::O.bi:t.er: D:ic.t:um.

Gourmet Baby

2011-11-30T14:30:00.000-08:00

My baby, S is soon to be 9 months old. And already those taste buds are active! He'll east baby mush mostly. But place a bowl of roasted red pepper soup in front of him and he will lap it up before you can say "baby mush".
We love Ava's roasteria- a 24/7 coffee shop/bakery/cafe in Beaverton. It has the most yummy chocolate croissants and dark chocolate mocha. One afternoon, out of sheer laziness, I ordered a cup of their roasted red pepper with gouda soup. If there is heaven on earth, it was that cup of soup! Warm, silky, rich with a smoky gouda aftertaste. That amazing, saturated red soup. It was a treat for my eyes, nose and tongue.
So of course, I had to come home and try to replicate it. I roast red peppers quite often. They take very little in terms of time, supervision or effort and taste great in sandwiches.
But, now that gourmet baby loves the soup, and we are in dire need of the Vitamin C it provides, this is one of our weekly regular soups.

Recipe:
3 whole roasted red peppers (seeded)*
2 T olive oil
1 red onion chopped
2-3 cloves garlic chopped
1 bay leaf
Broth: Veggie or chicken
1/2 cup milk (optional)
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup grated gouda (I have experimented with gruyere, parmesan and smoked gouda)

Heat some olive oil in a pan. Add the bay leaf, onions, garlic and saute till onions are translucent. Add chopped, roasted red pepper and cook on medium for about 10 mins. Add the broth and let simmer for 10 mins or so. Blend it in batches. Bring to simmer again, adding salt and pepper to taste. If the soup is too "red peppery", add some milk to tone it down. Add cheese and stir before serving.

*Roasted red peppers are available in most grocery stores. To make them at home, place washed and dried peppers on a foil covered broiling pan and broil at 500F for 15 mins, then turning over and broiling for another 15 mins. Place the still hot peppers in a freezer ziplock bag or brown paper bag, seal and place in the refrigerator for an hour or so. Before using, peel and deseed the peppers.

Wonder grain!

2011-11-28T22:56:00.000-08:00

I have two stories associated with today's recipe and they are both, at this time, having a wrestling bout, a jab-cross, side-kick, in my brain. I am the passive referee and believe I will end this match in a tie. Age takes precedence and I'll start with the "long time ago" story.
When I was 8 years old, I visited my friend Ranjani's place. She and her mother were visiting from Dubai and I ran over without telling my mother where I was going. I have this vivid memory of Ranjani, her two cousins, her older brother- Ravi and myself all sitting in a row while her mother made these little globules of yogurt, rice and mango pickles (vadu-maangai) and placed them on our outstretched right palms. I remember mine being particularly grubby since I had, earlier in the evening, been drawing lines on a concrete sidewalk with a piece of red brick. Lines which form a box and we would throw a piece of broken tile (called Chappit) and play hopscotch. Or Langdi.
I don't know if Ravi or Ranjani or any of her cousins or her mother even remember this day. But my mother got frantic and finally called Ranjani's place, only to discover that I was in "thachhi mum mum" bliss there!
We all went our ways and after many many years, I found out that Ravi makes his quinoa quite like I do. And thanks to him, I recreated my quinoa recipe and posted the picture on facebook.
My second story regarding quinoa is quite ordinary. In my Biodiversity (biopiracy) course in law school, i had to make a presentation on the quinoa case.
Quinoa is a high protein cereal (it has twice the protein content of maize or rice) and is an important part of the diet of millions of indigenous people in Andean countries.
Two US researchers, in 1994, received a patent that gave them exclusive monopoly control of male sterile plants of the traditional Bolivian quinoa variety. The researchers admitted that they had done nothing to create this plant and it was just a part of the native population of plants.
When I made this case presentation, I had no idea I would be making this delightful dish and posting recipes.
Goes to show- what an interesting world we live in!

