“Tsch tsch.” I can hear the silent chiding of the computer as I lose yet another game. “You cannot even win an easy one?” It has been this way for the last two years. I have devoted myself single-mindedly to this game in pursuit of victory at one careless moment when the machine would forget to notice. It never happens. Like a gambler who loses and yet takes another chance, I will myself to try one last time and bear the brunt of another defeat every time.
I never seem to learn. Much like the aunties and uncles who will never realize that ‘Nach Baliye’ isn’t quite their piece of cake. Last week, my mother cajoled me to attend another of those numerous parties that my Dad’s office seems to throw without an excuse. I am glad now, that I went to attend it. There was a “cultural” programme before dinner where “local” talent was showcased. My mother was rather hopeful that I would strum a few lines on my guitar. Women have a sixth sense (atleast I do). Something warned me beforehand, not to take the risk. At the cost of incurring my mother’s displeasure, I refused to be a part of the circus. The function featured a few officers’ wives who were self-proclaimed dancing prodigies. Not content with basking in their wife’s reflected glory, their husbands also joined, a la Nach Baliye. The combination was a total disaster. From ‘Kajra Re’ to ‘Omkaara’, no song was spared. It was quite funny watching the men taking clumsy steps in their office attire. Clearly most of them had not even rehearsed, but were quite keen to please their wives and bosses (who were watching keenly). I hope their annual appraisal did not depend on the performance. I roared with laughter and remember falling off my chair while my mother gave me deploring looks. Well, okay, at least they went up on stage to perform. My mother’s daughter did not even do that, despite owning a fine Fender’s telecaster.
I must be in a pretty cynical mood now. Because I am going to lambast Nach Baliye next. First of all, putting a married couple on stage and making them dance maybe a cute idea, but does not find favour time after time. Nach Baliye -1 was quite a new concept, and even though some of the couples were quite a horror to watch and some rounds were downright vulgar – we digested it. Nach Baliye -2 is worse than the original. In an effort to get hold of 10 more couples, they have gathered together some rather reluctant couples, who couldn’t care any less about dancing. Add to that, most of them are overtly sentimental about getting an appreciative whistle from Saroj Khan or a 10. They break down at the slightest pretext. I remember blogging about how rather disgusting it used to be watching Poonam Narula cry everytime a couple got eliminated. Ironically, when she lost the final round, she forgot to cry!!!
Malaika Arora, one Chaiya Chaiya has made you an expert in judging dances? I thought you were pretty bad as a DJ and I think you are worse as a judge because most of the time the other two judges do not agree with you. In any case, you were quite bad in Chaiya Chaiya as well. Kunal Kohli probably gives the director’s perspective. He’s not much of a director according to me, but, thank God, he does not steer towards controversy. Saroj Khan is the one whose opinion matters and as an ace choreographer, she is the face saver of the show. No matter what, I hope there is no Nach Baliye -3.
But Sa Re Ga Ma should carry on and on and on and on. And Shaan should host it again and again and again. The great thing that they have done this time, is to make sure that the best talent got the prize. It was bad enough to let Debojit win the competition last time, when it was clearly evident that Vineet and Himani were far better singers. Watching Sanchita Bhattacharya win this time was a relief. Hearing her sing was like feeding on honey dew and drinking the milk of paradise. She comes from a family of professional singers and her brother has also won a singing competition in a Bengali channel. They have a bright future ahead. I just hope that she does not end up like Sunidhi Chauhan. Sunudhi sang exceptionally well when she won the ‘Meri Awaaz Suno’ competition, but the quality of her voice has deteriorated so much in recent years, that I no longer listen to her songs. Alas! Not every one is a Lata Mangeshkar or an Asha Bhosle. But Shreya Ghoshal sure has a long way to go. She is an exceptionally talented singer and right now, I would rate her as the best in Bollywood.
Ummm…I seem to be getting nowhere. Would like finish off this postwith the link below.
Should Abhishek marry Aish????
I think judging by their history of breakups – they deserve each other. I also think Rani Mukherjee is too good to have a fellow like Abhishek dumped on her!
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Under Pressure
I never realized that using a pressure cooker would involve so many casualties. The spotless white ceiling of my kitchen now sports a lovely lemon yellow color of boiled moong daal. The tiles on the walls (again in white) will have to be cleaned. The gas burner is bubbling with daal and the kitchen board is waiting to be wiped. Somebody should have told me not to remove the weight while the gas was still burning and the cooker was spouting full steam.
They say, I am lucky to escape without any injuries. Whoa! Who wants to step outdoors for adventure when it is lying in wait right indoors in the kitchen? My escapades in the kitchen if chronicled astutely could make one Robin Hood hang his head in shame. Like burning my hands and face while trying to fry fish. The mark on my face is a tiny one that is fast disappearing, but while it lasts, it serves as a testimony, that I have for a fact fried fish at least once. Like burning the cauldron while trying to make chicken curry. I managed to fit in 12 chicken drumsticks in a small wok. It was tough moving them about the place and so while some remained raw, over melted, while some got charred. I will remain eternally grateful to the angels who ate it with an amused smile, but nevertheless ate all of it – raw/cooked/burnt.
In the meantime, I have experimented – sometimes with reasonable success. Like using salsa sauce in pasta with a little bit of cold milk – it actually tasted good. And used shortcuts: like using packaged frozen vegetables instead of fresh ones in my sabji. Meantime, there have been disasters – like using tomato sauce to make fish curry look brighter and using chat masala with mustard paste – ugh!
