My dear friend, Raji, tagged me. It apparently means that I've to do what she did, which is fill out this questionnaire.
It sort of got me off my ass and made me get an entry up after all these weeks, if not anything else!
So, here goes the food tag:
What’s your favourite table?
Ea-table?
What would you have for your last supper?
C’mon man! That’s too depressing a thought!
What’s your poison?
Cheese!
Name your three desert island ingredients.
If I’m marooned on an island, don’t care what I eat! Maybe dosai maavu and green chillies? Guessing I’ll get coconuts there for the chutney! Dosai-kallu?
What would you put in Room 101?
Not sure what this means…
Which book gets you cooking?
Any book—the minute my ma sees me having some time to myself, she’ll think up an elaborate meal for me to help out with!
What’s your dream dinner party line-up?
Line-up… any party with French fries, and cheesecake. (Okay, you can throw in some salad too…) Oh wait, the question wasn’t about guests, was it?
What was your childhood teatime treat?
My only teatime treat -- Marie biscuits
What was your most memorable meal?
When my friend called me home for lunch, and I tasted something called a “bake.” It was a totally new taste, and I loved it! Might have been the first time I tasted cheese.
What was your biggest food disaster?
There was this time we’d called people home for dinner, and I was supposed to make mango pudding. I ended up adding salt instead of sugar, and too much turmeric… clearly the worst pudding ever!
What’s the worst meal you’ve ever had?
See answer to previous question.
Who’s your food hero/food villain?
You know Ranga Rao from “Kalyana samayal saadam”? Love him!
Nigella or Delia?
I like Nigella. Her name rhymes with flagella…
Vegetarians: genius or madness?
Depends on whether you’re a chick or not!
Fast food or fresh food?
Fast food first, and then, guiltily, fresh food.
Who would you most like to cook for?
Nigella. Her name rhymes with flagella…
What would you cook to impress a date?
We’d eat out at the most expensive restaurant in town, and I'd make sure he pays.
Make a wish.
World peace
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Asphyxiation
How many words can you make from it?
At least a hundred?
I might as well list them.
I got the time, you see.
On the other side of my cubicle
Is another, where
A worker toils, sweats blood
But I have nothing to do.
Some stress for lack of work
And some just on account of it
Is it not possible for parity
In any aspect of capitalist life?
Something’s choking me
Oh! It’s the eight hours I need to log
It never seems to go away
However hard I try (Hope this helps).
Sphinx: A mysterious person
Whose intentions are not quite clear
She’s said to kill those
Who could not solve her riddles.
Phat: It’s passé, the Web tells me
Used to be “Pretty Hot And Tempting.”
A way to call a woman fat
And ensure she never blinks an eye.
Sap: There’s many meanings
The verb weakens
The nouns are fluid and stupid
The all-caps version concerns computers.
Ax: They say the Americans economized
Dropped the final “e” and no one missed it
Cos it didn’t serve any purpose
Oh wait – we are an American company!
At least a hundred?
I might as well list them.
I got the time, you see.
On the other side of my cubicle
Is another, where
A worker toils, sweats blood
But I have nothing to do.
Some stress for lack of work
And some just on account of it
Is it not possible for parity
In any aspect of capitalist life?
Something’s choking me
Oh! It’s the eight hours I need to log
It never seems to go away
However hard I try (Hope this helps).
Sphinx: A mysterious person
Whose intentions are not quite clear
She’s said to kill those
Who could not solve her riddles.
Phat: It’s passé, the Web tells me
Used to be “Pretty Hot And Tempting.”
A way to call a woman fat
And ensure she never blinks an eye.
Sap: There’s many meanings
The verb weakens
The nouns are fluid and stupid
The all-caps version concerns computers.
Ax: They say the Americans economized
Dropped the final “e” and no one missed it
Cos it didn’t serve any purpose
Oh wait – we are an American company!
From a Narrow Viewpoint
I dream of a better world for myself,
For my friends, for my family, for people I know
And those I don’t.
To be free from tension;
From looming deadlines
And increasing pressure,
From 8 p.m. meetings
And pizza desk dinners
From automobile smoke
And humming computers
That all seem to be saying
That 60 years have passed
But you don’t seem to know
That it’s too short a time,
To shake off the shackles.
For my friends, for my family, for people I know
And those I don’t.
