More Adventures Back Home - Shopping In India

In addition to all the time and money we spent eating in India, the husband and I decided to also spend some time and money on things that we could not shove down our throats. The husband began by being a more reluctant shopper and always insisted that he already had way too many of whatever it is you were offering to buy him. I, on the other hand was thrilled no end at the opportunity to pick up clothes at the fashion streets in Delhi/Mumbai, or paintings, gem earrings, pottery at Rajasthan. As it turned out things soon changed.

So we started at Udaipur, at a government run fair called Shilpa Gram. My mother in law who had come us on our trip to Rajasthan was also with us on this day. Shilpa Gram charges a small entry fee and so is able to provide the craftsmen with shop space free of cost. Inside, there were performing artists who danced and sang for all the visitors, painters and potters who explained their craft, huts built in the style of villages. I was afraid that it might be a little too touristy but I really enjoyed myself and would highly recommend the place to all.

As we ambled in and started to take in the shops, I shooed away my husband. Armed with a digital SLR camera with all the bells and whistles including a change of lens and three filters, I thought he would hurt our chances of getting a good price. After expressing his indignation and hurt with mock anger and sad faces, he walked off more than a little happy to be free of the talk about bandhini sarees and unglazed pottery. In fact, the next time I turned around, he had put a suspiciously large distance between us. He was well out of hearing range while being within visual range. He smiled and waved charmingly at us and looked happier than I have ever seen him look at a shopping expedition with me.

I, on the other hand, was following my mother-in-law around in the saree stalls area and was awed at how this sweet spoken lady was able to bargain with the most experienced of shopkeepers without ever being even slightly impolite. Year after year of shopping at malls has left me rather unprepared for the deft exchanges that I watched my mother-in-law exchange with the shopkeepers.

Determined nevertheless to try, I walked over to a line of pottery shops and stared intently at the pots. The women tending the stores took one look at me and seemed to disregard me almost instantly as a potential customer. But as soon my mil walked over to join me, there was a swarm of activity around her as all the potters clamored for her attention. I tried valiantly not to let there estimation of me discourage me and managed to find the one potter who had missed my mil's arrival. Fortunately, he was bored enough to show me a few of pots and I bought a couple things to take back with me.

We had a few more minutes before the place closed for the evening and in this time my mil picked up a couple of sarees and my husband came back with a gorgeous scroll painting. We all left Shilpa Gram rather contentedly.

My husband still smarting under the insult that had been heaped at his cameras ability to drive up prices was very proud of his bargain.

"He wanted 450 for the painting and I was able to talk him down to 200"

My mil on the other hand had also bought a couple of sarees for almost 40% less than what the shopkeeper had wanted.

Husband looked pointedly at my bags and said

"What did you buy?"

"I bought a pot for dahi and a terracotta water pot."

"What did you pay for it?"

"100 rupees."

"That's a good buy. What did he want for it?"

"110"

A stifled giggle later - "Well, at least you did not give him 120."

Hmph!!

Edited to Add-

I wanted to add a few pictures of Shilpa Gram - the pictures are courtesy the camera toting husband.

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And this continued for the rest of the trip. At Palika Bazaar in Delhi this exchange took place between my husband and a belt seller.

"Ye belt kithne ka hai?"

As usual, on spotting a well fed couple armed with a touristy DSLR camera, the man promptly replied -

"Only 450 saar."

Then he proceeded to twist and turn the belt to show us how indestructible it was.

I had been told to counter at 50 to 60 percent of quoted price. But after seeing the feats the belt could perform had decided that 350 was a very good price for it. I was about to whisper my suggestion to my husband when-

"100 doonga."

The man looked aghast, insulted, almost speechless.

"Kya saar. First class belt hai."

He then took out a lighter and showed us that even fire was unable to damage this prince among belts.

"100"

In the meanwhile, I started looking around to try and map the clearest route to the exit so that if the poor shopkeeper decided to resort to violence to counter my husband's insulting bid, I would be able to get away relatively unscathed. Clearly early success had gone to his head.

Three minutes later, husband had the belt tucked into his backpack after paying shopkeeper 100 bucks, who is now smiling almost guiltily at my husband.

After we walk away from the shop, husband turned around and confronted me - "You realize you took a step away from me when I was bargaining with him. Were you going to run away?"

No, no honey I would never do that. I would have walked confidently into the crowd and pretended that I did not know you :).

Game day and gender wars

This incident occurred about 6 months ago and only came to my mind yesterday during a chance conversation. The husband and I had been invited to a game day type thing at a friends house. The Indian cricket team was in the quarter finals and things looked rather promising. The cricket match was held overseas, started at 5 am local time and stretched into the afternoon. It was us and four other couples in the house with the best cable package. We had all trickled in starting at 4:45 am on a work day to watch match.

After a few hours the Indian team's chances looked very good and it was decided that the drinking should commence since it was 5 pm somewhere in the world.And in fact it was close to 5pm in the stadium where the match was being played. So the margaritas were rolled out.

Tequila!! My nemesis!! I like drinking as much as the next boozer but I have more than met my match in Tequila. Tequila and I are not friends. We eye each other warily, pretend for the sake of company that all is well. I will take a tentative sip and smile. The Tequila for its part will slide down my gullet, warm my insides and pretend like it will make me feel better. But I know better than to be fooled. Well, I know better now. Since the couple of nights I did not know better, are remarkable in that I do not remember large parts of them. What I do remember are the mornings after. So to cut a long story short Tequila and I are not friends.

So after a couple of sips so nobody was the wiser about our tenuous past, I decided to call it a day. My husband not suffering from a similar experience with tequila (his nemesis for a while was brandy) polished off his margarita with much gusto. Day time drinking on what should be a work day while the Indian cricket team was doing everything right.. it was the stuff that dreams are made off.

The wives and husbands still in various makeshift beds, since the early hour that the match had started at had warranted blankets, comforters and pillows. All this and more were piled in front of the TV. The mood was one of contentment and cautious excitement. The sun streamed into the room as the day progressed. The early rising coupled with the margaritas and the afternoon sun was making everyone just a little drowsy. The Indian victory seemed imminent.