Cooking is about Chemistry – says Ma. You have to mix the right ingredients at the right time and voila! You have created magic. Helping me to churn out the right chemical reactions are people who I can never forget: SB, SM, AB, AD. Beginning with rice, to daal, chicken, fish, chutney…virtually all avenues of Indian cuisine were explored. The taste of AD’s cabbage curry and shrimps still lingers. So does SB’s mutton and SM’s fish and AB’s cauliflower in curd (really!) I pledge to always remain jealous of those people, who have mastered the art of making food, taste good. Someday, when I get there, where you are, we shall exchange notes!
They say, I am lucky to escape without any injuries. Whoa! Who wants to step outdoors for adventure when it is lying in wait right indoors in the kitchen? My escapades in the kitchen if chronicled astutely could make one Robin Hood hang his head in shame. Like burning my hands and face while trying to fry fish. The mark on my face is a tiny one that is fast disappearing, but while it lasts, it serves as a testimony, that I have for a fact fried fish at least once. Like burning the cauldron while trying to make chicken curry. I managed to fit in 12 chicken drumsticks in a small wok. It was tough moving them about the place and so while some remained raw, over melted, while some got charred. I will remain eternally grateful to the angels who ate it with an amused smile, but nevertheless ate all of it – raw/cooked/burnt.
In the meantime, I have experimented – sometimes with reasonable success. Like using salsa sauce in pasta with a little bit of cold milk – it actually tasted good. And used shortcuts: like using packaged frozen vegetables instead of fresh ones in my sabji. Meantime, there have been disasters – like using tomato sauce to make fish curry look brighter and using chat masala with mustard paste – ugh!
Cooking is about Chemistry – says Ma. You have to mix the right ingredients at the right time and voila! You have created magic. Helping me to churn out the right chemical reactions are people who I can never forget: SB, SM, AB, AD. Beginning with rice, to daal, chicken, fish, chutney…virtually all avenues of Indian cuisine were explored. The taste of AD’s cabbage curry and shrimps still lingers. So does SB’s mutton and SM’s fish and AB’s cauliflower in curd (really!) I pledge to always remain jealous of those people, who have mastered the art of making food, taste good. Someday, when I get there, where you are, we shall exchange notes!
Friday, October 27, 2006
DON’t you miss this one!
My foremost reason for watching Don was sheer curiosity. I just had to check out Farhan Akhtar’s third movie. After ‘Dil Chahta Hain’ and the slightly lukewarm ‘Lakshya’ Farhan took two years to come out with this one and I wanted to know why. Secondly, and more importantly, I had to see whether Shah Rukh would be able to say Alvida to badly made movies. And the result is that both have redeemed themselves. Don is not quite the most heart warming movie of the century and it certainly cannot lay claim to the title of the most thought provoking cinema of this millennium, but yes, for three hours, I was glued to my seat, watching out for what would come next. Shah Rukh takes on the person he publicly claims as his icon – Big B – Amitabh Bachchan. This remake of the 1970’s classic is not exactly a verbatim copy of the original script. Instead, the storyline twists, turns, rotates, spirals and revolves round the characters of the original screenplay and metamorphoses into a completely different entity. Don here is an important member of international drug dealer Singhania’s gang and even though not much is shown about his drug dealings, we get to see plenty of cold blooded killings to assure usthat he is ‘bahut hi khatarnaak’
Enter Kamini (Kareena Kapoor) in Helen’s role with an unforgettable performance of ‘Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana’. Bebo’s fiancé (Diwakar Pundir) has been killed by the Don and she hopes to set things right by handing him over to the police. Sadly, Kamini’s plan misfires and she gets killed by the Don. But all is not over. Kamini’s would-be sister-in-law Roma (Priyanka Chopra) is a martial arts expert and she vows revenge. In meantime, keeping with the original storyline, Don is killed in a police encounter but only Inspector De Silva knows about it and he finds out Vijay – a village simpleton who is a Don look-alike and trains him as the Don. Vijay now tries to expose the gang. After this however, the story takes a completely different turn including the climax which proves to be the ‘kahani mein twist’
Now, I watched the original movie quite a few years ago and I really do not wish to compare the movies. Suffice to say that Farhan Akhtar has built a new story using the same characters and has merely retained the skeletal structure of the old story. But there are sub plots within the plot and some like the character played by Arjun Rampal are quite uninteresting. Somewhere along the line you feel that the story is losing its grip and frankly, there were times when I glanced at my watch wondering how much time remained. However, it would be unfair if I said that I did not enjoy some of the action sequences. There is this terrific scene, where Vijay is kidnapped by his gang, while he is a police ambulance in a freeway in Malaysia. Instead of going the old fashioned way of pulling the driver out and driving away with the ambulance , or taking Vijay’s stretcher out and getting away, Roma arranges for a crane to lift the ambulance into a truck which then drives off. We laughed off our sides when we watched the next one. ShahRukh and company are in an aeroplane and they are being taken to a special detention camp in an island in Malaysia because they are ‘khatarnaak mujrim’s. Don must escape and by now, his gang knows that he is not the Don, but Vijay and so they are baying for his blood. Well, our Vijay and a firangi start fighting in the aeroplane with their handcuffs and then with just one parachute between them they jump off the aircraft. The rest is hilarious. In an action that defies all laws of gravity pertaining to free-fall, they fight mid-air for the parachute and as all stories go, Vijay gets the parachute just when they are quite close to the ground.