To be free from tension;
From looming deadlines
And increasing pressure,
From 8 p.m. meetings
And pizza desk dinners
From automobile smoke
And humming computers
That all seem to be saying
That 60 years have passed
But you don’t seem to know
That it’s too short a time,
To shake off the shackles.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Lines--And How to Cut Them
Yesterday, I was at a reception of someone who I had not seen even once earlier in my life. I was emotionally dragged into attending it by my mother-in-law, who, to be fair, is usually the only one attending such events, because of an extremely home-bound husband. If Fevicol were looking for a concept for its next installment of ads, I’d generously recommend my father-in-law, who stays at home, come hell or high water.
Anyway, as usual, I digress. On entering the reception hall, we spot a serpentine line snaking its way to the back of the room. “Let’s go stand in the line,” suggests MIL, and it seems like a good idea. We pick up our glasses of grape juice, and evade a few friends who might otherwise hold us up in our quest for eternity in the “X Weds Z Reception Veedeo: CD IV. 27/4/2008.”
After a few minutes, I notice that the line isn’t moving as fast as the camera flashes indicate. However, it has only been five minutes, and I think I must be over-reacting, as usual. We reach within ten feet of the stage, and a man in a blue short hails the guy in front of us (GIFOU) in the line. Gives his hand for a handshake, and they’re chatting. Pleasantries, I supposed. Soon, I notice he is part of the line, in front of us. What’s more, Mr. Blue Shirt (Let’s call him BS) then calls over his wife and kids, as if he wants to introduce them to GIFOU. They smile too broadly at each other, and the lady actually looks guiltily at us, while BS convinces her to stay on. Now, they’re part of the line too, in front of us. In another world, I tap BS on the shoulder and ask him, “Padichhavanga dhaane neenga (You’re educated, aren’t you)?” and, of course, he is overcome by shame.
In the real world, clearly, nothing of that sort happens. He happily carries on, and there are several others who join right in, both behind us and in front of, and we continue on, until we pose for the photo that is a sure candidate for the inanest instance of social propriety. By the way, after the reception photo is taken, what are the people supposed to do? I’d think, make small talk for the video. But most of us are still standing in the photo pose—wouldn’t that look horrible on video?
Well, after the “congratulations,” we make our way to the dining room, where another line awaits us. But as soon as a few places are freed up, there is a rush of people toward the empty dining seats, forget who was where first.
Why have we become so obsessed one set of social norms that we flout another so brazenly? Why does cutting forward in line count as acceptable behavior, while skipping the wedding of a near stranger does not? Is it because we have a closed circuit of people whose opinion we care about, and the rest can go to hell?
What makes a person wax eloquent about traffic rules, but run a red signal when the opportunity presents itself? If the wife of BS had that one iota of guilt, what made her jump over to the land of the obnoxious? Was it BS’ encouragement? Or was it the fact that cutting a line isn’t exactly seen as a crime?
When I first encountered this behaviour, I did take my fantasy role: I tapped the woman in front of me on the shoulder and told her that she cut forward. She proceeded to explain to me how they were part of the same group. She “let” me go in front of her, but the person behind me accepted her intrusion. I was now looked at with derision. “As if she can’t adjust. All these people from America always talking rules,” she said!
America or not, I have a dream – of a line that no one jumps, of a reception that is more meaningful than a few handshakes and 15 seconds of video.
Anyway, as usual, I digress. On entering the reception hall, we spot a serpentine line snaking its way to the back of the room. “Let’s go stand in the line,” suggests MIL, and it seems like a good idea. We pick up our glasses of grape juice, and evade a few friends who might otherwise hold us up in our quest for eternity in the “X Weds Z Reception Veedeo: CD IV. 27/4/2008.”
After a few minutes, I notice that the line isn’t moving as fast as the camera flashes indicate. However, it has only been five minutes, and I think I must be over-reacting, as usual. We reach within ten feet of the stage, and a man in a blue short hails the guy in front of us (GIFOU) in the line. Gives his hand for a handshake, and they’re chatting. Pleasantries, I supposed. Soon, I notice he is part of the line, in front of us. What’s more, Mr. Blue Shirt (Let’s call him BS) then calls over his wife and kids, as if he wants to introduce them to GIFOU. They smile too broadly at each other, and the lady actually looks guiltily at us, while BS convinces her to stay on. Now, they’re part of the line too, in front of us. In another world, I tap BS on the shoulder and ask him, “Padichhavanga dhaane neenga (You’re educated, aren’t you)?” and, of course, he is overcome by shame.
In the real world, clearly, nothing of that sort happens. He happily carries on, and there are several others who join right in, both behind us and in front of, and we continue on, until we pose for the photo that is a sure candidate for the inanest instance of social propriety. By the way, after the reception photo is taken, what are the people supposed to do? I’d think, make small talk for the video. But most of us are still standing in the photo pose—wouldn’t that look horrible on video?
