSugar - ½ tsp Recipe here...

Book Review : A Book of Simple Living

Title : A Book of Simple Living

Author : Ruskin Bond

Publisher : Speaking Tiger

'The cosmos has all the genius of simplicity.'

Start reading first paragraph and one embarks on a journey into a world where time is no longer a constraining factor and where nature guides everything. Ruskin Bond offers a small peak into his routine and one gets to see the beauty in the simplicity of life. The way he describes his room and the window which opens into three different worlds - the mountains, the sky and the road - is fascinating. At least for the time when one is reading his words, one  gets transported to the same room amidst the same surroundings  - the never changing hills, the full of movement road and the author's preferred view, the sky. He feels the sky is never the same, it is always filled with beautiful hues from the divine palette.

As the much acclaimed author pays befitting tribute to nature, he subtly conjures the readers to acknowledge the presence of co-inhabitants of our mother earth, admiring their uniqueness and paying obeisance to the natural scheme of things. He shows us the side of the world and life which in the fast time-bound schedules, we are fast losing touch with. He talks about various flora and fauna that fill his life with colour, fragrance, music and liveliness. He has ample time - to listen to every natural sound, to drink in the scent of wild flowers and leaves and to observe tiny creatures minding their business.

'Live close to nature and your spirit will not be easily broken, for you learn something of patience and resilience. You will not grow restless and you will never feel lonely.'

He then talks about various other things, vicissitudes of life, his love and longing, his writings, how a new topic comes knocking at his door or through his window, the reassurance that one looks for at certain times and many memorable moments spent in the lap of nature. The narrative is abound with characters like cicadas, magpies, field mice, spiders, swallows, maidenhair fern, geraniums, marigolds, chrysanthemums, pines, oaks, walnut trees, tall deodars, maple, chestnut and many more names. There is a background score in the narrative which is sometimes bubbling mountain river, orchestra of crickets or rustling of leaves. The landscape keeps changing colours from pristine snow white, verdant green to riot of fall colours.

The simplicity of his life, his writing is just fascinating and one needs to read it to feel it, because he writes to connect. In his words, 'I want my readers to feel what I feel, to see what I see, and big words and big sentences come in the way of this sharing. It is clarity and honesty that I am striving to attain; there can be no lasting connection with my readers without these. And to be clear and open is to be simple.'

The reason why I cannot stop admiring the book is because it somehow aligns with my own feelings when I am close to nature. In the written words, I could actually read some of my own feelings that nature sparks

in me. While I get immersed in my daily routine, I often dream and long for - being in a wide open expanse of land adorned with verdure  or walking on a narrow pathway guarded by thick trees with huge canopies or driving on a thin serpentine road merging into the folds of mighty mountains or gazing at the endlessly stretched firmament to my heart's content or watching raindrops fall on the ground willingly accepting their new identity in unison with other companions. Just the thought of these bring in a deep sense of peace, perspective and a connection with someone supreme in every single entity.

Don’t let the beauty of the nature pass by unnoticed, unacknowledged and unregistered because it is the simplest and purest form of beauty. Let it tickle every sensory nerve of one's being. 

Reviving Mystique of the Mughals

We now see a spate of fiction on the Mughal period, one of the most fascinating eras in medieval history. What is it that makes this era click with both readers & writers.

Read the complete article on fresh writings devoted to Mughal period here.