1/2 cup quinoa
1/4 cup olive oil
2 cloves elephant garlic or 5-6 small garlic cloves
1/2 onion chopped
1/2 inch fresh ginger finely chopped
1/2 yam or sweet potato cubed
2 carrots cubed
1/2 zucchini cubed
1/2 bell pepper (red or green or both) cubed
1/4 cup sun dried tomatoes (if using the ones in oil, then use straight out of the jar. If using the dried ones, soak in hot water for 1/2 hour to 1 hour)
oregano and thyme- a generous pinch
salt to taste
red chili flakes to taste
Dash of lemon juice

Cook quinoa* (See note below). Place the garlic, yams, carrots on a baking tray. Toss in 1 tablespoon olive oil and roast at 400F for 40 mins.
In a pan, heat some olive oil, add onions and ginger. When onions are caramelized, add in zucchini and bell peppers and saute for about 5-7 mins with oregano and thyme(not so long that the green bell peppers lose their bright green color).
In a bowl, place the cooked quinoa. Add the roasted veggies, sauteed veggies, sun dried tomatoes, salt, chili flakes and a dash of lemon juice.
Toss and serve- warm

.

Method of cooking quinoa: Bring water to boil in a pot. Add 1/2 cup quinoa. Reduce heat and cook for 13-15 mins. Drain. Steam the quinoa for 10 mins to make it fluffy. You can skip the steaming step. But I just discovered that steaming it makes it soft and fluffy and as my mother would say "like a flower" :)

Cornbread and a confession

2011-11-17T12:41:00.000-08:00

My parents hail from the South of India. But I have always identified myself as a Bombayite (Not Mumbaikar- shudder!) I have vehemently denied anything to do with the South (Not that there is anything wrong with it. I was born and raised in Bombay and identify more with it, is all). I have no fondness for South Indian food (even though my Mom was an awesome cook) and only wild horses (and G) can drag me to Chennai Masala to eat a dosa. There! I've said it. Without offending any of my South Indian friends I hope.
But seems like I do have a bit of Southern traits- well South of India, South of America- who is going to tell on me? And to whom will you complain? Is there a "Keeping track of South of countries" police?
Anyways, the "southernness" in me emerged stealthily when I baked a cornbread for the very first time last week. What makes me so sure that it tasted like it should? Reo's Ribs! It is this hole in the wall place in Aloha/Beaverton and serves the yummiest cornbread and that's my reference! So here goes.

1 cup medium (or file if you dont like it gritty) ground cornmeal
1 cup all purpose flour
1 cup buttermilk (or milk)
1 egg
1 tbsp baking powder
1/4 cup sugar
3 tbsp butter
red pepper flakes

Preheat oven to 350.
Beat the wet ingredients (milk/egg) together. Add the dry ingredients and mix with hand.
Melt the butter and add the red pepper flakes. Pour it in the bottom of whatever pan you use to bake a bread. (I use a 9 inch cast iron skillet) If required, spread the batter so it touches all the edges of the pan.
Bake for 30-40 mins.

Serve hot with honey drizzled on it.

Makes 10-12 pieces.

November!

2011-11-17T12:24:00.000-08:00

Portland has a way of messing with me. All through summer, it compelled me to wear a jacket. The temperatures soared for about a week and when I bought a fan (Most houses here lack air-conditioning as the temperatures hit the highs for only a week or two), they plummeted. Then September and October- when it should start getting chilly, we were lulled into a false sense of warmth and high 50s. And then Bam! November brought with her low 30s and a vermillion-yellow carpet of soggy leaves, branches bare and bereft of their adornments and this chill in the air which makes me crave something warm. Something broth-y. Something soupy. Something with a bit of a kick to it to balance out the cloying pumpkins and sweet corns and apple/pear tarts.
I have a new fall favorite. Turkey chili. Warm cornbread with a hint of red pepper flakes. Honey drizzled over the cornbread. Sticky fingers. Hot chili flavor combined with the sweet/salty gritty cornmeal. Playing peekaboo with my taste buds.
Without further ado: here is the chili recipe. It can be made with beef or vegetarian. The toppings can be played around with too.

Oil
A red onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic chopped
1.5 tsp cumin ground
1 tsp oregano (dried)
Ground turkey defrosted
2 tbsp tomato paste
1 tomato
1 green chili/jalapeno chopped (If you like it spicy)
Can of bean (I use a tri-bean blend; darker beans are better)
1 green or red pepper chopped
Broth (I use a combination of chicken and beef for the flavors, but I imagine veggie tastes just as good)
Salt to taste
Chili powder to taste
Dash of lemon

Saute the onions and garlic and when they turn translucent, add the meat and brown it. Add the cumin and oregano and chopped chillies. Add tomato and tomato paste. Stir. Add the beans (which should be well rinsed) and broth, salt and chili powder. Cover and simmer. The longer it cooks, the more the flavors seep in.Add lemon before serving

Garnish with chopped red onions, cilantro and a spoon of greek yogurt or sour cream.