Watching my husband put his glass down, I thought I would volunteer to be the designated driver on the way back. So I poked him with my finger to get his attention and said "Feel free to drink up , I can drive us back today".

The husband looked delighted for a moment and then probably realizing that it was still only 11 am reluctantly said "It's fine I think the one was enough for me. "

And suddenly, just like that, all hell broke loose.

"See she lets him drink when he wants to. Even drives him home after."

"He knows when to say no. I don' t see you turning down a second one."

"I don't see her nagging him about it."

"He probably doesn't drink at every given opportunity."

I and the husband, sidelined by this time just gaped at one other. I, for one, secretly felt just a twinge of pride that our degenerate ways coupled with enabling each others vices was finally paying off, even if it was for only a little while.

And well, the rest of them cheered up soon too after the pizza arrived to soothe our Tequila tummies and the Indian team delivered a much anticipated victory.

Word a day.

With age and a relatively mature endocrine system ( cos my pimples would have me believe otherwise) I find I am pretty positive person. In comparison to my teen years when I was a cynical, know-it-all (thank you Ma for tolerating me without any bloodshed) I am Mary Poppins herself. In fact I find I slowly drift away from people who are constantly negative.

And this word a day I have been getting this week has inspired me to start learning Spanish since it looks like the biggest buzz kill of them all is the English language itself

hircine - Of or relating to a goat, having a strong odor, lustful; lewd.
porcine- Of or related to swine, piggish: greedy; sloppy; boorish.
anserine - Of or relating to a goose. stupid; silly.
bovine - Of or relating to cattle, especially a cow, dull; sluggish; stupid.


What is this asinine need to take the perceived negative in all animals and then use it to describe people? Oh ... Oops.

He knows too much!!

Me : "I discovered this new show that I really like on Netflix. It is about this guy who is a therapist and it is rather funny. Very insightful"

Hubby : (Looks at the TV where the show is paused) "This one?"

Me : "Wanna watch?" (switching the show to play again)

Hubby : "Ha! I know why you like this show!!"

Me : "Yeah!! I just told you he is a therapist, it is funny and insightful..."

Hubby ( interrupting rudely) : "What, You find this guy hot. That's why you like this show. This is same guy in ....." ( names the other show where I reportedly checked out this guy)

Me : "Whoa!!! Really?? Is it the same guy?" ( Look at the screen closely and then check IMDB) "I think you are right. But that is not why I like the show!!!"

Hubby ( gives me a look ) : "I know all the guys you find cute. "( walks away proudly)


As my husband and I grow together we know each other better, we understand when the other person is sad, happy, what the other person finds funny, likes for breakfast and so on and so forth. But now I think he might know too much!!!!

Note to self - stop using so many exclamation marks!! Maybe large bold capital letters or red to indicate emphasis. OR WILL THAT be even more ANNOYING!!!

Blue and Black Thumb

Three years ago I packed all my bags and moved all the across the vast land mass of the United States of America from Portland, Oregon to New Jersey. Portland the city of roses has a milder winter full of rains and a summer blessed with long sunny days, being farther away from the equator. New Jersey on the other hand has relatively cold winters with snowfall that has increased every passing winter, followed by a rainy spring, a short fleeting summer, a surprisingly cold fall and then quickly back to the increased snow that I was talking about. So needless to add that the very summer I got here I decided to utilize the whole 4 and half months of warm weather we get to start gardening

Gardening is a pastime of the retired, people who enjoy a slower pace. You spend long hours out in the sun pottering with plants, while your pretty neighbour lady in a summery frock picnics in the lawn and waves to you. The plants which you picked after much consideration thrive under all your attention. And in return for all these sunny days, your house is full of fresh produce and fragrant beautiful cut flowers.

Or so they would have you believe. After three long seasons (before anyone jumps to any conclusions they were long only in my head the sunshine was beautiful but very brief), the one thing I have learnt is that whoever came up with gardening or maybe it was the maker of those weirdly expensive gardening gloves I see all over the place (24.99 for gloves that I am going to stick in mud, I don't think so) was very, very good at PR.

Things you should know when you start:

- When the seed company guarantees that a seed will work, if you provide not too much or too little water, not too much or too little sunshine, no squirrels (I hate squirrels but that is an another entry), no birds, the appropriate nutrients in the appropriate quantity, the appropriate drainage, the correct container size... And no they will not put all that on the back of the packet because that would leave less place for the bold 100 % guarantee that they like to display there.

- Squirrels/birds do not like the hedge plants that were mass produced by Lowe's and planted by your apartment complex a couple of feet away from the Thai basil plant that you have grown from seed. They like your 4 class teacher know what to get at to make you cry. To my 4 class teacher - thank god you had to go on long vacation half way through that year. I would never have made it without that break. I never asked why you went away because I was just so glad to be rid of you and thought I would jinx it if asked too many questions.

- If you water your plants thoroughly before a vacation it will rain all the time you are not there and you will come back to water clogged plants. If your do not water your plants there will be a heat wave that will break records and your heart.

- You will never remember what you planted what seed no matter how good your memory is. All containers with seeds must be labeled. Since I have always been told I have a mind like a sieve I am not sure why I made that mistake.

- It is very important to pick produce at the right time. That is when they taste the best and provide maximum nutrition. What is the right time to pick produce? - The week you were working late in office with takeout Greek food or the week you went for the vacation that you planned 6 months ago. Those two weeks and the week you were down with flu.

- Keeping your seedlings in the "slightly" warm oven to accelerate growth is an accident waiting to happen.

- Despite twisted backs, chipped nails, grazed knees I keep hearing about tennis elbows, golf elbows, runners' knee and not one whisper about any gardening related injuries. They are very real. Be careful and please garden while making loud noises about how hard it is with a considerate husband within earshot.

