If you could bring back one dinosaur, which one would it be?
Talking of dinosaurs I myself feel like one – ancient and obsolete. When I see today’s generation – their mode of amusement and entertainment restricted to discos and pubs, their overwhelming sense of individual liberty, their reliance on peers rather than family (which includes extended family as well), their sky high ambition transcending borders and contributing to the GDP of countries other than their motherland, their inability to care for their parents when they need them the most, their casual approach towards everything in general, their disregard for ancient wisdom , their lack of tolerance, their self centeredness, their lack of belongingness be it work or domestic front , their lack of ability to sustain adversities ….I can go on and on.
Question here is not to bring back the dinosaurs but how today’s dinosaurs can survive amidst the fracas of fast transitioning, or may I say, evolving society. The dinosaurs who are sandwiched between the world they were brought up in and the world they find themselves in at the fag end of life.
Contemporary Dinosaurs are a minority on the verge of extinction. The moot point is whether the society wants to save them from imminent death? Or let them die along with the culture they represent, perpetuate and find comfort in ?
We have two offices in two different blocks of the same building. Recently, an influential opinion builder from the other block commented on how the senior lady officers of this block were having fun and laughed and cracked jokes during lunch time from which he readily inferred that they did not have much work. He was referring to lunch hour, right? How did that imply the ladies were not work centric?
We have male officers who while their time on mobile in the corridors disturbing others loudly instructing their wives on baby to daily household management. Yet no opinion monger has a piece of advice for them.
In one of the far North-eastern states, two underage girls of a particular community were made to walk naked and one of them later gang raped by unidentified miscreants. The media and social platforms went on a frenzy over it. From penning melancholic poems on hopelessness to burning critiques to offering political solutions et all. The viral video which made international headlines was intended to create mass havoc. It did giving opportunity to callous tongues to remark that such incidents were commonplace and happened in other States as well thereby attempting to trivialize the matter.
My house help is chronic anaemic. Her husband is a drunkard. Obviously, he does not have much role to play apart from abusing his wife and children and demanding explanations if his wife came late home once in a while after a day’s laborious work.
I told her to get her haemoglobin checked at intervals if she wanted to live a healthy life and earn a livelihood. She told me she had her own “means” if she was disabled permanently. Funny, she was willing to die than lead a healthy life. Perhaps she had nothing to look forward to and death seemed a better option if she was rendered physically invalid.
Lately these glimpses of our society have perturbed me and compelled to think. There are many other ills – casteism, socio-economic backwardness, illiteracy, unemployment, patriarchy, blatant use of muscle power etc. etc. But all these maladies have a single face – bruised and battered women.
The title of this blog is just a mild pointer towards our existential crisis. The roots are deeper and time worn. The bias cuts across the cross section of a humongous populace of the largest democracy of the world and a growing economy – from ultra urban milieu of Metros to the remotest of rural, rustic backwaters – the story is the same.
In sharp contrast, this is also the country which worships Goddesses as manifests of Shakti or Power – the Supreme Creative and also Destructive Force. This contrarian element triggers another vital question, ” Are we really modern?”
Have you heard of fear of math? Its my pet phobia.
I was not that bad in junior classes. But the subject eluded me thereafter.
I failed to understand why a theorem should begin with an assumption and end up being an indubitable truism.
I guess neither did the teachers.
Most were too engrossed in solving the “problems” themselves. Ms. Nirmal would scratch her head in the midst of an algebraic conundrum. Mrs. Mushran would rush off in a torrent without a comma or full stop, her vocals too soft to command unfaltering attention. Mrs Brown was terror personified. A sadist, she would resort to corporeal punishment at the drop of a hat. In those days it was no offence. Schools swore by the adage spare the rod spoil the brat.
And then there was the eccentric Mr. X of Raisinha Boys’. He would mumble constantly under his breath. Unfortunately, he was our neighbour. Some said he was terrorized by his wife and others that he had completely lost it solving sums! 😲😲
In the higher secondary classes, I had a math tutor. Reputed to be an excellent coach with a caustic tongue. He had a sarcastic smile and piercing gaze as though he had already figured out my incapabilities.
When my sister ushered him in with a respectful, ” Please come in, sir” , he would reply, “I have already arrived.”
He too was happy filling up pages with signs and symbols as I stared uncomprehendingly. Undoubtedly he loved the subject. The syllabus was on his tips. Alas, he could not transmit the passion to his deficient student.