Please do let me know if you have tried the vegetarian version of this recipe. Is it very different? More or less complicated?

Fall comforts

2011-09-26T12:27:00.000-07:00

Portland is on its own schedule. It was still spring here while the rest of the country was sweltering away and when the leaves started changing color and the trees were starting to paint their leaf tips orange and green, Portland temperatures shot into high 90s. Saturday was the last day of Portland summer and we awoke Sunday morning to grey skies and the pitter patter of rain drops, slushy puddles and people wrapped up in their ubiquitous PDX uniforms of black REIs and Northfaces and Columbias.
With my better half away for the week, I wanted a one pot meal which could serve me for lunch and dinner. For 4 days. Kidding.
I rummaged around the kitchen and came up with this healthy meal.
What's cooking in my kitchen right now?
A melange of good stuff:
Saute onions and garlic. When translucent, add cubed lean chicken (meat option) and brown it. Add diced carrots, potatoes (optional), cauliflower, and red lentils (I have a wild rice mix which I am using right now). Add broth and cook till lentils and veggies are cooked. Add a spoon of tomato paste (or puree a fresh tomato), a can of coconut milk (light), some curry powder, salt and cook for 5 mins till it simmers. Garnish with toasted cumin seeds and fresh cilantro/mint/basil. Some lemon juice perhaps?

It leaves me time for another workout, some law reading, some light reading. What a beautiful start to fall!

I should have stayed away...(And Shrimp dish)

2011-09-09T14:53:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, amidst all the chaff and styrofoam peanuts who enter your life in the guise of fellow human beings, someone meaningful will make an appearance. Chaff and styrofoam peanuts being people who merely fill the empty spaces in your life (but definitely meaningful in someone else's) and do not contribute to your spiritual, emotional or even physical well being (someone gives me acid reflux. But I cannot name that person) So when that occasional person turns up, what do you do? Jerome K. Jerome in his essay titled "On Love" says that you fall in love with complete fireworks and stars in your eyes just once. And it stays only a short while. So while the passion is still burning you light your home and hearth's fireplace with it and enjoy the warmth from the smoldering passion with your loved one long after the fireworks have dies and the stars have set.
But this is true for any well formed relationship. Not just a romantic one.
I met a girl a few years ago who was new in the workplace like me. Who shared my office space. Who did not mind my non-stop chatter or imposition on her time and family. Who did not mind my cheesy 8-'s rock collection blaring all day. Who did not mind my student group stuffed in my office all day to discuss physics less and gossip more. Who stayed prompt with her replies over the years and over the distance. Who included me in her life as if I was just a missing part of it. Who is my older sister, best friend and confidante. My wikipedia for all things related to raising kids. For all things unrelated to raising kids as well. Who does not have an unkind word, sour mood, mean streak. Who baked a wonderful "car" cake for T.
Why do I blog about this friend? Well, because I just invited myself and my family over to her place for the long weekend. Had the best time of my life. And now I am back home. And I miss her. I miss being around her and her lovely family. The feeling of warmth, inclusion and "family" outside of my home.
I should have stayed away from the visit. The aftermath of it is harder than not having seen her.
Thanks for being the honorary sister and providing me with a ready-made mutated Brazilian family. I love you Kay Kay and wanted to thank you for the beautiful times.

This is a Shrimp dish I concocted for K!
Saute a finely chopped red onion with some minced garlic and green chilies in some oil. When onions are translucent, add 2 finely chopped tomatoes and chopped green bell peppers. Some paprika, some garam masala (see older post for masala recipe). When masala is all blended in, add deveined, thawed shrimp (about 20) and cook till shrimp looks done. Add salt to tast and garnish with fresh cilantro and mint and lemon juice.

Scone or cookie? That is the question

2011-08-24T10:39:00.000-07:00

Its been a long time and I have flaked out on the mostly 365 idea. I plan on hiding behind the two kids, studying for the bar, blogging for patent baristas and work out regime wall of excuses. My experiments in the kitchen were on hold while I was cramming for the bar and dealing with other personal issues. And never once, my dear friends, did I wander from the path of healthy eating. (Except when I had cravings and of course one knows the golden rule about cravings: NEVER TRY TO FIGHT A CRAVING. YOU WILL LOSE! GIVE IN). So barring every now and then, when T brought up the Ava or Moonstruck coffee shop idea (both places with delicious dark chocolate drinks) I have been trying to cut back calories and lose the last 10 stubborn ell bees.
So, in my quest for healthy eating i.e. no flour, butter, sugar, I hit upon Elana's Pantry. This is a website for those with Celiac's disease and uses mostly almond flour. Almond flour is low in carbs and high in protein and her recipe for scones are so wholesomely delicious, that if T asks for a second "cookie" I don't bat an eyelid in handing it to him. And the best part? It takes 15 mins start to finish- I can make a batch while preparing breakfast.