- Visit nurseries after steeling yourself against plants that will be twice the size of your plant and also will have been grown organically from an heirloom seed passed down for generations in the family of the nursery owner. Your little plant may have taken more of your time and effort and maybe from a seed that you picked in a catalogue but at least it costs more money than it would to buy this plant (wait that doesn't sound right).

Despite all this gardening is a very rewarding hobby and first thing I look at every morning are my stunted, overpriced beauties. It is indeed a hobby fit for royalty- you know with all the help they can hire...

Enjoy

Teen Saal Baad

After three years of marriage, the husband and I may not finish each others sentences but have gotten to know each other very very well. Once in while this level of comfort is rather amusing.

For example I am notoriously clumsy. I am not sure how but in a matter of seconds I can wreak havoc. To a stranger the resulting damage would seem quite disproportionate to what caused the accident and the whole thing would look like a freak accident. But I know better than to write off any accident that I am a part of as a freak one.

This morning I was in the kitchen making an omelette and husband was on the phone with his father making small talk. At one point I turned around to find that the kitchen towel that was lying on the counter had caught fire and was burning at a rather alarming rate. After spending a few more seconds panicking and being useless I finally picked it up and dropped it on the very combustible floor mat.

The fire continued to burn and now had begun to blacken floor mat. I now tried to put the fire out with some oily cloth hand mittens ( because I am like that). While I was busy making a smoky mess in the kitchen, I noticed the husband had walked over to kitchen to stare at what I was doing with a amused grin on his face. And without interrupting the conversation about weather and car trouble gestured that I should drop the burning towel on the floor instead of the mat.

Together we managed to put the fire out. After which the husband ( still on the phone) wet the embers of the burning cloth to prevent all further mishaps and cleaned up the kitchen floor.

And apart from a wisecrack much later ( if you knew him you would know that though he is a good man, he cannot hold wisecracks in) there was no other exchange about what had happened.

Aaj kal be bachche.

late 1980's

Ma - If you dont behave I am going to leave you here and go home without you.

Me/my brother (either knee deep in mud, or atop a tree - putting all that inexhaustible energy to good use) - you wont!!!.

Ma - Yes I will. Nobody wants to take home a naughty child.

Us (worried looking around for dad) - Appa won't let you. You will have to take me back.

Ma - Yes he will. See he is annoyed too.

Us (looking up at Appa to see him make his obliging angry face, now very unsure) - But he/she started it.

Reluctantly walking away from whatever lovely mischief we had been upto.

2009

Overheard mother and son at a concert my husband was singing at. I was trying to get the wires taped to the floor so kids would not trip on it.

Kid - I don't want to sit here. Nobody else is sitting here.

Mother - It is right in front. We are members of this organization. We pay an annual fee. These are the best seats. Just sit down.

Kid - But everybody is sitting at the back. I want to sit at the back....

After a few minutes of this.

Mother - If you don't behave I am going to leave you here.

The kid paused and was deep in thought for a while.

Kid - (In a very deliberate voice which might indicate practicing in front of the mirror) - If you did leave me behind here, I am not sure I want to go back with you. This means you are an irresponsible parent. You are supposed to take care of me and I could report you to the authorities and you would be in trouble. They would take me home.

Mother ( deep sigh ) - Bends down to sit next to me. Can I help you with that tape?

Kids born with a sense of entitlement...

If Only

There are times when the days just seem to overlap. There is not much to distinguish them from one other. A routine sets in and I mindlessly follow the preset agenda like a machine. It is a slow march where I am falling in line, only that there is no audience and nobody to appreciate the synchronization of my movements. I am referring of course to the work week.

I like my job well enough, the job suits me and I suit the job. But I wonder sometimes how life would be if I had picked a different calling. A more unsuitable choice. On a Saturday as I sit and cogitate about this, a bunch of options present themselves

- A kamaulika in desi serials. I would love to be the evil woman. I do not want to be the glamorous vamp. The role of the actress who needs to spend a couple of hours putting on her makeup and a couple of hours taking it off does not attract me. I want to be the equivalent of the dastardly Prem Chopra on television. The pretty, glamorous women in their backless cholies do not hold any appeal to me. I see myself more in the shoes of the shriveled up woman delivering some downright Machiavellian dialogues. I want to mock the holier than thou good girl and rub my palms with evil glee. The reason I pick television is a) their standards are much lower - I might actually have a chance b) they last forever I could spent a good couple of years doing my dark laugh, pushing old ladies down the stairs, making entries as the music rises to a crescendo ( to indicate said entry by bad person character , newbie). On a not completely unrelated note I think if I got to play someone that bad I might actually be a better person in real life. And if that does not prove to be the case then I will at least be the person having some laughs.

-Another job would be a writer of erotic novels. I cannot elaborate on the why of this (it should be obvious) due to the family nature of this blog. By which I mean of course that my family sometimes drops by.

-At number three and only because this job might require some actual work is the job of a cook. Am I seduced by the food network, do I want to make millions yelling at young aspirants when they cook the fish too fast like a British cook who is ruling all ratings? No, even in my day dreams I am fully aware of the improbability of such dramatic success. Also believing in karma and reincarnation I would be terrified and spend most of my time enumerating the species of insect that I would most likely be reborn as. Or do I want to make the most perfect cake (Martha Stewart style), so pretty that it inspires awe and guilt as you dig into it? Nope, I am too much of a no fuss person for that. I would like to be the no nonsense "one dish specialist". Spend my time making that one dish sublime. Perfect it. That one dish that you just need to have, that one dish that has captured your imagination when the hunger pangs set in and now makes all other options seem like a sorry substitute. As a person of the other side of the counter at the moment, it seems to me that the "one dish specialist" is an artist that has few equals. As I dig into that perfect Vada Pav, or flawless plate of fries, or that Spanish Rice without an equal, I feel a respect for the person whose creation leaves me so happy and sated. To crave it, seek it out and then satisfy that craving seems not unlike love making to me. And I would love to be the person responsible for so much uhhhh satisfaction...