At work front I am surrounded by finance geniuses. They are apt at disparaging if you show lack of understanding. I envy their skill and approach to all things in life from the standpoint of pecuniary loss and gain. I readily confess my inexcusable inability in wealth generation and tax implications. They take pity and patiently impart the rudiments not knowing I am a mathemophobic.
What’s your favorite game (card, board, video, etc.)? Why?
I was never an outdoorsy person. I hated the games period in school. My classmates loved it. They would swiftly change into play shorts and rush after the basket or volley ball. I always took time to get out of my skirt. Perhaps my clumsiness rose from mental apathy. Now so many perhaps on hindsight.
In my teens I was a compulsive day dreamer. Indoor person with an open book on the lap. Mother would almost push me out in the evenings to play. Mind it in those days there were no playstations, computer or video games. Television had just entered the scene – black and white with very very limited channels and specific hours of telecast.
Yet I liked playing badminton and volleyball. I was a mediocre player but managed to be in the team. Badminton was sometimes fun and sometimes not. There were other indigenous games like kho kho, pitthu, stapu which when very small I did indulge in and enjoyed.
Coming to indoor games, I was good at cards. But never the Bridge person. Wanted to learn chess but remained limited to Ludo and Chinese Checker. Later years, I tried sudoku, the primary levels. My fear of numbers being the deterrant.
I guess games too require a mindset. The type of person you are, games choose you or you choose the one you equate yourself with. Since the day I discovered my love for words and languages I hunted for puzzles and games which fitted the bill.
Soon I became an addictive wordler and waffler. And soon enough I stopped enjoying them because the high crumbles down faster than one can guess. The motto of playing should never be gaming, competing and winning. That can be enervating. Sports(wo)man spirit is cultivated when you play with the purpose to exercise your mind or/and body.
Games, outdoor or indoor, can be therapeutic and an antidote against degenerative diseases like dementia. Games give you alacrity of mind, sharpens memory and hones your instinctual and intuitive powers. It should remain like that.
Once I realised the true purpose of playing the crushed syndrome when I narrowly escaped victory did not persist any further. I was happy stimulating the glandular secretion as much as a day’s play allowed me. I also observed myself while playing. When I was stressed out, pre- occupied or disturbed my focus veered away from the game and sure shot I lost the mark. When I was totally relaxed I scored better.
Even if you make it a daily ritual do not judge yourself if you can’t make it to the winning slot once in a while. As far as my routine goes, I sometimes give it a break when things go overboard and get back to it refreshed and charged up. Mind you, it works.
Kitchen is a place where you can innovate the most. Earlier I used to experiment a lot with Non-vegetarian dishes. With passage of time my preference has shifted towards Vegetarian culinary. Tell you what I now feel the scope of novelty is greater in the latter.
Cooking is an art. Your talent lies in converting even the most underrated vegetable into something extravagant and exotic
By the way, pointed gourd is my go-to veggie. You can make it into a tangy curry, a crispy fry, a soupy gravy or a gourmet delight. It all depends upon your imagination and palate.
The one that I recently tried, unexpectedly turned out to be an offering fit for royalty. Shahi actually means something regal. So, in order to make a savoury for the royal taste you have to use ingredients which are out of the ordinary.
While being a foodie I am also a person who likes to finish off work in the kitchen in least possible time. Elaborate recipes do not appeal to me. Nor do they turn out to be the best. The faster the cooking time, the more delicious the delicacy is. Believe me.
Now don’t form an opinion by the look of the utensil. In our culture, the blacker the kadhai or wok is, the tastier is the food. The burning example of this is the street foods.
So coming to the method….very simple. Take a fistful of onion curls (two medium sized) and stir them in two tablespoonful of oil till they become all mushy and blushy like a newly wed bride. Add a dash of ginger garlic paste (one teaspoon full). Stir till the paste merges well with onion. Add a generous number of cashews and almonds (6-7 each) along with salt as per taste and a pinch of sugar and fry. When all ingredients are well fried put in two tablespoonful heap of chickpea floor. As soon as the floor is mixed in the oil soaks up and the masala (spices) separates from the kadhai. Put off the stove and let it cool.