2 cups almond flour, 3/4 tsp baking soda, 1 egg, 3 T agave nectar or honey, handful of raisins/cranberries and chocolate chips, maybe some lemon or orange zest. Mix with hand, flatten into a thick disc(1/4 " thick, 8" diameter), slice like pizza and bake at 350 deg for 10-12 mins.
Sometimes, if I have some time on hand, I roll the dough into a log and stick it in the freezer for 15 mins or so. Slice into discs and bake them like cookies.

Play around with the flavor combinations:
lemon zest-almond slivers
cranberries- white chocolate
dark chocolate-orange zest

What's in a name? That which we call a scone by any other name tastes just as sweet :)

Returning favors...

2011-02-20T21:39:00.000-08:00

I moved to Santa Barbara to be with G in Fall of 2003 after I graduated from OSU myself. Frequent trips to his department won me a lot of friends and acquaintances. I am still in contact with a few and fondly remember many others. Carla, who worked at the front desk is one such person. I got in touch with her via (what else?) Facebook. I remember her as a delightful young girl who got G to trade in his gold aviator shaped glasses for contact lenses and also persuaded him to buy me my first piece of jewelry (which I still cherish). I don't know if Carla remembers all this. But I do. Vividly. And as she was searching for an authentic chana masala recipe living in a far away land, I rose to the occasion. Here it is:

Garbanzo/Chick peas (If using canned, then 2 cans, well rinsed. If using raw then soaked for ~10-12 hrs and cooked till soft. I use either depending on time constraints)

2 tbsp oil (better to use vegetable or canola. Olive oil loses its taste and is of no use)
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 medium sized onion chopped finely
3-4 cloves of garlic chopped finely
1 inch piece of fresh ginger grated or chopped
Fresh garam masala: 1 bay leaf, 4-5 cloves, 2-3 cardamoms (with peel on), 1 inch long piece of cinnamon all tied in a muslin bag (This makes the dish spicier. However if you dont have all this, go ahead and use the garam masala powder)

2 tomatoes in a rough puree + 2 tbsp tomato paste
Salt, pepper to taste
turmeric, pinch of
garam masala powder 1 tbsp (or to taste)
coriander powder 1/2 tbsp

If you have black tea bags (regular lipton) those can be used for coloring and holding flavor in the chana masala.

Heat oil, add cumin seeds. When seeds start to sizzle, ass ginger, garlic and onions and the bouquet garnier if using. Sautee till onions turn translucent/pinkish. Add tomato puree + paste and stir well. Cover and let simmer for about 10 mins. At this point you'll see that the onion-tomato mixture is "together", i.e. you cannot separate one from the other. it looks like mush.
When it reaches the mush stage, add garam masala powder, turmeric, salt, the lipton tea bag, stir well, add the chick peas and 1 cup water (water can be added or evaporated so modify the amount to suit your preference for the thickness of gravy) Cover and let simmer for a loooong time ( i let it cook for an hr so it absorbs flavors better.) Add pepper if you want to increase the spice content.
Towards the end, add the coriander powder and a dash of lime. Garnish with fresh cilantro leaves.

IMO chana masala tastes better if it is sitting overnight. The flavors stand out and taste awesome!

And here is what Carla has to say about the finished product:
Holy guacamole, the chana masala as AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you so
much for such a wonderful recipe! It was absolutely delicious.