Well that is my list for now. But the weekend has just begun so there will probably be a few more by the time I tire of this train of thought

Time Flies By

A girls night out with an old friend and a couple of pretty young things. The friend remains a swinging single. After many days of attending baby showers, kid birthday parties I am hoping that this might provide some respite from the grown up world. These parties are fun but they also consist of being followed around by kids. Kids,who though very cute insist on calling me aunty and want me to fix them a meal without any further directions. What does a 2 year old eat? A cheese sandwich? Mushy vegetables? Milk? Soya biryani? So I am hoping with girls night out these women will rub off on me and make me cool again. OK so I was never cool but at least make me a younger me.

Pretty Young Thing - Oh, I love your highlights. Nice colour.

Me ( hoping to impress her) - oh its not colour. I use henna. It also cools the scalp and conditions the hair.

Pretty Young Thing - Oh ( Loooooooooooooooooooooooooong Silence)

My mother uses that. She really likes it.

Me (sigh)

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Movie night. Love Aaj Kal. Nice breezy movie. Waiting for scene where the beautiful people make stupid decisions/sacrifices because of culture, values, parental pressure.... Nope. Maybe an Indian culture speech, come on. I need to roll my eyes at these beautiful people on screen. What does it say about me that I can relate to mainstream cinema? Does not mainstream cinema lag behind the youth by a decade? Does that mean I am a decade behind the times already? Sigh

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Garage band playing at an ice cream parlour. Their song list extends back to the 70s, 80s and also features recent hit singles. The ice cream is great, the band is also very good.

Hep Acquaintance - So did you recognize any of the songs?

Me - Hmm not really I am very out of touch.

HA - What about Job Bon Jovi.. He was from your time right?

Me - Yes (Sigh)

As dated as Jon Bon Jovi...Need I say more?

Late One Night

Late at night, seated in bed, night lamp on, laptop - well on lap. Husband next to me lying mouth open, emanating noises that sound like a snore, the miny breeze he is causing feels like a snore but can’t be because he does not snore. Pointlessly shoot husband dirty looks. Free from insomnia he sleeps on despite my loud typing. Decide to check blog stats. Oh well, most of world wide web seems to be unaware of my writing but I have few faithful readers. Search engines that spread their tentacles through these webs also result in a few passersby.

I see a few late night searches. For a moment I feel a bond. Fellow insomniacs. We are bonded by our inability to sleep and the Internet. Dig deeper into the stats to look up what the fellow insomniacs had on their minds. What lead them to my humble, virtual abode? Was it my wit, the sparkling commentary on the drama in my life, my insight? Do they relate with my work from homeness, my frustration with dance classes?

Handy tool that reports key words entered into the search engines, recently installed, pays off.

A couple of clicks lead me to the queries that tracked back to me.

- My hello aunty article where I lamented about how I missed the older generation in USA had good traffic

"aunty in high heels"

"forceful aunty"

"indian aunty in wet saree"

"indian aunties"

"Lovely indian aunties"

After a deep sigh at the predilections of my fellow insomniacs I move on to the next source of traffic

" A string of pearls for her sweet ass"

" butt pearls"

" pearls to turn her on"

Not one soul seemed to want the pearls as an ornament for any part waist up.

Notice now that I can also see county where the traffic came from. Feel a further sense of disappointment when I realize that the searches were made in broad daylight by folks across the Atlantic. It occurs to me that they probably go home to enjoy a full night’s sleep after their exertions during the day. SIGH

A Breath Of Fresh Air

Husband and I have been married close two years and we are at a rather unique/special point in our lives. Are we a couple of newly weds basking in the euphoria that the beginning of a romance brings? Of course not. Husband and I have also endured , sorry enjoyed each others company for a good five years now and there is only so much basking to go around.

Husband and I are what I like to call child free couples. We are at the stage in our lives where we are used to complete privacy and utter self absorption. We do not strive to set an example or discipline and are rather free to do as we please and are our own children. We are thus completely unused to any form of censorship, behaviour guidelines and of late have abandoned any semblance of a filter before we talk about what we are thinking ( OK that might be only me...).

So when ma in law and pa in law came visiting we had to grow up quick and keep our primal self in check - again don't let your imagination run away with you... there is also only so much "primal" to go around. And all things considered we have been doing a half way decent job. But such a G rated exterior can also last so long.

The New Jersey Turnpike is not place conducive with your Please, Sorry and Thank Yous. With

foresight, I declined to do any of the long distance driving. I am a nervous driver and generally give vent to my displeasure with a constant stream of child and in law unfriendly words in all the three languages that I have in my command.

My husband, on the other hand, has always been a man of few words and given the situation has taken to expressing his displeasure with the other occupants of the road by rolling down his window and letting his finger do the talking. My hubby is the Clint Eastwood of New Jersey drivers. And given our stilted conversation and the unchanging vistas I have frequently turned around with concern and found my in laws peacefully asleep. So I thought this lapse on husband's part went unnoticed. Also as the last elections showed us the middle finger is not a well publicized thing in India and the frequent rolling down of the windows could hopefully pass up as getting a breath of fresh air ( In new jersey, u ask. Yes yes , the power of denial)

Or so I thought. On yet another drive last weekend I noticed my MIL glancing frequently at a couple in a swanky silver convertible. The fashionably dressed couple, with their arms dangling over the sides of their freshly washed car looked right out of a glamour mag and my mil's growing interest did not seem out of place. After a few minutes of stolen glances I noticed the kindly lady began to fidget and frown and look worried. She continued to glance at the convertible and finally leaned forward to ask - "Those people in the car- why are they showing us their fingers?"

Needless to say husband and I doubled over with laughter. After explaining that the couple were just enjoying the lovely summer and the fresh air, husband and I have decided to restrict our own fresh air supply.

I Can't Do What Now??

The surest way to get make something irresistible is of course to prohibit it. Its starts early. I vividly remember reading forbidden books after covering them in newspaper so their titillating covers would be hidden from my mother, or renting a questionable movie and watching it late at night with my friends.