Now is the time to ready the palval or pointed gourds. I had taken half a kilo (500 gm) pointed gourds. Wash and peel. Now pointed gourds are never peeled off completely. The scales are knifed out in a manner that a green ribbon like strip of peel remains on the body of the gourd alternated by a skinned layer – alternate segments/lines of dark and light green. Like this.
After the gourds are peeled as shown above behead them on one side but retain the cap and scoop out the inside (seed and the flesh).
By now the masala is cooled. Blend it in the mixie till it is soft and creamy. Fill the paste inside each gourd and press in tightly. The chick pea floor will help the paste stay inside. Cap the gourds. I tied each gourd up with thread so that the cap stays put.
Shallow fry the gourds till they are light brown and half cooked. Put in the rest of the paste in the wok. You can use the same wok for the second half of the preparation. The paste will be tight. To liquify it a bit add a cup of milk and let the gourds simmer in it. At this point you can add half a tea spoonful of cumin seed powder and garam masala. Let the milk condense and the gourds get fully cooked. Check the salt and spice level once more. If need be you can up the spice quotient a bit. And then rest. Shahi Palval is ready to be served and can be had with boiled, de-starched rice or hot rotis. Don’t forget to de-thread the gourds before serving.
PS : In order to make garam masala at home take green and black cardamom, cinnamon sticks, a few cloves and bay leaves (except clove all else in equal proportion), dry roast , grind and store. It can be used as and when required.
The pic of how to skin palval has been borrowed from Rumki’s Golden Spoon.
Yes, you are right. I am a dog person anytime. It is said that dog lovers are people persons while cat lovers are loners. I read that in one of the articles in the Daily. But to be honest, I do not know how far it is scientifically proven /correct.
My nephew who loves to be on his own has a cat named Gopi. I am an introvert but I love having dogs around. They are loyal, loving, non judgemental and do not expect too much out of you. They give you companionship and comfort.
They welcome you home each day with so much joy as though you are their long lost friend. I guess I have said this before that I am the godmother of all the stray canines of the block. They invite themselves in when it is rainy or too sunny or too wintry. In fact they are always there. More so when they fall sick.
I have Maasi (mother’s sister) who is Kali’s sister and Chuk Chuk’s aunt. I have my Rinky who is the self appointed guardian of all. Of course, I have dear old Kali.
This is Chuk Chuk – the naughtiest of all. She alternates between my flat and my fourth floor neighbour’s. My neighbour is very fond of her. Unfortunately, her family is not very keen on keeping a pet at present. But my neighbour goes all hyper if she doesn’t see Chukky or Maasi or Kali around and it’s my job to calm her down.
Chuk Chuk is over energetic, quite unmanageable and turns destructive if she can’t get her way. She has already chewed off the corners of two of my sofas. I have to be on the alert when she is in.
This is Rinky or Rinka – the most spoilt one. – reacting after being given a piece of my mind when she was brought back home with threats of dire consequences on one of her super adventurous days. Not a very pleasant shot but she is the apple of my eye.
Well, I think I have told you all about Kali. She was tortured by (in)humans and fellow canines, both, in her infancy. She was traumatized, starved for days and went in hiding. We were really worried about her survival. Then she became pregnant that too untimely. Her sickly body was not ready for bearing puppies. We worried some more. But with God’s grace she survived. She gave birth to three healthy puppies. One of them was Chuk Chuk. The other two got stolen. The young mother whimpered at night seperated from her pups. We felt for her – her loss, her sickness and her loneliness. But she survived that too. Now she even growls softly at Rinky when she teases her more than she can take it. That is how life is.
And this is the mat which both Chuk Chuk and Kali vie for
This is Chuk Chuk’s maternal uncle or maama (Kali’s brother).
This is Rinky sun bathing
And this is me
I don’t understand cats. I have never had one. They appear to be very contemptuous of the human species. I believe they must be as cute a companion as dogs are for those who adore them.
But I remain a caninetrovert as I have always been with dogs since I was born. My co sister was Julie, a golden Duchshund. Sorry, I don’t have a pic of her. She died of heartbreak when we shifted base to the Capital leaving her with one of my uncle’s. I hope I get her back in some way.
I have not been able to upload Maasi’s pic. I have none and she is not to be found lately. She has adopted me but sometimes she hibernates. This evening I have deputed a search patrol. Let’s see. Until then her pic remains due
Lately I am agonised by a series of nightmares. My shrink says I am not supposed to remember dreams. If I do that means I have not slept properly. Interestingly, I only remember a few foggy vignettes of the “normal” ones while the “abnormal” ones are vivid, intense, deeply etched – photographic…almost cinematic.