Shah Rukh, is the probably only person who could have acted this role. His arrogance mixed with amusement is the perfect for the 21st century Don, who has no ethics or code of honour. Comparisons with the Big B are obvious, but to his credit, Shah Rukh handles the character in his own way and passes the test (though not with flying colours.) On second thoughts, Vivek Oberoi could have done this role as well. In anycase, after his mesmerizing ‘K k k k Kiran’ it’s good to see Shah Rukh in a negative role that he will be remembered for. Priyanka Chopra steals the show. She is maturing into one of the finest actresses in Bollywood. Priyanka takes on Roma – Zeenat Aman’s character, but at the end of the show, we do not want to compare the two actresses, because Priyanka has shaped Roma in a different garb and she does full justice to her part. Isha Kopikkar –as Don’s moll makes no difference to the movie. Anybody else could have done that role. Kareena Kapoor appears for five minutes, looks ravishing a la Helen and bows out. Arjun Rampal is good, but his character is pretty boring and I wish he would stop behaving like a bank manager and learn to emote a little more. Boman Irani as Inspector De Silva does his usual act, but he has a cute assistant Inspector and I wish he was the person to catch the Don.
All said and done, Don is quite a nonsensical movie if you try to make sense out of it, but in the truest sense of Bollywood style masala movie, it scores a perfect 10. Complete entertainment and satisfaction guaranteed. Farhan Akhtar – good job. What next?
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Friday, September 15, 2006
Isaac Newton don't impress me much
I have been eyeing an apple tree in the neighbourhood for quite sometime. Today just after lunch, I went and stood below the tree. No, I did not fall asleep, nor did I wait for an apple to fall on my head and thereby start a new thought provoking venture into science. I reached up and plucked an apple from the tree and took a juicy bite. Ummmmmm, I think I just ran short of expression.
One thought provoking venture into human behaviour though......a full grown apple tree, with red juicy apples, looking invitingly at all passerbys and nobody bothers to pluck??? Its not even on some private property. Maybe, out here nobody needs to worry about where their next meal will come from; a sharp contrast from the land where I belong to........
One thought provoking venture into human behaviour though......a full grown apple tree, with red juicy apples, looking invitingly at all passerbys and nobody bothers to pluck??? Its not even on some private property. Maybe, out here nobody needs to worry about where their next meal will come from; a sharp contrast from the land where I belong to........
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Monday, August 21, 2006
Good-bye and Goodnight
I stayed up till 4am this morning, to watch Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna. Arrrgghh!! I am totally bleary eyed now and a bigger fool than I was last night, when friends warned me not to sacrifice a good night's sleep to see ShahRukh divorce Priety to marry Rani. KANK is 3.5 hours, boring, dull and lacks something that I really cannot pin point at (atleast not now, when I am so disgusted)
Shahrukh, please grow up. You are nearing the end of your career. I agree, that you are have had more box office success than nearly any actor in Bollywood history (is he really the most successful in terms of box office collections?) but we need a break. Ten years after DDLJ, you are still acting the same way. When I saw you in Swadesh, I thought you might have changed, but I suppose box office obligations drove you to revert back to the same school of acting.
Dev (played by ShahRukh) is the failed footballer who turns to coaching after an accident cripples him forever. Rhea (Priety Zinta) is his ambitious wife, who is a go getter and a winner. Maya ( Rani Mukherjee) is a simpleton at heart married to party organiser and (hence) party amimal Rishi ( Abhishekh Bachchan - don't I love that guy!). Now, put the four in a churning pot and watch the concoction brewing into a Bollywood masala mix.
Dev thinks his wife is too ambitious to have a happy family. Maya thinks her husband is too engrossed with himself to care about her and so, Dev and Maya fall in love with each other. Thereby hangs a tale. Now, the pathetic part of the plot is that, Rhea (Dev's wife) is ambitious, but makes real effort to look after her family and be with them whenever she can. Rhea's character is not painted in black, but had shades of grey. It really throws the same question that Abhimaan with the Big B and Jaya Bachchan posed before society nearly 30 years ago, with so much more subtlety. What's wrong if the wife is more successful than the husband???? Why is it that a husband can get away with long working hours under the guise that he is doing all this for his family while the same does not hold for the wife? In the story, Rhea works extra hard so that she can buy the best for her son and provide him with all the comforts in life. What's so wrong with that????
On the other end, we have Maya who thinks that she has not been able to connect to husband, Rishi. Agreed, that the fellow is a party animal, but it does not justify a failed marriage. Fellow shows his love for his wife all the time, and tries to keep her happy day in and day out. Infact, Rhea has the weakest character, but the most screen presence in the movie and it has puzzled me to no end. Why on Earth does she think she cannot connect to her husband. He is after all, not the indifferent phlegmatic man who does not have any interest in his wife!!! To the contrary, Rishi does his best to keep Rhea happy, but she is the one who seems to be indifferent.
Now, even as I am trying to figure out why Dev and Maya think that their respective marriages are failing, we come to the part of the movie where they spend time with each other and fall in love. Falling in love is the prerogative of Hindi cinema and therefore, I dare not question it, though Rishi's father Sam (Big B - more on that later) does offer by way of explanation that two people trapped under similar circumstances will bond closer. I agree with that. When R, M and I did not study for our DBMS paper and decided to 'co-operate' during the exam - we bonded very well during those three hours. The rest they say is not called Essential Repeat.