Well, after the “congratulations,” we make our way to the dining room, where another line awaits us. But as soon as a few places are freed up, there is a rush of people toward the empty dining seats, forget who was where first.
Why have we become so obsessed one set of social norms that we flout another so brazenly? Why does cutting forward in line count as acceptable behavior, while skipping the wedding of a near stranger does not? Is it because we have a closed circuit of people whose opinion we care about, and the rest can go to hell?
What makes a person wax eloquent about traffic rules, but run a red signal when the opportunity presents itself? If the wife of BS had that one iota of guilt, what made her jump over to the land of the obnoxious? Was it BS’ encouragement? Or was it the fact that cutting a line isn’t exactly seen as a crime?
When I first encountered this behaviour, I did take my fantasy role: I tapped the woman in front of me on the shoulder and told her that she cut forward. She proceeded to explain to me how they were part of the same group. She “let” me go in front of her, but the person behind me accepted her intrusion. I was now looked at with derision. “As if she can’t adjust. All these people from America always talking rules,” she said!
America or not, I have a dream – of a line that no one jumps, of a reception that is more meaningful than a few handshakes and 15 seconds of video.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Dilamo Dilamo
Okay, so here's the situation:
You go to Spencer's Plaza with friends. You buy some things from here and there, some of them riduclously overpriced, but you're okay with it, cos you can afford it.
Then you stop over at Cookie Man to buy some of those delectable treats.
While waiting for your sale to be rung up, you see a couple, with a kid. The man is wearing vetti sattai, and they seem as of they're in Chennai on a trip or something. The kid, who's about four, has taken a liking to the displayed gourmet chocolates. Just from the display, it's obvious they'll be quite expensive.
The kid asks for the chocolates, the father asks the counter guy how much it costs, and the guy at the counter is quite condesceding when he says -- ONNU (One) forty five rupees. The couple seem shocked at the price, and abruptly walk away, and the kid is wailing behind, asking for the chocolate.
So, what do you do?
So, here was my emotional roller coaster:
First, my impulse was to buy the chocolate and give it to the kid.
Then, I figure that if I did that, it'll be a bit condescending on my part as well, as if I'm ignoring the father, and somehow belittling him in the eyes of his family.
After that, I was angry -- first, at the guy at the counter for his seemingly rude behavior, and then at the whole Cookie Man establishment (in spite of their awesome cookies) for their overpriced chocolates. Of course, I realized it was quite the evasive behavior, because "it's the economy, stupid!"
In a free capitalist market, there will always be some people who'll be able to afford more than others. By this point, of course, the argument has assumed macro proportions in my mind. (At this point, let me confess that I know not if the family just thought the chocolate was unnecessary expenditure (I think it would be), and could well afford it.) Let's say I somehow made everyone magically able to afford the chocolate -- there'll be some other exclusive product that will come up, which will be more expensive than the rest!
Then, of course, I returned a bit micro, and was angry at myself -- for reasons unknown, but probably mainly guilt at buying things at these prices, and stoking the fire of price hikes.
In any case, by this time, our sales are done, and I have the cookies in my hand. I get a bit more micro and tell myself, "WEll, it's perhaps all for the best. Chocolates are no good for a child's teeth anyway!"
What could I have done differently?
You go to Spencer's Plaza with friends. You buy some things from here and there, some of them riduclously overpriced, but you're okay with it, cos you can afford it.
Then you stop over at Cookie Man to buy some of those delectable treats.
While waiting for your sale to be rung up, you see a couple, with a kid. The man is wearing vetti sattai, and they seem as of they're in Chennai on a trip or something. The kid, who's about four, has taken a liking to the displayed gourmet chocolates. Just from the display, it's obvious they'll be quite expensive.
The kid asks for the chocolates, the father asks the counter guy how much it costs, and the guy at the counter is quite condesceding when he says -- ONNU (One) forty five rupees. The couple seem shocked at the price, and abruptly walk away, and the kid is wailing behind, asking for the chocolate.
So, what do you do?
So, here was my emotional roller coaster:
First, my impulse was to buy the chocolate and give it to the kid.
Then, I figure that if I did that, it'll be a bit condescending on my part as well, as if I'm ignoring the father, and somehow belittling him in the eyes of his family.
After that, I was angry -- first, at the guy at the counter for his seemingly rude behavior, and then at the whole Cookie Man establishment (in spite of their awesome cookies) for their overpriced chocolates. Of course, I realized it was quite the evasive behavior, because "it's the economy, stupid!"