Again, surprisingly, these rake up the relational frictions with my nearest ones. Incidents which have embarrassed, repulsed or angered me. Incidents when I have felt I have been misunderstood or not understood at all. Incidents which have mostly taken place in my formative years or when I have started out on my own or much earlier – childhood days.
And times I have felt trapped – not knowing how to get out, hating and unable to adapt to it. Shut out, acutely disappointed and fed up.
Needless to say, a recurrence of theme threads through disturbing experiences. Yes, these are experiences as Swami Sarvapriyanandaji puts it. The dreamer, although in sleep, is experiencing them. I agree with him. Even in dreams I feel the strong currents of emotional reactions welling up – stimulii I respond to instantaneously and involuntarily.
Amazing that in the fag end of my life I am still tormented by confrontations which took place decades back. I can never revert them. Yet I have kept them buried in remote annals of brain and now they have spurred to action. I know not the triggers but I wake up with a bad taste in my mouth always.
How to cope with this endless torture? I do not intend to share with my shrink. Medication is not the sovereign remedy. It is suppression. My sister often suggests meditation before sleep. But for me meditation is falling off to sleep. I guess writing is a good coping process as while doing so I am analysing and introspecting as well. This is my own battle I have to fight it out.
As I write I realise I dream of those times when I was not articulate or vocal or perhaps rebellious enough. I am now. Aggressive, opinionated and speak my mind. What pains are the regrets, so many things unsaid with which I have not come to terms. Isn’t this the time I should be lighter and unload these baggages which I have been carrying for so long without knowing? That cauldron overflowing with angst against those who have endured me and even perhaps grudgingly walked alongside me ?
The ultimate question is why now? Why these negative thoughts surfacing when all my life supports are in the last leg of their journey? I guess this is the realization time. The revealing moments. God says, “See child, what trash you have filled up your bin with. Recycle or delete it forever.”
I guess forgiveness is a great healer. I have been often advised by my elders to do so. But the snake within , raising it’s hood, has always deterred me, “Why should I?” Hatred is a great propeller but it is killing as well. For my own peace, solace and sanity let me change the mantra. Once I used to take pride in saying ” I do not forget or forgive easily.” But let’s upturn that sentence “I do easily forget and forgive. ” In not doing so what have I gained till now? Only accumulated venom which has blackened my soul and bruised my memory?
Is it too late to start all over again? The answer sure is there is no early or late. In Hindi they say it’s morning whenever you wake up. So let this be my awakening moment – a phase to review the innermost self, reorganise the attic of mind and relocate stuff – mop clean the memory slate and focus on the positives that have positioned me as I am today. Let’s not be a bitter but a better soul. Hope this may cure me of my nocturnal anguishes.
I come back after a long break with a post of my choice subject – food! What else?
Hope you all are doing fine.
Remembered to take a pic after a bite. Sorry again.
Chhole Kulcha – comparatively healthy option for a quick respite midst work. See the corner of the keyboard in the corner of the pic. 😔😔
Chhole is nothing but boiled chickpeas with minimum but specific masala (spices).
Kulcha is made out of refined floor or maida – not so healthy – but nowadays kulchas, made out of wheat, is also available in the market. Consumers preferably go for the latter. Sometimes the Kulcha or the bread is also stuffed with finely chopped onion, coriander leaves or smashed paneer.
Paneer is made out of milk or curd. If you curdle the curd a bit longer the water separates and the resid is paneer.
The other option is to put the milk to boil in a pot or deep wok/milk pan and add lemon juice or vinegar to it in proportion when the milk rises. The water separates and the curdled milk is again – paneer.
Kulcha is baked so no or less oil. But at home we do give it a toss in a cube of butter to pamper our taste buds.
Bad habit but we like our food to tickle our sensory organs giving us a high. What else is food all about ? 😋😋
Due to various preoccupations and time constraint arising out of the same I had taken to microblogging for sometime, i.e., I started tweeting and exploring the Twitter sphere. I had been tweeting earlier also but these were restricted to sharing links of my blogs, wordle/waffle accomplishments or a brief comment on my recent watch on OTT. Now probing deeper into this world of tweets I found them good for sharing photos, small comments, YouTube clippings, promoting business, sharing political headlines and in general airing views on the latest news, disaster, sensation or finds.