I would say, kudos to the chef! And thanks for everything Carla :)

Recipe 13: Chicken in a rush

2011-01-20T07:48:00.000-08:00

My ma-in-law makes this dish with leftover chicken from the curry. It is a no mess dish and can be taken on a journey or a picnic. I made it last year when we spent the Memorial Day weekend with Kendra, Andre and the kids. It was a hit with kendra and andre. I even got a compliment from Kendra that my cooking has evolved since I last cooked for her (2004-2005). Perhaps Ma-in-law's effects rubbing off on me?
We need some boneless, skinless chicken breast chopped into finger food size pieces- boiled in salt water for about 15-20 mins.
Heat some oil (olive or canola), add cumin, kari leaves, chopped onions, garlic and grated ginger. When the onions turn translucent, add some chopped carrots and bell peppers. Add the boiled chicken and some chopped tomatoes.
Now here is the fun part- i have made this dish about 4 times and no two times has it tasted the same. Reason? I use different spices every time. So you can add bay leaves, cinnamon stick, garam masala n turmeric powder (option 1), kitchen king masala and dried mango powder (option 2), American curry powder (option3)...
Once you have added the required spice mix, add about a tablespoon of tomato ketchup. Check for salt and add some chilli powder if necessary. Stir well and garnish with chopped coriander leaves.

Tastes great with some plain jeera rice and some mint raita!

Recipe 12: Soup Melange :)

2011-01-19T07:12:00.000-08:00

I was chopping up some Crimini mushrooms for breakfast and ended up chopping more than I needed. Add to that some carrots and leeks that needed to be used up STAT, and not to mention my limping recovery, I decided to create my own soup.
Sauteed some chopped leeks (white part only) and some chopped onions in olive oil. Add a bay leaf and cinnamon stick. Throw in some diced carrots and mushrooms (and whatever other harmonious vegetable you have on hand). Add some seasoning (I added thyme and salt), chicken broth enough to cover the veggies. Simmer until veggies are cooked (or if you are lazy like me, pressure cook it).
Add some lemon juice and the puree it in batches. Simmer before serving.

The only change I would make is add some chopped cilantro during the final simmer to give it an extra flavor. Otherwise the soup was deelish and wholesome!

Recipe 11: Cold Remedy

2011-01-16T08:48:00.000-08:00

Being 8 months pregnant and miserably sick with fever, cold and sore throat, I cannot take any medication (well, doc said Tylenol was fine, but I am keeping it to a minimum night dose only). My usual remedy of gulping copious quantities of honey wont work either due to my friend GD.
However, I have thrown caution to the wind and am having large amounts of grapefruits- a half of which provided 78% of our daily Vit C requirement!
But one cold remedy comes to mind and it is uniques as well-
Half a cup of hot black tea. Add to that half a cup of fresh squeezed grapefruit juice. A tsp of honey and a stick of cinnamon. Simmer for a 3-4 mins and sip while hot. It soothes the throat and keeps leaky nose in check.

Now if only I could summon up enough strength to go through all this hoopla!

Recipe 10: Granola

2011-01-14T09:23:00.000-08:00

My best friend K makes this awesome granola and kindly shared this recipe with me. I halved it and added my own twist to it (as usual). But somehow my granola never turns out at the same consistency as hers. I guess I have years to go before I perfect the art.

3 cups quick cook oats
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup canola oil
cinnamon powder- to taste
slivered almonds- 0.5 to 1 cup

Chopped dried raisins, figs, dates, blueberries (whatever else catches your fancy)

In a bowl, whisk the oil and honey. In a well oiled baking pan, add the oats, cinnamon, almonds and the honey-oil mixture. Mix well. Bake for 15 mins at 350 F and then for 15-20 mins at 275 F.

When done, immediately take the baking pan out of the oven, add chopped dried fruits and mix well. Should store well in a clean airtight jar for upto a month. I've never had mine around for that long. It is usually gone in a week!

Tastes awesome with low fat cottage cheese or yoghurt.

Recipe 9: Roasted Veggies

2011-01-14T09:16:00.000-08:00

I came up with this recipe for roasted veggies as a side to pasta, grilled fish/shrimp/chicken, on a bed of spinach...But it goes best with french onion soup and makes it a complete meal. But the problem with this recipe the first few times was that the vegetables got dehydrated and to make them glossy and moist but cooked, I had to add oodles of olive oil. Somehow it did not sit too well on our palates. Not to mention what consuming half a cup of oil would do to you.
But Majboori ka naam Mahatma Gandhi.

I realized that adding half a cup of chicken/vegetable broth and just a dab of olive oil helps the veggies retain their moisture and makes it easy on the palate.

Preheat oven to 350 F. Place chopped zucchini, red bell peppers, cauliflower, potatos or sweet potatoes, carrots in a baking tray. Sprinkle some salt, herbs (rosemary and thyme go best with pasta, cumin & curry powder for other dishes), a tablespoon of olive oil and half a cup of low sodium broth. Toss and bake for 25 mins. After 25 mins, add chopped mushrooms and halved cherry tomatoes and bake for another 10 mins or so at 350 F. Squeeze some lemon juice before serving.