So, then I do accept that just because they have both had rocky marriages, they bond while discussing their problems and realise that they would be happy if they spent the rest of their lives with each other. After this it gets tough. You see Dev and Maya meeting secretly and doing what tantamounts to cheating on their respective spouses. You are supposed to empathise with that. At the same time, you have not exactly been taught to consider Rhea or Rishi as villains, so you are totally dazed, because you do not know what is right and what is wrong. There! got it. What's missing in KANK is a message. This movie was supposed to be some path breaking movie in Bollywood, but it does not leave any definite message. You come out of the movie wondering who was right and who wasn't. As for myself, when I sat through 3 hours of this mammoth movie and switched off my laptop when there were 30 minutes still remaining, I thought the only message worth remembering was that it was no use losing sleep over KANK. Yawn!
PS - Big B - wasted - as some kindof a compulsive sex maniac, who yet mourns the loss of his wife. I respect that guy too much to accept him in a role like this.
Shahrukh, please grow up. You are nearing the end of your career. I agree, that you are have had more box office success than nearly any actor in Bollywood history (is he really the most successful in terms of box office collections?) but we need a break. Ten years after DDLJ, you are still acting the same way. When I saw you in Swadesh, I thought you might have changed, but I suppose box office obligations drove you to revert back to the same school of acting.
Dev (played by ShahRukh) is the failed footballer who turns to coaching after an accident cripples him forever. Rhea (Priety Zinta) is his ambitious wife, who is a go getter and a winner. Maya ( Rani Mukherjee) is a simpleton at heart married to party organiser and (hence) party amimal Rishi ( Abhishekh Bachchan - don't I love that guy!). Now, put the four in a churning pot and watch the concoction brewing into a Bollywood masala mix.
Dev thinks his wife is too ambitious to have a happy family. Maya thinks her husband is too engrossed with himself to care about her and so, Dev and Maya fall in love with each other. Thereby hangs a tale. Now, the pathetic part of the plot is that, Rhea (Dev's wife) is ambitious, but makes real effort to look after her family and be with them whenever she can. Rhea's character is not painted in black, but had shades of grey. It really throws the same question that Abhimaan with the Big B and Jaya Bachchan posed before society nearly 30 years ago, with so much more subtlety. What's wrong if the wife is more successful than the husband???? Why is it that a husband can get away with long working hours under the guise that he is doing all this for his family while the same does not hold for the wife? In the story, Rhea works extra hard so that she can buy the best for her son and provide him with all the comforts in life. What's so wrong with that????
On the other end, we have Maya who thinks that she has not been able to connect to husband, Rishi. Agreed, that the fellow is a party animal, but it does not justify a failed marriage. Fellow shows his love for his wife all the time, and tries to keep her happy day in and day out. Infact, Rhea has the weakest character, but the most screen presence in the movie and it has puzzled me to no end. Why on Earth does she think she cannot connect to her husband. He is after all, not the indifferent phlegmatic man who does not have any interest in his wife!!! To the contrary, Rishi does his best to keep Rhea happy, but she is the one who seems to be indifferent.
Now, even as I am trying to figure out why Dev and Maya think that their respective marriages are failing, we come to the part of the movie where they spend time with each other and fall in love. Falling in love is the prerogative of Hindi cinema and therefore, I dare not question it, though Rishi's father Sam (Big B - more on that later) does offer by way of explanation that two people trapped under similar circumstances will bond closer. I agree with that. When R, M and I did not study for our DBMS paper and decided to 'co-operate' during the exam - we bonded very well during those three hours. The rest they say is not called Essential Repeat.
So, then I do accept that just because they have both had rocky marriages, they bond while discussing their problems and realise that they would be happy if they spent the rest of their lives with each other. After this it gets tough. You see Dev and Maya meeting secretly and doing what tantamounts to cheating on their respective spouses. You are supposed to empathise with that. At the same time, you have not exactly been taught to consider Rhea or Rishi as villains, so you are totally dazed, because you do not know what is right and what is wrong. There! got it. What's missing in KANK is a message. This movie was supposed to be some path breaking movie in Bollywood, but it does not leave any definite message. You come out of the movie wondering who was right and who wasn't. As for myself, when I sat through 3 hours of this mammoth movie and switched off my laptop when there were 30 minutes still remaining, I thought the only message worth remembering was that it was no use losing sleep over KANK. Yawn!
PS - Big B - wasted - as some kindof a compulsive sex maniac, who yet mourns the loss of his wife. I respect that guy too much to accept him in a role like this.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Desperado
There is something I have come to realise. When you desperately want something, you usually get it. Somebody told me that in this country, when people misplaced buttons in their shirts, they usually threw away the shirt because, nobody sold loose buttons or needle and thread. It worried me a lot, because I am so used to mending things that the thought of throwing away a perfectly sound dress was giving me sleepless nights. Then one day, I discovered an entire section devoted only to needles, threads and buttons in the supermarket and my fears were dispelled.
A week ago, I managed to lose the buckle of my handbag. Again, going by popular perception, I was under the impression that I would have to throw away an absolutely new leather bag, just because one buckle was missing. Today, I found yet another section in the supermarket devoted solely to buckles for strapping up bags. Funny, I never noticed it before in all these days.
This supermarket is like Harry Potter's wishing room. You only need to wish for something and you will find an entire section devoted to your needs - someplace that you probably passed by a thousand times before but never gave as much as a glance. For the past one month, I had been dumped with a lamp shade that cost me a lot of money, but was not required. I had been wondering what to do about it, when somebody told me that I could return it without any hassles. I managed to find a returns section also in the supermarket also. As a senior told me, this country is a desert and the supermarket is your oasis. You better make sure that you know your way through this place blindfolded. I'm trying to...