Blogs on the other hand give you a world tour. You can come to know about people, cultures, lifestyles of different places where you can never think or plan to visit. You can exchange notes with like-minded bloggers. You can share your various valuable as well as myriad mundane moments without thinking whether these posts will be treated as worthless. You can share stories and poems without worrying about space. You can meet new bloggers and be friends. You find empathizers and sympathisers who pull you out of your blues by imparting gems of advices, though you may not meet ever physically. There is no restriction on what to write on. Your posts can be as varied as day and night.
Though, Twitter afficiandos have started tweeting long threads of tweets but they are not compact and are like brittle posts. The continuity is linked yet somewhat lost. Twitteraties have their own community of followers but I wonder whether they befriend each other. If your tweets attract attention you are on. If they don’t you are gone.
Another very interesting at the same time irritating fact that came to light was the number of Twitteraties who disguise their identity on Twitter. Even if you belong to his/her community of followers you don’t know who you are following or interacting with. It’s not that they are trolls or post controversial tweets but still they prefer to go incognito which is quite surprising. But Twitter is a world which is very much in the eye of the media. The online dailies carry articles based on tweets and photos shared. One of my comments on a tweet found place in such an article which was not very amusing as the writer branded me as a fan. But I was not. I had casually commented which became part of news without my permission which is quite scary because I am not one of those limelight seekers. Such action, as I now see, has the potential of causing an unwarranted storm as well. Thank God it did not.
I find celebrities taking tweets quite seriously. They thank you if the tweet is in their favour and ignore if they are anti. The most annoying facet of Twitter is how an event or a disaster or a piece of news gets talked about in an out of proportion manner. The discussion infuriatingly prolongs as though there is nothing else happening in the Universe and goes on and on till something else catches attention. I used to wonder when the media would say that such and such event has created a storm amongst the netizens. Now I know which platform they are referring to.
In comparison blogs are more peaceful. More personal. Whether anybody is regularly following or not it’s more rewarding, gratifying and satisfying. I like the detailed book or film reviews written by my co-bloggers, I come to know how life goes on in the remotest part of this planet, I relish how the older generation or my own contemporaries are enjoying life, I like to read the stories written by my virtual friends, I get inspired by the spiritual journeys undertaken by my compatriots. There is variety, a feeling of fulfillment , a completeness and of course camaraderie.
Coming back to blogging is not an afterthought or result of threadbare analysis. I had to come back. It’s just that I had taken a detour. That’s all.
Last Saturday it rained. All of a sudden. I woke up at 07.00 am. It looked as though it were midnight. I went back to sleep not realizing that the sky was too overcast and the darkness was just a precursor to an unannounced downpour.
I woke up at eightish again which is absolutely against my routine (I am an early riser). Saw a greyer shade of sky and realized my mistake. By that time Rinky had taken her morning walk. Mother had had her first meal of the day. Monika, my mother’s caregiver, was in the kitchen shuffling around trying to figure out whether to wake me out of my deep slumber with a cup of chai (morning tea). My cuppa is a bit different. It looks like this – more popular in South of India. In the Northern part of the country it is either a slightly big mug or a medium sized glass.
Freshening up I potted around with my mobile. Found the green leaves in my small garden well bathed, velvety and kind of rejuvenated.
It was still drizzling and everything around seemed washed up and sparkling. The dusts were gone but the puddles and wet muddy dirt were back. The sky was not sure whether it would still like to pour or put an end to the rainy tale.
Such is life. Full of serendipitous events. This time the Met Department had forecast a super hot summer. But as the temperature rises it is balanced out by a surprise shower. Good for us and also for the poor birds and stray animals. Of course, my canine friends make it a point to enter the balcony and occupy their favourite spots to save getting drenched , have a quick breakfast and wander out when the rain stops. So invariably my flat converts into a canine zoo under calamitous conditions. But I don’t mind. Nor does Rinky. In fact, she calls them in. In fact, I love the way it is. As I have said a number of times before, these strays make better friends than humans – loyal, loving and adorable.
After sometime it became windy as well and the trees danced to the tune of the wild breeze. But I was too engrossed watching the scene and forgot to take a pic.
Today’s forecast is also rainfall with 40-50 Km/Hr wind. Time not known. Hope I reach home before the forecast transpires into reality.