In a free capitalist market, there will always be some people who'll be able to afford more than others. By this point, of course, the argument has assumed macro proportions in my mind. (At this point, let me confess that I know not if the family just thought the chocolate was unnecessary expenditure (I think it would be), and could well afford it.) Let's say I somehow made everyone magically able to afford the chocolate -- there'll be some other exclusive product that will come up, which will be more expensive than the rest!
Then, of course, I returned a bit micro, and was angry at myself -- for reasons unknown, but probably mainly guilt at buying things at these prices, and stoking the fire of price hikes.
In any case, by this time, our sales are done, and I have the cookies in my hand. I get a bit more micro and tell myself, "WEll, it's perhaps all for the best. Chocolates are no good for a child's teeth anyway!"
What could I have done differently?
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Crushing success!
It all begins with a simple look – you look at him, mostly.
The first one I remember was that quintessential symbol of agility, Jonty Rhodes. When The Hindu splashed a beautiful photo of Jonty, mid-air, getting what was seemingly an impossible catch.
This, I recently dug out, a famous piece of fielding:
It was also the time I had newly discovered the meaning of “jaunty” and thought that the two factors combined made for a good enough crush for me. Of course, of prime importance in this whole process is the secrecy. Needless to say, my parents (or God forbid, my brother!) were never to see the secret file I had on him. They knew not that the missing rectangles in last week’s Hindu could be found in that selfsame file. I’m sure they guessed, somewhat, but didn’t deign to broach so insignificant a topic.
The phase actually lasted quite a bit, replete with dreams of me, a spectator in India, handing over a cricket ball to Jonty, a ball that has inexplicably found its way into my hands. Of course, our affair begins there, and he settles down in India and plays for the Indian team, and the whole country is in awe of me for netting the country Jonty. Too many Bollywood movies, is what I say now! Then, it seemed doable, if only I willed it real hard!
So I ignored all sorts of real-life guys in my life.
And then I turned on the TV, and something happened. I saw “Circus,” a Hindi serial that featured a young man called Shah Rukh Khan. My sister and I followed it religiously, and Jonty and his old file were soon forgotten.
Added to the SRK effect was Jonty’s failing form, and (this detail is a bit vague) news that he had some uncharitable things to say about India. I decided that Shah Rukh Khan would have to do.
For a while. As I neared my twenties, crushes came and went like people at a funeral – without warning, or a parting word. In my twenties, I became a bit more reasonable, and added real people I had actually talked to, to the mix. It was getting to be quite tiring just keeping tabs – maintaining the same level of energy for Hindi, Tamil and English actors, sportsmen, random television personalities, guys I saw in the college, on the road, near my house…
It was a bit more difficult with real-life people, as I had suspected. They were, well, real. And while digging up information about superstars hid more than it revealed, with real-life people I was often directly confronted with their everyday minutiae, and irritants such as their yellow teeth, disrespect for women, and body odor. Insurmountable obstacles, these, I now realize.
And of course, there’s the Groucho Marx sentiment – I’ll never be interested in a guy who’s interested in me – the ungettability is part of the attraction, you see!
I think the underlying sentiment behind these is the fantasy element – I somehow knew, deep down, that I will never have to spend the rest of my life with any of these people.
For the simple reason that I will never allow fantasy to interfere with my life. My dream life, as it were, would be completely different from my life.
Now, remember that these are not men I am even necessarily thinking of sexually, just guys I like the look, and sometimes, the walk or talk, of.
And then one day, I got married. I was astounded to find my crushes still intact in my heart. The Ajay Devgans and the Robin Uthappas were alright, but how did my former colleague still feature in this list? Weren’t real people banned from being a crush?
As time went by, it got tougher for me to “allow” a crush, but they still stopped by every now and then. As I got to deciphering, and then predicting, V.’s reactions and emotions accurately, it became a bit more interesting to discover a new person – know more about him (or sometimes, her). And I’ve come to peace with the fact that, in my heart,
Crushes may come and crushes may go
But V. stays on forever.
The first one I remember was that quintessential symbol of agility, Jonty Rhodes. When The Hindu splashed a beautiful photo of Jonty, mid-air, getting what was seemingly an impossible catch.
This, I recently dug out, a famous piece of fielding:
It was also the time I had newly discovered the meaning of “jaunty” and thought that the two factors combined made for a good enough crush for me. Of course, of prime importance in this whole process is the secrecy. Needless to say, my parents (or God forbid, my brother!) were never to see the secret file I had on him. They knew not that the missing rectangles in last week’s Hindu could be found in that selfsame file. I’m sure they guessed, somewhat, but didn’t deign to broach so insignificant a topic.