As you grow older there are few things that are actually forbidden and the few things that are forbidden... well they also fall under the "illegal - you will end up in jail" category. The secret thrills are lost and as an adult we are able to make decisions about what is right or not. That second serving of ice cream is not fun anymore without my mother denying it to me... well not as much fun and that risqué book has lost its charm. I can stay up late, go out late, eat outside of meal times, eat entire meals that consist only of ice cream and yet without them being denied to me few of these hold any fascination. It is human tendency of course to want anything that cannot be had.

It is no wonder that the Mother of all prohibition - the prohibition of alcohol has always been such a stupendous failure. On a recent visit to a vineyard we were told this great prohibition story that I just have to put down.

This winery is a pre-prohibition era winery in upstate New York. When prohibition hit United States, all the fledgling wineries in New York state that were already struggling with being in the cold climate belt not conducive to wine production, capsized. One vineyard however survived. The Taylor Company survived by selling large jugs of grape juice. Why would there be such a booming market for grape juice when all the folks starved of alcohol were guzzling cough syrup or perfume or whatever corresponding fix they could cobble together at that time? It turns out that it was not the health benefits that the grape juice offered that won the Taylor Company so many loyal customers. The Taylor company sold these jugs with "warning labels" on the back that explained that IF you added such and such amount of yeast and let it sit for such and such time and so on the grape juice would produce wine. Though I am sure these warning labels were put on the jugs with the honorable intentions of preventing any misuse of their product (NOT!!!!), the evil folks who lived in New York at that time being no different from the folks in New York now, treated these jugs as a make-at-home wine kit. It was this moral lapse on the part of the general populace that tided the Taylor Company through the prohibition era. It is also human tendency, it seems to make money providing that we want but should not have. Hilarious I thought - fine tale about prohibition, the human spirit and well the spirits...:))

Recipe -

Mango Ice Cream . This recipe results in the most delicious mango ice cream. The flip side of course is that it uses Cool Whip, a product I would normally not touch with a ten foot poll. But since I do not have a ice cream maker and this was delicious, I succumbed..

The Mystery of the Lying Weighing Scale

If you read my blog at all you would have noticed the shameless, self congratulatory way in which I mention my return to running. Yes, I can weave it into just about any blog/ conversation and if there have been blogs/ conversations in which I did not mention this, it was a result of extreme self restraint along with some lip biting and swallowing words that are stuck in my throat.

So back to my running ( Yes, yes, I realize I am doing it again) -my evening run has become less painful and I reached my goal of running 5 miles without wanting to crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep. Last week I managed to run 13 miles. I am not a marathon runner by any standards and so I am quite proud of this.

The scale in my bathroom however is having the last laugh. As I limp onto the scale every morning still sore from the previous night's run the weighing scale edges its way to a scarier and scarier number. The digital scale I bought for accuracy seems to take a full minute longer to flash my weight in which period you would think just the excessive sweating would result in a more merciful number.

After a past month and a half of running I have gained and lost the same 4 pounds around 5 times. The running just seems to have resulted in shorter time period of my normally more dragged out yo-yo dieting cycles.

So I got onto the scale this Monday morning to face the music yet again. And when in low budget, bloody slasher style the number flashed just as the horror music in my head was reaching its crescendo, my heart sank. In an attempt to understand how this happened I tried going over last day’s intake.

- Got up at 5 to run the 5K Asha run.

- Cup of tea and out the door by 7. So far so good

- Eat an egg and cheese at Starbucks. (You try finding a restroom in New York City without getting a bite to eat, hmph)

- Ran 5K

- Happy with self, crammed the stale bagel and cream cheese into mouth. (Just being polite and pretending that I was as hungry as the 16 year olds who made it to the finish line in half the time)

- Continue to congratulate self on the drive back and decide on a lunch of dosa and sambhar. Healthy, light, delicious...

- Pick an Indian restaurant which we frequent for the fabulous all you can eat buffet (cough.... total accident)

- Decide to eat the buffet instead and spend the meal eating everything on my plate while keeping a close watch on my husband's plate. Getting seconds and thirds to eat all delicacies that I had missed but had spotted on husband's plate.

- Stagger out of restaurant and decide to not eat anything for the rest of the day.

- Spent relatively busy afternoon attending a concert with husband. Not thinking about food... So far so good.

- Evening: Decide to watch James Bond movie - Quantum of Solace

- Decide to watch James Bond with Martinis.

- Decide that home made hummus in large quantities would be ideal with martinis.

- End up full of martinis, hummus, pita bread, veggies and craving something sweet...

At which point I stopped counting the calories. I had already reached a number that should have been enough for a 17 year old Olympic runner for a day and a half.

OK so it is no mystery why I am not losing all the weight. But at least it is not a mystery anymore. Yes I had no idea ... that is the story I am sticking with...

Meeting Mania - work place

Disclaimer - The following does not talk about any one work place. I have worked in many places and have had a mixed bag of experiences and colleagues.

4pm to 5pm meeting.

Phone meeting where all of us call into a bridge number. Meetings over the bridge are common since some of us work in different locations and the rest like to sit in their 6 x 4 cubicles and only talk to the chap who sits in the opposite cube on the phone. This is not done because we cube dwellers gradually begin to hate all human contact (though there might be some truth in that) and also not done so that we can have an official meeting while checking mail, sending twitter messages, updating our facebook status and reading our favourite blogs. This time is also not considered quality "me" time that can be used to pick the pearly whites with a toothpick, clean the ears out, file nails etc. This is done to promote communication and interaction between teams and in turn improve our productivity.

This particular meeting was attended by Team A and Team B that work in two different time zones.

Main players

X - Team A. Loves meetings. Attends as many of them as he can. Spends a large portion of every meeting trying to schedule another meeting. He likes to spread joy so he also tries to schedule meetings for other folks attending current meeting.

Y- Team B. Attends meetings grudgingly. Made the mistake of being the person in charge of deliveries and also accidentally has been cursed with X as the guy he has to work with.

Me- Also Team A. Work with X. Don't care either way. Like my job but am in the blissful position where I can contribute without having too many responsibilities. I am going to spend this meeting browsing. I would feel guilty about this but then my pay check arrives my conscience is assuaged.