A week ago, I managed to lose the buckle of my handbag. Again, going by popular perception, I was under the impression that I would have to throw away an absolutely new leather bag, just because one buckle was missing. Today, I found yet another section in the supermarket devoted solely to buckles for strapping up bags. Funny, I never noticed it before in all these days.
This supermarket is like Harry Potter's wishing room. You only need to wish for something and you will find an entire section devoted to your needs - someplace that you probably passed by a thousand times before but never gave as much as a glance. For the past one month, I had been dumped with a lamp shade that cost me a lot of money, but was not required. I had been wondering what to do about it, when somebody told me that I could return it without any hassles. I managed to find a returns section also in the supermarket also. As a senior told me, this country is a desert and the supermarket is your oasis. You better make sure that you know your way through this place blindfolded. I'm trying to...
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Biriyani Blues
Last Saturday, we set out on what is increasingly becoming our fornightly trips in search of our roots. We went on one of those long drives, where we are always on the lookout for anyplace that smells and spells I-N-D-I-A from a mile's distance. As a result of our enthusiastic ventures, one 'Bombay Bazaar' is flourishing. Whoelse I wonder would shop for Britannia 50-50 biscuits, Maggi Hot and Sweet Tomato Sauce and Haldiram's khatta mithaa mixture and end up spending $200 everytime? The store owner - one sharp businessman with enough acumen has been quick to spot our weakness. So, he never fails to gift us DVDs (surely copied from other pirated DVDs judging by the poor quality) of the latest Hindi movies and always tempts us with sample 'Frooti' bottles. This way, he ensures, that we keep going back to the same place, even though prudence tells us that if we travel further down to a slightly known place called Chicago, Maggi Noodles will cost less than $7 ( I believe it costs Rs.9 in India and that $1 = Rs.46 now) and that a plate of Biriyani will cost not $11 but $3.
Anyway, fools will rush in and so did we when we soptted something that looked like a restaurant and called itself 'India Darbar'. Deprived of biriyani, this place seemed like manna from heaven when we found Mutton/Chicken and vegetable biriyani on the menu. We immediately ordered enough to feed a family of four for a week. When the goras in the next table sniffed and wept because of the spice in the food, we satisfied ourselves, that we were in the right place. Somebody got a chicken sizzler and our appetite soared. Politeness was all that stood between us and the kitchen door. Then somebody walked towards our table carrying food...
The rest they say is called anti-climax. What lay on my plate was rice and mutton gently sauted in meat masala. Gone was the Basmati rice without which biriyani is indispensible. Gone was saffron and even the smell of rose water that I detest so much in biriyani was missing. We could not eat it. I still remember some people weeping out of shock. We ordered tandoori chicken and given that our expectations had sunk to a new low now, it was quite good. We drowned dinner then, with some decent chicken curry and peas pulao (that's what they called it, but it was actually rice with some green peas thrown in for effect) and naan (I suspect it was a pre-cooked naan, but it was edible)
Nearly $80 the poorer but still not wiser perhaps, we left for home. Our initial mission from which we strayed so much was to find a place where we could get Halal meat. This we did not get. Seems to me, there is sufficient reason therefore, so set out again next weekend for another place from where we can hope to get a whiff of India!!!
Anyway, fools will rush in and so did we when we soptted something that looked like a restaurant and called itself 'India Darbar'. Deprived of biriyani, this place seemed like manna from heaven when we found Mutton/Chicken and vegetable biriyani on the menu. We immediately ordered enough to feed a family of four for a week. When the goras in the next table sniffed and wept because of the spice in the food, we satisfied ourselves, that we were in the right place. Somebody got a chicken sizzler and our appetite soared. Politeness was all that stood between us and the kitchen door. Then somebody walked towards our table carrying food...
The rest they say is called anti-climax. What lay on my plate was rice and mutton gently sauted in meat masala. Gone was the Basmati rice without which biriyani is indispensible. Gone was saffron and even the smell of rose water that I detest so much in biriyani was missing. We could not eat it. I still remember some people weeping out of shock. We ordered tandoori chicken and given that our expectations had sunk to a new low now, it was quite good. We drowned dinner then, with some decent chicken curry and peas pulao (that's what they called it, but it was actually rice with some green peas thrown in for effect) and naan (I suspect it was a pre-cooked naan, but it was edible)
Nearly $80 the poorer but still not wiser perhaps, we left for home. Our initial mission from which we strayed so much was to find a place where we could get Halal meat. This we did not get. Seems to me, there is sufficient reason therefore, so set out again next weekend for another place from where we can hope to get a whiff of India!!!
Friday, July 28, 2006
Something fizzy
Soft drinks here come in only one size and it is called unlimited. Once you buy a glass of soft drink, you can refill it free of cost again and again and yet again for as many times as you want. People seem to prefer soft drinks here to water. I have been amazed to see families carry home huge cartons of Diet Coke cans home from the supermarket. It’s incredible because, I was always under the impression that people here were health conscious and that soft drinks had high glucose levels and so, to put it in simple words made people fat!!! In office there is a guy who finishes almost one litre (people here measure in Oz and gallons i think - though I shall never get used to the idea) of soft drinks everyday. It is no wonder then, that he is 5 feet wide and 5 feet tall and when he walks, you'd think a wall is moving. I have been quite petrified of soft drinks ever since the infamous incident of pesticides was discovered in India in 2003. People here assure me that in the Uncle Sam's land, such a thing is impossible. Pepsi/Coke/ [your soft drink company] would have to down its shutters if something like that had been discovered. Whoa! Talk about mass discrimination on the basis of the water!!!!