The phase actually lasted quite a bit, replete with dreams of me, a spectator in India, handing over a cricket ball to Jonty, a ball that has inexplicably found its way into my hands. Of course, our affair begins there, and he settles down in India and plays for the Indian team, and the whole country is in awe of me for netting the country Jonty. Too many Bollywood movies, is what I say now! Then, it seemed doable, if only I willed it real hard!
So I ignored all sorts of real-life guys in my life.
And then I turned on the TV, and something happened. I saw “Circus,” a Hindi serial that featured a young man called Shah Rukh Khan. My sister and I followed it religiously, and Jonty and his old file were soon forgotten.
Added to the SRK effect was Jonty’s failing form, and (this detail is a bit vague) news that he had some uncharitable things to say about India. I decided that Shah Rukh Khan would have to do.
For a while. As I neared my twenties, crushes came and went like people at a funeral – without warning, or a parting word. In my twenties, I became a bit more reasonable, and added real people I had actually talked to, to the mix. It was getting to be quite tiring just keeping tabs – maintaining the same level of energy for Hindi, Tamil and English actors, sportsmen, random television personalities, guys I saw in the college, on the road, near my house…
It was a bit more difficult with real-life people, as I had suspected. They were, well, real. And while digging up information about superstars hid more than it revealed, with real-life people I was often directly confronted with their everyday minutiae, and irritants such as their yellow teeth, disrespect for women, and body odor. Insurmountable obstacles, these, I now realize.
And of course, there’s the Groucho Marx sentiment – I’ll never be interested in a guy who’s interested in me – the ungettability is part of the attraction, you see!
I think the underlying sentiment behind these is the fantasy element – I somehow knew, deep down, that I will never have to spend the rest of my life with any of these people.
For the simple reason that I will never allow fantasy to interfere with my life. My dream life, as it were, would be completely different from my life.
Now, remember that these are not men I am even necessarily thinking of sexually, just guys I like the look, and sometimes, the walk or talk, of.
And then one day, I got married. I was astounded to find my crushes still intact in my heart. The Ajay Devgans and the Robin Uthappas were alright, but how did my former colleague still feature in this list? Weren’t real people banned from being a crush?
As time went by, it got tougher for me to “allow” a crush, but they still stopped by every now and then. As I got to deciphering, and then predicting, V.’s reactions and emotions accurately, it became a bit more interesting to discover a new person – know more about him (or sometimes, her). And I’ve come to peace with the fact that, in my heart,
Crushes may come and crushes may go
But V. stays on forever.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
High fliers
So, I'm all about poetry now. A kind colleague has taken me on (I hope), as Eliza Doolittle (although she's nothing like the professor), to educate me on poetry. There's hopefully some apparent improvement. This was inspired by a scene outside, while I waited for my "turn" in the office loo.
Wait your turn, I tell myself
As I stare through the two-by-two
A child's out there, flying a kite
Oh, there's another too!
Now, I see only the rectangles
Not the thread nor the children's hands
As the sprightly kites come close
In an elaborate mating dance.
The smaller one seems enticed
By the big, blue one and his style
Must have whispered sweet nothings
Could he have, in such a short while?
As the winds bring the couple closer
The unseen hand giving anchor
He takes her away from her support
And elopes, swearing to protect her.
Alas, he has no free will, it seems
She is only a trophy wife at best
When they return to the ground
They are separated, and there’s no protest.
No way to go back to her own
Nor a breeze that can take her away
Ignored and bereft, she's torn
With no real options to weigh.
Wait your turn, I tell myself,
As I stare through the two-by-two;
Today, it’s just the little kite
Tomorrow, it might be you.
Wait your turn, I tell myself
As I stare through the two-by-two
A child's out there, flying a kite
Oh, there's another too!
Now, I see only the rectangles
Not the thread nor the children's hands
As the sprightly kites come close
In an elaborate mating dance.
The smaller one seems enticed
By the big, blue one and his style
Must have whispered sweet nothings
Could he have, in such a short while?
As the winds bring the couple closer
The unseen hand giving anchor
He takes her away from her support
And elopes, swearing to protect her.
Alas, he has no free will, it seems
She is only a trophy wife at best
When they return to the ground
They are separated, and there’s no protest.
No way to go back to her own
Nor a breeze that can take her away
Ignored and bereft, she's torn
With no real options to weigh.
Wait your turn, I tell myself,
As I stare through the two-by-two;
Today, it’s just the little kite
Tomorrow, it might be you.
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