Y (after an half hour presentation that is rich in technical detail, lists the strengths of the suggestion and painstakingly explains the actual implementation) - So that is how I think we should handle this one and I think we can have this out the door by...

X (panicking - is not a total slacker but is deathly afraid of any sort of deadline/commitments. Likes to work when there are no other possible meetings he could attend and doesn't want any of the working to affect his social life aka meetings for the week.) Wait lets not rush things. I want to make sure that all concerned parties are present. Do we have Z on the bridge? (Fully aware that Z is from Team C and in yet another time zone and probably in his bed since it is past midnight there). How can we commit to anything without Z's consent?

Y (Triumphant voice) - I talked to Z about it earlier and he approves of this plan.

X (Hurt) - Z signed off without our feedback? He might not have the benefit of our perspective. He might have missed the changes that our team suggested.

(I might have gotten a little too engrossed in the word game that I was playing but apart from some font changes in the presentation I could not recollect any relevant "feedback")

Y (desperate) - I will take your feedback to Z and run it past him.

X - But I would like for our team to be able to give the required feedback on the feedback that Z gives on our feedback. And since our respective time zones make all of us meeting very inconvenient, I would suggest that you have a meeting with Z to present our feedback, after which You and I can have a meeting to discuss Z's feedback, and I and Z can have a meeting to discuss our feedback on Z's feedback.

Y (Silent. Probably counting down from 100 in hexadecimal to keep his cool) - I am sure that will help but that would add a week to this schedule.

X - Well I think process and interaction is a necessary evil (he got that half right). And if these meetings buy.... I mean set us back by two weeks that is the cost of quality.

Y (recognizing that he is defeated) - Sure X why don't you set up the meetings?

Me - Enjoying meeting very much. Adding masala here and there so that I can make it a funny dinner conversation. Now it has become a blog....

Recipe - Made plantain sabzi. The recipe can be found here. To make the sabji more South Indian so I can have it with my sambhar I add sambhar podi in place of garam masala.

Doting Spouses

After a few culinary indulgences, husband and I decided to buckle down and get healthy. Hubby's ma and pa are going to be in town in a month and my husband wants to get in shape so that he can indulge in his mother's cooking without guilt (I married a planner). We worked on coming up with some guidelines that will help us eat healthier. These guidelines were as usual readily augmented by advice doled out by a friend who supplies the list while stuffing her face with pizza and starting the day with ribbon pakoda (yeah you know who are - C). Oh and remaining thin (aaarggh).

So here goes. -

- Use only olive oil. (Zero cholestrol)

- Buy vegetables/fruits based on colour. Weekly intake of every colour is apparently important. Here is the very helpful link C sent me.

- Do not overheat oil cos that will produce Trans Fat.

- Plan meals ahead so that you know what you going to eat at - say snack time on Friday at 4pm (phew that's work)

- Reduce dairy according to one

- Reduce carbohydrates according to another

- Include soluble fiber that is different apparently from the fibre that is - you guessed it insoluble (wtf). Excellent for reducing cholesterol.

And so on and so forth.

Since following all of these rules would result in a plate of colourful vegetables in cold olive oil with oats (soluble fiber) a less extreme meal plan was sought.

So we settled on relatively healthy food with a mix of fresh vegetables. Husband packed lunch and lugged it with him to office and assured me that he loves eating his dubba khanna while his coworkers amble off to get a piping hot lunch from the many, many options that New York City offers.

Three long days of measuring, poring and chewing high fiber meals went by. For dinner last night I was all set to bring on the cheese and grease. But I did not want to be the one to ruin the streak that we were having and when husband came home last night, I suggested a couple of meals options with mushrooms and greens. Husband put on his thinking face and seemed to be weighing the dinner options with gravity.

I stepped into the restroom to wash my face and freshen up before a healthy, nutritious meal :(.

Husband (on other side of door) - tho aaj bahaar jaathe hain kya? We need to buy milk

Me (being nice since husband had been up at 4 in the morning running errands for his not always demanding wife) - I will go get it, you relax.

Husband - vaise we are both tired..

Me - haan and you have been up forever...

Husband - we need a break....

Me (finally catching on and seeing the light) - haan we do... tired, yeah, I am also tired. I have a nagging headache from all that work. This bug became an emergency today (laying it on thick so he can't back out now).

Husband - thooooo... hmmmm... taco bell se take out karthe hain kya....

Me (doing victory dance, but quietly so that he sweats a little bit on the other side of the door) -hmmmm teeeekh hai... chalthe hain.

5 minutes later...

Me (dressed set to go) - vaise margarita mix bhi hai... taco bell ke saath... a drink for u, u are tired...

Husband - haan haan. It might also help with your headache (he catches on quick)...

Recipe - Alu methi... (made in olive oil by us of course)

Hello Aunty!!

I left India in 2004 and landed in Portland, Oregon. The first week outside India I was thrilled to see any fellow Indian on the streets of the USA. I greeted every Indian I met with a smile whose warmth and emotion is perhaps best reserved for long lost twins and separated lovers reuniting on "Who Wants To Be a Millionaire". My greeting had varying results. Some people acknowledged my smile weakly after looking around them to make sure I was looking at them ( or maybe they were looking for closest exit) or surprise/ shock followed by putting their head down and walking away with a ever quickening pace. Soon I realized that since I went to graduate school and my degree was in engineering Indians on streets was not a yahoo moment but something that I should come to expect (We did form two thirds of the population of most of my classes).

So the general "Indian spotting" got old for me. I made some Indian friends but did not stalk all the Indians who had enrolled in my college or rented an apartment in my neighbourhood. I settled down and opened up and the Indian thing was soon a lot less important.