Back home, there is a rather limited variety of soft drinks that are available. Here, the numbers are mind boggling. You get to choose between 30 different varieties and even as I speak, they are probably launching a new variety and disbursing it for free at gas stations (yes, I got to taste a new flavour of Coke last Friday) Vending machines are everywhere; near the super market, down the basement which no one visits more than a month, close to the parking lot, at the canteen. You're probably lost in the middle of nowhere if you cannot locate a vending machine with 100 metres (again - I believe that people use to measure distances in miles here, I have no clue how much a yard measures) of your vicinity.
Every morning I watch intently an ad on TV which says that people here are getting fatter and fatter and soon airlines are going to charge the rate of 2 seats for an obese person. Should motivate people enough to cut down on the gallons to save the miles. More on gallons and the Oz, miles and yards and pound soon....
Oh! Just a passing thought...most of the men and women who win the 100 metres sprint are Americans. When you have spent all your life counting yards, how do you beat the world to 100 metres????
Back home, there is a rather limited variety of soft drinks that are available. Here, the numbers are mind boggling. You get to choose between 30 different varieties and even as I speak, they are probably launching a new variety and disbursing it for free at gas stations (yes, I got to taste a new flavour of Coke last Friday) Vending machines are everywhere; near the super market, down the basement which no one visits more than a month, close to the parking lot, at the canteen. You're probably lost in the middle of nowhere if you cannot locate a vending machine with 100 metres (again - I believe that people use to measure distances in miles here, I have no clue how much a yard measures) of your vicinity.
Every morning I watch intently an ad on TV which says that people here are getting fatter and fatter and soon airlines are going to charge the rate of 2 seats for an obese person. Should motivate people enough to cut down on the gallons to save the miles. More on gallons and the Oz, miles and yards and pound soon....
Oh! Just a passing thought...most of the men and women who win the 100 metres sprint are Americans. When you have spent all your life counting yards, how do you beat the world to 100 metres????
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Catastrophic Concoctions
In a country where people do not leave home without a cup of coffee, I have spent an excrutiating 3 weeks without coffee. The result has been a sleepy, bleary eyed and de-caffeinated A Chatterjee with a deprived-of-coffee look on her face.
For reasons best known to the mysterious forces of nature, the coffee jug is always empty in the breakfast table in the morning, when I try to get some for myself. I watch with green eyes as everyone else sips their favourite cuppa.
When we tried to make coffee at home, somebody forgot to distinguish between salt and sugar and we ended up with a cup of very salty coffee which once again, I did not have the privilege to taste.
The other day, when we tried to make some of it on the microwave, the cup burst and the coffee flowed freely everywhere but to me.
As if to prove that when God does not will AC to have coffee, she shall have none of it, the vending machine betrayed me one morning. It has never refused to help me with hot chocolate so far, but that morning, just when I thought of giving a break to the hot chocolate ritual and go for a cup of coffee, the machine refused to dispense coffee on one occasion and a cup to pour the coffee on the other, I watched disgusted and gave up.
PS – this incident took place a week ago. Stars have changed since then. Have lunched at a coffee bar with a benevolent Italian with some fine coffee, have been to Star Bucks at a time when their coffee machine was working just fine and was just treated to some delicious home brewed coffee a short while back. To borrow an expression from the Reprobate ‘Inshallah!’
For reasons best known to the mysterious forces of nature, the coffee jug is always empty in the breakfast table in the morning, when I try to get some for myself. I watch with green eyes as everyone else sips their favourite cuppa.
When we tried to make coffee at home, somebody forgot to distinguish between salt and sugar and we ended up with a cup of very salty coffee which once again, I did not have the privilege to taste.
The other day, when we tried to make some of it on the microwave, the cup burst and the coffee flowed freely everywhere but to me.
As if to prove that when God does not will AC to have coffee, she shall have none of it, the vending machine betrayed me one morning. It has never refused to help me with hot chocolate so far, but that morning, just when I thought of giving a break to the hot chocolate ritual and go for a cup of coffee, the machine refused to dispense coffee on one occasion and a cup to pour the coffee on the other, I watched disgusted and gave up.
PS – this incident took place a week ago. Stars have changed since then. Have lunched at a coffee bar with a benevolent Italian with some fine coffee, have been to Star Bucks at a time when their coffee machine was working just fine and was just treated to some delicious home brewed coffee a short while back. To borrow an expression from the Reprobate ‘Inshallah!’
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
To the government of the greatest democracy on Earth,
Dear Sir,
Sitting many many miles away from home, and in a country that does not lay to as much claim to democracy, as you do, yet provides it the truest sense of the word, I am one of the few Indians privileged to read what I have written in this blog. Elsewhere, back home, in the place that I'm afraid I belong to, they say, you have blocked all blogs, because they spawn hatred and brew violence. They say, you yourself are not so sure why you have done it, but it seemed like a step to take to counter the resentment growing against you, as you have repeatedly failed to protect us from being blown up every other Sunday. What next? Are you going to block emails, then the Internet, telephones? Are you going to stop people from talking because that is also a medium of spreading violence? Are we going to use silence to isolate criminals and non criminals alike?