The chicken broth gives it a very silken touch and retains moisture. What is the nutritional content of this dish? I am hoping it retains all its nutrients- it tastes so awesome that I would be sad to toss this recipe away because of fear of dehydrating the veggies.

Recipe 8- Whole wheat baguette

2011-01-13T07:28:00.000-08:00

We like to go to this French Creperie called Chez Machin in SE Portland. It is a tiny place with plenty of character. G loves their French Onion Soup- all fragrant with beef broth and a treat for my eyes with ll the cheese melting from it. By contrast the Paneras french onion soup is watery and doesn't do anything special to the palate.
Researching recipes, I found that croutes are an integral part of the french onion soup. Loathe am I to buy bread or bread related products from the store- what can be achieved with 5 ingredients or lesser, becomes like an epic reading. The list of ingredients goes on and on. (Why on earth when I can make a loaf of bread with 1 tbsp sugar or less does the bread manufacturer list it in the first three ingredients? Why on earth are there unpronounceable ingredients in the list?)

Anyway, I found a recipe online for baguettes. I modified it to whole wheat baguette and halved the recipe. The result? Awesome tasting baguettes & croutes- even if they look a bit ghastly. Oh well, cosmetics can be taken care of in trial #2.
I will never buy a French baguette ever again from the store.

1.5 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup AP flour
1/2 T active dry yeast
1 tsp salt
1 cup warm water

In a bowl combine the salt & flour mixture. In another bowl, add the yeast and water and add half the salt/flour mixture. Mix well to form dough. Cover and let rest for 3 hours.
At this point in the recipe, I had to resort to a quite a bit of drama as T was home from school and wanted to be a part of the creative team and was cranky from a lingering cold at the same time.
So juggling a toddler, I punched down the dough, kneaded it and added the remaining flour/salt mixture. Let it rest for an hour.
The drama got worse and T was really upset at this time because his throat was hurting and he wasn't able to articulate that. Plus the oven was on at 425 F and T was mesmerized by the light in the oven and wanted to touch it and I was trying to roll out the dough to form baguette and place a bowl of water in the oven at the same time. The bowl of water ensures that the bread is crispy on the outside and soft on the inside.
Bake for 30-35 mins (but take the bowl of water out at 15 mins).

One note of caution: Make sure the bowl has a handle or is placed on a heat proof tray. I had to do a bit of jugglery as I lacked the foresight and used a smooth, rounded bowl by itself. Trying to get it out while the oven was on AND T was trying to get in between to see what excitement he was missing was a Herculean task. Finally, I put T on our bed and shut the room door. In the time it took him to get down from the bed and get out of the room (all of 10 seconds), I wrenched the bowl out of the oven!

End result: Awesome baguette. Toddler approved. G loved it!

Recipe 7- Just desserts

2011-01-10T22:03:00.000-08:00

I am not a dessert person- more out of dietary restrictions and doctor's instructions than out of choice. Of course, if all boundary conditions were removed (and we were solving a free body problem) I still would not be be a glutton for desserts. But who doesn't enjoy and occasional tiramisu or gelato or some decadent fruit and chocolate combination (raspberry- dark chocolate trumps everything else!)

So it turned out today that I was over enthusiastic about my low-carb diet at dinner and my sugar dropped to an abysmally low value. Also, we had bought some delectable Bosc pears at the farmers' market this weekend. Not to mention I found some white wine in the fridge (bought for the french onion soup). Consequence of the low sugar value- I decided I deserved a reward. So did G & T for putting up with my foul mood resulting from the low sugar.

While pondering over my awesome sugar values, I poured about 3/4 cup of a sweet white wine into a sauce pan, added about 1/3 cup of sugar to it. A stick of cinnamon, some orange zest, some vanilla. Simmer. Ah, the fragrance!
Added some quartered, peeled pears to the thickening sauce. Let it absorb the flavors for 10 minutes or so. Take the pears out using a slotted spoon.
Remove saucepan from flame. Add a handful of semi-sweet dark chocolate chips to the sauce and stir till the chocolate chips melt. Pour the sauce over the pears.