I have, however, noticed a quirk that first appeared in college and though it is dormant for the most part, rears its head every once in a while. There is no way of saying this without sounding weird but I find elder Indian parents just irresistible. My stalker alter ego, it seems did not disappear altogether -- it had only morphed itself. I am not normally a very friendly person and it takes me time to actually get a good conversation going. But with the parent type introductions, communication etc was just not a problem. I found myself brazen in my introductions and almost forceful with conversation - "Hello Aunty!!! ". In Oregon with its relatively sparse Indian population I once followed a kanchivaram saree clad maami around in the vegetable aisle offering to help carry stuff until she looked uncomfortable, suspicious and shuffled off to the checkout counter with what I suspect was only a couple of bunches of coriander (not the most convincing grocery list). When I shifted to New Jersey with its large Indian population I found I was much more at home. So I thought all my India withdrawal symptoms had disappeared altogether. Little did I know.

This Sunday husband and I went visiting old friends and lo and behold I found the mother was visiting them. All my old symptoms were back. Hello Aunty!! I followed the lady around and watched her dole out 20 fluffy chapathis with total absorption. I gushed non stop throughout the meal and kept offering to serve the lady the food she had prepared while spilling food on her lovely shawl. I enquired about when she was leaving for India and came up with different occasions for them to visit us. I also made mental plans about how I was going to get myself invited again. After spending a good hour behaving in this fashion I reined myself in and said my goodbyes. The India fever had clearly not been cured completely.

And if I am honest with myself, this fascination of mine is probably not just about missing India. Though I will never admit to missing my mother to her face, I do wish we could spend more time together so we could disagree about every single thing under the sun say over a meal I made that she is still complaining about. I have visited fairly often and we do a lot of arguing over Skye but it hardly as good as the real thing. I think I might actually admit to missing her if I say do something drastic like act on my whim of kidnapping of my friends parents or start making crank calls Ka Ka Ka Kiran style. Until then.....

Recipe - Made dabeli this weekend. I did not contribute to our dinner table much this last week.We went out a couple of times and the husband has cooking bug so insists on cooking almost everyday. I am going to milk it while it lasts :)

Envy of the House

It has been a very uneventful week or so. Rain has continued to plague New Jersey. I am up from 2 to 3.5 miles in my running and am blaming the rains for my slow progress. And since I have completely convinced myself that the rains are the "only" reason I am being lazy I feel no guilt in wolfing down all my meals.

The running had given me an excuse to order what I really want in place of a relatively "healthy" meal. Not that I ever ordered salads. I did resort to eating salads with "dressing" on the side before my wedding but when the food arrived it was so depressing that I had to make up for it at the next meal with some comfort food. It is my view that "dressing" is a human activity and not something to eat with raw vegetables. But sometimes I am careful enough to order idli, or low fat latte.

This weekend however I went to the local Indian joint and ordered up mirchi pakoda, dahi poori and the piece de resistance - chole bature. Bature is the equivalent of a sizzler in Indian restaurant. The food arrived and I suddenly found myself the centre of attention. While the folks whose food had arrived were only staring at my food with the corner of their eyes - darting furtive, sideways glances while they tried to go back to enjoying their food, the folks who were waiting for their food abandoned all pretences and stared openly at my food. I was feeling a strange irrational sensation of pride. I was the envy of all present company.

I have been on the other side so many times. Convinced myself that uttapam with sambhar was what I really wanted (it is a tasty dish with high protein content). When the food arrived I even enjoyed it until I saw a plate of chole bature, hot, fresh from the oil, the eye catching batura threatening to fall off the edge of the plate deposited at a table near me.

And here I was :). An American gentleman at the table on my right had clearly asked his Indian friend about my glorious meal choice because I could hear the man enunciating "BaToooRaa" again and again. It was one of the most glorious meals ever.

I have to keep up my running, not for my health but so that I can enjoy these glorious moments. Today I intend to have a beer and endless fries for dinner :).

If the shoe fits

The Slipper Gate is rocking India now. My response to this strange form of protest is very mixed. On the one hand I like Chidambram and throwing your Reeboks at the man who is not the accused seems rather mean spirited to me. On the other hand when a violent man like Modi cowers behind nets while giving speeches, I feel gleeful. Throw shoes at Advani, who every rational person disagrees with and I am not pleased (the heart knows what it wants but the mind does not understand it) but deny Jagdish Tytler a ticket because of shoe throwing and I am happy again.

I think the day is not far off when

- Attending rallies is a reason to buy shoes

- Political parties train the party members to dodge shoes

- Political parties train party members to throw shoes

- Parties condemn throwing reeboks as unindian and insist that protesters use Bata chapals.

- Throw away chapals with party symbols are handed out instead of election pamphlets/ posters.

Recipe - Orzo Stuffed Bell Peppers

Orzo is a great pasta especially for us rice eaters. I discovered this recipe while looking for ways to make orzo. I am not a fan of olives in my pasta. I mixed the orzo with sweet corn, chopped garlic, chopped red and green bell pepper, chopped onion and used a lot of dried basil. Also leave out feta and bake after topping with a cheese that melts ( mozarella, pepper jack).

Book Club

I always wanted to join a book club. There are so many scenes in movies with men and women sitting in cozy rooms huddled over a book. The conversation is smart, funny and yet it is a conversation between friends. The book at hand is a very good pick. It might be an old classic or a more recent cult sensation; in any case the book has been picked after much consideration.

More recently there have been entire movies about book clubs - the Jane Austen Book Club for one. And I am impressionable :). Who says that TV is bad for our imagination? So I joined a book club that met 3 miles from here, had great ratings with lots of members leaving behind posts about how varied the opinions were, how lively the conversation was and so on. What could possible go wrong? We would pick a good book, gather in some cozy restaurant and chat away.

As always when you build things up they are bound to let you down. So when the book that was chosen did not meet my expectations I blamed my rather steep expectations. We picked Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris. I have nothing against David Sedaris and I rather enjoyed the book but it was just not what I expected from a book club.

Things looked up a little after that. The book club seemed quite organized, I got reminder mails, comments and also a list questions that would aid discussion. So though I did not think that the book in itself lent itself to much analysis or discussion I thought with a bunch of irreverent, funny people this would be good. They did pick a very politically incorrect, laugh out loud kind of book and if that says anything about them, I expected a fun bunch of people.