Do you even know why people blog? There are those among us, who tell the world the little things that happen to our lives that nobody would care to listen to. We pen it down here, because we can come back here and read it again and again. After a day of work, I read what my friends have written in their blogs and when I can understand that they are going through, I know that no matter how far we are from each other, we have connected. So many of us assume names and tell the world tiny things about our everyday lives that we would shy away from talking about. This is our private diary in a very public domain. This is where we bare our souls without any inhibitions!
If some people use this medium to spread violence, you've gotto stop those people, not the medium. Long back, a friend of mine used to say, the treatment of dandruff is not to cut off all the hair. I still remember how we used to laugh whenever he said that, but today I realise the truth of his words. Do you think, stopping blogs is going to stop them from finding other means of communication? What next are you going to ban? Where will you stop?
True, they say, the pen is mightier than the sword. But how do you expect to conquer the pen if you cannot conquer the sword? If you wish the curb the voice of the nation, remember you are chocking your ownself and creating terrorists within. Meanwhile, the world keeps laughing at you.......
Dear Sir,
Sitting many many miles away from home, and in a country that does not lay to as much claim to democracy, as you do, yet provides it the truest sense of the word, I am one of the few Indians privileged to read what I have written in this blog. Elsewhere, back home, in the place that I'm afraid I belong to, they say, you have blocked all blogs, because they spawn hatred and brew violence. They say, you yourself are not so sure why you have done it, but it seemed like a step to take to counter the resentment growing against you, as you have repeatedly failed to protect us from being blown up every other Sunday. What next? Are you going to block emails, then the Internet, telephones? Are you going to stop people from talking because that is also a medium of spreading violence? Are we going to use silence to isolate criminals and non criminals alike?
Do you even know why people blog? There are those among us, who tell the world the little things that happen to our lives that nobody would care to listen to. We pen it down here, because we can come back here and read it again and again. After a day of work, I read what my friends have written in their blogs and when I can understand that they are going through, I know that no matter how far we are from each other, we have connected. So many of us assume names and tell the world tiny things about our everyday lives that we would shy away from talking about. This is our private diary in a very public domain. This is where we bare our souls without any inhibitions!
If some people use this medium to spread violence, you've gotto stop those people, not the medium. Long back, a friend of mine used to say, the treatment of dandruff is not to cut off all the hair. I still remember how we used to laugh whenever he said that, but today I realise the truth of his words. Do you think, stopping blogs is going to stop them from finding other means of communication? What next are you going to ban? Where will you stop?
True, they say, the pen is mightier than the sword. But how do you expect to conquer the pen if you cannot conquer the sword? If you wish the curb the voice of the nation, remember you are chocking your ownself and creating terrorists within. Meanwhile, the world keeps laughing at you.......
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Monday, July 03, 2006
There goes my hero
Edit #1
World Cup's over now and so is Zidane's career. It hurts that it ended in such a terrible mess. A great hero like Zidane could not even be present at the medal giving ceremony, because of this. Zidane, you will nevertheless be held in our highest esteem always and you shall still be counted as one of the greatest ones that ever kicked a soccer ball
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Weird huh?
I thought it was weird enough that Aparna would want me to write the 6 weirdest things about myself. Do I need to prove that I am weird? Isn’t this blog proof enough? Being old –fashioned, I cannot say No to a friend, and so here goes the public confession, that she is demanding:
- I don’t lose my temper ever. Its weird, it’s crazy and I cannot figure out how it happens. It frightens me most of the time, but its true, I NEVER lose my temper. When I get seriously angry with someone, I just stop talking to them. Then I cool down after sometime (and it usually happens pretty soon). But I just do not let out any steam.
- Unless I am reminded of it, I do not feel hungry. I can go on for days without food (never tried it though) and I have no favourite food. I eat almost everything and like almost nothing.
- I forget names of people very easily, I mix them up and I confuse them and finally, I resign by giving them nicknames, but I never forget their faces. The faces come back to haunt me all the time, accusing me of forgetting the names. I suppose I must be suffering from the absent-minded professor syndrome.
- I don’t change myself with time. I think I got stuck in a time-wrap when I was 15 years old. I still think feel and behave like a 15 year old and cannot alter my opinions.
- I am lazy and I go to sleep early and wake up late, but when it comes to sprucing me up with the latest fiction, I can stay up all night and wake up at the first call of the alarm at 3 in the morning. Apart from that, nothing else would keep me awake.
- I can start smiling for no apparent reason and keep smiling and go on and on and on. It’s not a loud boorish laughter, but just a smile that refuses to leave me. Weird huh?
And now, it is my pleasure to tag my fellow bloggers. Your punishment for taking time to read this post is to write 6 of the weirdest things about yourself (oh! You don’t need to pretend, if you’re my friend, you gotta be weird in more than 6 ways alone). Here goes the death row list:
- Stilettoes
- Akash Sen
- First Rain
- Frog in the salad
- Aniruddha ( I know you are reading this)
- Amrita
- Lal
- Reprobate ( you have been tagged already – So I guess unless you want to expand your list, you are excused from this one)
Hee hee hee.....enjoy!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Goodbye SN
SN died last night and he was only 26 years old. This is the first time that somebody I know has died at such a young age. There was no accident, no suicide, no nothing. Just a mild heart attack because of gastroenteritis and he passed away.