Somethings I would do differently next time- maybe chop the pears into smaller bits so it cooks better. Add a pinch of cayenne pepper to the chocolate sauce to give it a little oomph. Add some lemon juice to the sauce. Maybe some cloves, nutmeg. Some garnish like real whipped cream or mascarpone cheese would be awesome too. Perhaps organic brown sugar would taste better.

I can keep dreaming about the various changes because who knows when my sugar levels and the Gods above will co-operate to give me such an opportunity again.
BTW, this is a toddler approved recipe!

Recipe 6- Curry Powder

2011-01-10T10:15:00.000-08:00

Since I came to the US, I have been asked the recipe for curry. What is curry? I don't think any Indian will be able to answer that without launching into an explanation. Again, depending on whether you are from the North (pronounced "kadhi" is a concoction of sour buttermilk and chickpea flour with chickpea fritters soaked in it) or the South (curry is any "dry" vegetable seasoned with curry leaves- kari veppalai- and mustard seeds), the definition of curry varies vastly.

A lot of the vegan, vegetarian, "hippie" cooking sites talk about dishes like "curried" lentil soup, or "curried" pumpkin coconut soup. Their definition of curry powder is something manufactured by McCormick or Spice Hunter or some other company. I admit to a weakness for the American manufactured curry powder. It is nowhere close to any "curry" I have had in India. But it makes a delectable addition to some fried rice with onions, tomatoes etc. Or to a quick potato dish (neither of which I can eat barring a spoonful or so). However, I was loathe to spend even a tiny amount on store bought curry powder for something which should be available to me for free- birthright and all, you know!

So, as a quick fix I made my own "curry" powder. C'mon- if the US can invent the concept of curry powder, surely, being Indian, I can invent my own recipe!

1 T coriander seeds
1 t fennel seeds
1 t dried pomegranate seed powder or mango powder
2 dried red chillies
1 t cumin seeds
pinch of asafetida
pinch of turmeric powder
1/2 t carom seeds (ajwain)

Dry roast on low heat till the aroma is discernible. Cool and grind to a fine powder. I find it a great addition to any recipe calling for "curry powder".
Meanwhile, I capitulated and bought a jar of Spice Hunter's Curry Powder. Shame on me!

Recipe 5- Cauliflower Leek Soup

2011-01-10T10:01:00.000-08:00

Leeks do grow in India. I just haven't seen them before. Having spent 6+ years in the US did not help either. They abound in stores where I shop. But I never was curious about them. Till I started exploring soup recipes. And virtually every recipe calls for either celery or leek. So I picked up my first ever bunch yesterday. I found a cauliflower soup recipe on Epicurious which I tried once before. But I twisted the recipe to add leeks.
Interestingly leeks are related to onions as well as garlic but are milder in flavor and smell. They reminded me of a more mature green onion and I found the addition to the above soup a pleasant surprise. It gave the soup a little bulk without distracting from the mild cauliflower taste. Something which I challenge a red onion to do! Or even a white one.

Anyways, I roasted two leeks (trimmed off the dark green parts and discarded it) in some butter with some garlic. Added half a head of cauliflower chopped. Sauteed. Added chicken broth to cover the veggies. Let simmer till veggies are tender. Cool. Puree. Boil with some fat free milk or cream or half and half- whatever your choice of poison. Season with little salt, pepper, paprika. Garnish with something green- cilantro, mint, parsley?

Anyways, toddler approved- that is saying something, surely?

Recipe 4- Chutney

2011-01-10T07:19:00.000-08:00

So I goofed off all weekend and did not update my 365 blog! Ergo I have to write 3 recipes today.
I am going to cheat and start off with some really simple no-brainer ones.
This one is cilantro chutney. There are different types of cilantro based chutney in India, depending on where you hail from. The one from South India is mostly coconut and a little cilantro for green, the one from the north is all cilantro with no mention of coconut. The one from Gujrat is more sweet than savory.