Since it was my first book club meeting ever, it was clearly not enough for me just to read the book. I have spent a large portion of my life taking examinations and now I worked on converting a leisure activity to something that resembled an examination. I made notes about the questions asked, googled other details of interest, jotted down salient points. Three weeks after I had RSVP'd, I turned up at the designated time at a Panera Bread where a table had been booked for our meeting.

When I met the crowd I was not exactly elated. There were 7 women and 2 men all of whom avoided any eye contact or pleasantries. A couple of them seemed to know each other but that was about it. Things went downhill rather quickly... With the exception of two women most of the people there had either not read the book, or read it so long ago that they did not remember the details, or had read so many of Sedaris' books that they had no idea what this particular one said. Great start!!

I tried to cling to my mental picture of lively conversation, cozy rooms but this situation was past help. The questions were read out and everything contributed their half a cent (I give 2 cents to an entire sentence). I tried to contribute however the discussion was not what I had hoped for. One question dealt with coming up with the cast of a movie based on the book. David Sedaris is a self absorbed, funny, intelligent man who was a former drug addict, abused alcohol and spent most of his life without any goals. I had given this much thought and decided that Hugh Grant would play this role well. The group there however had decided because David Sedaris was gay, the person who would do this character most justice was Sean Hayes a very gay character in Will and Grace. That is like casting Kal Penn in every Indian role including Tipu Sultan and Gandhi. All in all we got through the list of questions very quickly. Clearly all my homework was to go to waste.

The conversation then got worse. There were two teachers and they began talking about their job. One was a female teacher who talked a lot about an 11 year old who just had sex on her mind. She of course dropped to a whisper every time she said the S word but the impression I got was that this teacher also clearly had "sex" on her mind. The other teacher also talked about the hell his students were going through. There were stories about overdoses, homelessness, and violence. The two teachers then spent considerable amount of time coming up with the most shocking story of the evening.

There was also a girl who kept talking about how she loved self help books. Having done my research I knew that David Sedaris had kicked his drug/ tobacco/ alcohol habits with the help of self help books. Though this was a commendable feat, if David Sedaris talked about said self books in excruciating detail with every passing acquaintance stuck in an hour long book club meeting, I don't think I will ever read a book authored by him again.

After the first 10 minutes when I was trying to at least trying to answer some of the questions, I gave up and stared at the people with growing amazement. Yet another dream shattered. My mental pictures of hot cocoa, fireplaces, and lovely books replaced with this- what was effectively a retelling of a trashy reality show.

And to add salt to my fresh wounds apart from one English teacher not one of them had heard of Agatha Christie. :(

Improving Myself and Revisiting Other Teenage Horrors

I have now been in New Jersey 8 whole months. The initial months after my move were quite hectic. There was unpacking, organizing, buying furniture, assembling furniture, work related travel as I settled in. After those initial months now is a period of relative calm.

In a period of relative calm most mature people blossom. They pursue their interests, take walks and basically they stop to smell the flowers. I on the other hand, panic. But in my new avatar as an adult I decided to use the time on my hands to take steps to "improve myself". There were a number of things, as could be expected that needed "improvement". But zeroing in on my first "area of improvement" was harder than I would like to admit.....There must have been something I did in my youth that I could work on now.

Then it hit me, I could learn to dance!!!! I had learnt Bharatnatyam for a good 4 years in my teens so I could pick up where I had left off. So I looked up the dance classes in New Jersey. I found a rather long list of classes, all nearby, all convenient, all with teachers that had exemplary credentials. So all I had to do was call them and get things going. At this point I found myself strangely reluctant.

I had spent 4 years during my impressionable youth learning to dance, however I recollected quite reluctantly that my "impression" of my dancing was that I sucked (I tend to block unpleasant things). I was not bad in the front of my mirror at home when I practiced before my classes but when I got onto a stage, even a stage in front of other gawky, graceless teenagers, I froze. And not all teenagers are gawky and graceless especially those who spend their afternoons in a dance class. I had my share of comrades in arms. They like me had some redeemable qualities but just not this one quality. But there were also those who really belonged. Girls who were not clumsy, who could smile on cue, look sad on cue, bat their lashes to indicate the subtleties of emotion, stand still in a pose without rolling their eyes and giggling.

As I mentioned I was not a complete failure at dancing. The mechanics of it was not impossible. And with some effort I was able to be at least fairly proficient at least in that aspect of it. But dancing esp. Indian classical dances is not just about the mechanics. And though my class was full of little prodigies, expecting a 11 year old girl to emote the pathos of being Krishna's dejected Gopika seemed not only very hard but quite frankly also just down right inappropriate.

I could blame my mother for this. She had no time for "girly" pursuits. I could count on her to refuse to emote the pathos of a Gopika even if her life depended on it. Or my brother. I am betting all those graceful dancers could not climb trees like I could. But my tree climbing skills didn't help me on that stage. Or my father who spent turned up at all the dance events and was always spotted smiling and proud. So there was nothing wrong with what my father did but it made my "sucking" just a lot harder to come to terms with.

I also remembered that I enjoyed dancing. Moving to a beat is quite relaxing and exercise in the form of dancing is one of the nicer ways to exercise. And in all honesty, as I grew older although I still could not emote on stage I was emoting away in my head :). Despite that I think I will give the dancing idea a rest. There are some advantages of being a rather lazy teenager who spent most of her time reading. One of course is that there is no substitute for reading, none at all. The second is that maybe I do not have to relive my past failures and can at least fail at something new(My current favorite is horse riding).

And when I have come to terms with my limitations with respect to dancing I am considering Bollywood dancing. A good friend has been at it and is having so much fun that I am convinced that I should give it a shot.

Recipe - Couple of things I want to post. One is Aviyal which I did not appreciate as a child but have learned to love. Credit goes to husband who makes it all the time.

Macaroni grill serves this bread that I think is just delicious. I found a copy cat recipe and the end result was great. The recipe is here.