We are all in a state of shock out here. SN died fourteen thousand miles away from home, away from his parents and loved ones. Which is a terrible thing, because SN was a rather lovable guy. He was a brilliant student, a very sharp quizzer, and a very jovial fellow. We loved talking to him, because he was always so helpful and cheerful. What is really appalling is that he was the most health conscious person around and he was seen as an example of physical fitness. He lived life on the fast lane, walked fast, drove his car really fast and his brain whirled round the globe with solutions faster than most people.
SN, you left us and you are probably smiling in heaven now, because that's what great people like you deserve, while down below, we will all mourn your irreparable loss.
We are all in a state of shock out here. SN died fourteen thousand miles away from home, away from his parents and loved ones. Which is a terrible thing, because SN was a rather lovable guy. He was a brilliant student, a very sharp quizzer, and a very jovial fellow. We loved talking to him, because he was always so helpful and cheerful. What is really appalling is that he was the most health conscious person around and he was seen as an example of physical fitness. He lived life on the fast lane, walked fast, drove his car really fast and his brain whirled round the globe with solutions faster than most people.
SN, you left us and you are probably smiling in heaven now, because that's what great people like you deserve, while down below, we will all mourn your irreparable loss.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
The football fever
The whole world seems to be going bonkers on world cup football. People have stopped working night shifts and have demanded to be shown matches. Most people are leaving early to catch their favourite matches. We are also playing something called phantom football in office. I never cared much about football myself, not atleast after I broke B’s foot in a foul on terrible day in monsoon. I was a burly ruddy girl, with a predisposition towards football and cycling. There weren’t enough guys to make up a 22 member team, and there were fewer girls – so we played in a mixed team. Our teams changed in all possible permutations everyday. That fateful day B – possibly our best player was in the opposition and as a terrible footballer, but a determined defender my keywords were, ’don’t let the ball get past you’. Sadly B was playing his best game and as he moved towards our goal post, I missed the ball and kicked his foot instead…….
I still don’t know what stopped them from throwing me out of the team. Some of them tell me, that B spoke out on my behalf. He was two years older and quite fond of me. But my guilty conscience would not let me play anymore. Like a true blue professional, I hung up my boots while in my prime and took to cycling alone along the long winding roads in our campus. Those were the days of Itlalia’90. I had eyes only for Jeurgen Klinsmann. I wonder if Ma has thrown away the scrap book that had around 90 pictures of Klinsmann. I am told he is now coaching Germany and if I do watch any matches this time, it would only be to catch a glimpse of Klinsmann.
Meanwhile, I am playing football with my life now. I am now living in a different country and a different continent. Some people have called it seemingly paradise, I agree with seemingly. I seem to be playing football with my sleeping hours. The midfield mind says its midnight, attack the sleep nerves, the body defends by saying, it’s daytime in India. Here the sun does not set before 9p.m. putting all my time management into a quandary. I am learning for the first time, how to cook Indian food, in a foreign country from a group of men, who hitherto had commanded merely respect from me. They now have my whole-hearted admiration. Learning to count the cents and save the dollars. Learning that phone calls are free and Internet access is as easily available as pollution in India. Learning that if you do not know how to drive a car, you are doomed to lead your life dependent on others. Learning that there is no such thing as the local grocery wala or the mishtir dokaan. I am learning that restaurants are expensive and that I am an object of curiosity here because of the colour of my skin and my salwar kameez – two things that I always took for granted.
The neon lights at night blind my eyes. Sometimes, it’s an escape from the homesickness and the depression that has begun to set in. Living fourteen thousand miles away from home is not always the easiest thing to do. But some people have helped to ease the pain. I do not know how to express my heartfelt thanks to all of my friends, who have mailed, called, scrapped and have in everyway let me know that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Thank you!!! I am indeed touched.
I still don’t know what stopped them from throwing me out of the team. Some of them tell me, that B spoke out on my behalf. He was two years older and quite fond of me. But my guilty conscience would not let me play anymore. Like a true blue professional, I hung up my boots while in my prime and took to cycling alone along the long winding roads in our campus. Those were the days of Itlalia’90. I had eyes only for Jeurgen Klinsmann. I wonder if Ma has thrown away the scrap book that had around 90 pictures of Klinsmann. I am told he is now coaching Germany and if I do watch any matches this time, it would only be to catch a glimpse of Klinsmann.
Meanwhile, I am playing football with my life now. I am now living in a different country and a different continent. Some people have called it seemingly paradise, I agree with seemingly. I seem to be playing football with my sleeping hours. The midfield mind says its midnight, attack the sleep nerves, the body defends by saying, it’s daytime in India. Here the sun does not set before 9p.m. putting all my time management into a quandary. I am learning for the first time, how to cook Indian food, in a foreign country from a group of men, who hitherto had commanded merely respect from me. They now have my whole-hearted admiration. Learning to count the cents and save the dollars. Learning that phone calls are free and Internet access is as easily available as pollution in India. Learning that if you do not know how to drive a car, you are doomed to lead your life dependent on others. Learning that there is no such thing as the local grocery wala or the mishtir dokaan. I am learning that restaurants are expensive and that I am an object of curiosity here because of the colour of my skin and my salwar kameez – two things that I always took for granted.
The neon lights at night blind my eyes. Sometimes, it’s an escape from the homesickness and the depression that has begun to set in. Living fourteen thousand miles away from home is not always the easiest thing to do. But some people have helped to ease the pain. I do not know how to express my heartfelt thanks to all of my friends, who have mailed, called, scrapped and have in everyway let me know that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Thank you!!! I am indeed touched.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)