My style of coconut chutney was before marriage, greatly influenced by my B aunty and after marriage by Geeta- my mother-in-law. The former never used coconut, but used onions and peanuts as filler while the latter used coconut which dear G is accustomed to. For me though what really matters is the method of making chutney. B Aunty used to make it by hand on a grinding stone called Sil-Batta.y mom made coconut chutney in a south Indian style grinding stone called Aatu- Kall. I alas, use a blender. Somehow a blender does not release the juices from the various ingredients like a sil-batta does. So every week I purchase cilantro for the salsa which accompanies my low-carb fajitas and with the remaining cilantro, I make chutney (low-carb dip, baby!) but find myself missing the grinding stone of the days gone by where she would start off with a bunch of washed and destalked cilantro and some water and start grinding it under a stone. Then, pausing for a break of water, she would add some fresh mint leaves and 1.5 inch piece of fresh ginger, couple of cloves of garlic and grind again. To this medley she would add half an onion, minced or maybe a handful of peanuts, some salt, sugar, green chilli and grind away till it was smooth as butter. Each ingredient as it came under the stone filled the house with its own special scent and so you knew chutney was part of the menu that day. Finally the juice of half a lime (or mango powder or dried pomegranate seeds) and whatever tweaking had to be done in terms of salt and sugar. I of course, was the taster. Lucky me!

For a picture of the sil-batta, please visit here
http://anishashekhar.blogspot.com/2010/06/who-designed-sil-batta.html

These days I find myself yearning for the sil-batta as I smear the chutney on all kinds of things like egg salad to sweet bread. Somehow, the fragrance from my chutney is never the same. Sigh!

Recipe 3- Chundal with a twist

2011-01-07T10:44:00.000-08:00

So I was talking to an old long-lost-recently discovered-friend yesterday about this recipe blog. She suggested video blog as narratives spice the recipe up a bit. However, not owning a video recorder might be a hurdle. Not to mention, my inertia. She did voice a preference for recipes as dictated by our mothers- a pinch of this, a dash of that. In truth, when I write this blog, I have to exert my brain cells to convert a pinch, a dash and a dollop into something that someone trying to mimic the recipe can easily recreate.

So, how would you like to recreate a recipe that is in the form of a narrative? Or imagine your grandmother telling you how to cook your favorite dish.

Go grab a can of garbanzo beans/chick peas or if you are like me, soak about two handfuls of kabuli chana over night and pressure cook it the next morning. This is a recipe which my mother used to (and still does) make during Navratri- the holy nine days where we pay homage to Goddess Durga and all her incarnations. The beginning of spring and the beginning of autumn are two very important junctions of climatic and solar influence. These two periods are taken as sacred opportunities for the worship of the Divine Mother. The dates of the festival are determined according to the lunar calendar. The Navratri I am discussing is the one in autumn.
Women and girls are invited home (with a caveat- which I am not going to discuss here as it makes my blood boil) and the offering to the goddess is usually a form of pulse and some sweetmeat.

I recently realized that garbanzo beans are high in fiber and I gave my own spin to the chundal recipe.

The memory of chundal brought to mind the memory of the smell of seasoning. That one is irreplacable, no matter what the twist.

So a tablespoon of coconut oil (sticking to my supposed Palakkad roots), heated, some mustard seeds, some udad dal, some curry leaves thrown in till the entire house smells like the seasoning. Added to that some ginger and green chilli pounded till the juice is released. A dash of salt.

I must go get ready for the Navratri invitation. My best silk saree, matching accessories. Fragrant jasmine scenting up the entire house.

Add the boiled garbanzo, squeeze some lime juice and thats part one done with.

My twist- grate some carrots. Add a pinch of salt and sugar to it. Some chopped cilantro. Toss. Spread the cooked Chundal on the bed of grated carrot.

T and I snacked on this all day yesterday. So I was all dressed up and nowhere to go. Well, it is not Navratri exactly. And I am Cinderella- no silk saree. No jasmine.

I think I'll go back to lounging in my pjs.

Recipe 2: Carrot/Apple/Pear soup

2011-01-06T07:29:00.000-08:00

So, this recipe works great if you have a toddler at home (or a squirrel which bites into fruits) who eats half an apple and suddenly acts as if the second half is something he never wants to set his eyes upon. G doesn't care for apples and being diabetic for the time being, I avoid fruits like plague. So this recipe is awesome- full of Vitamin A and whatever other goodness you find in apples/pears.

Ingredients:

1.5 T butter
4 carrots peeled and diced
1 cup diced apples (unpeeled- thats the high fiber part of the fruit) or any combination of apples and pears to make up 1 cup.
1 T grated fresh ginger
3 cups broth (chicken or vegetarian depending on your preference)
salt to taste
paprika to taste
chopped fresh cilantro to garnish

Melt butter in a pot (I prefer using a pressure cooker- its faster. But if you don't have one, use a pot that has a lid) and add the chopped carrots and ginger. Stir for 2-3 minutes till carrots are well coated with the butter. Add the diced fruits, broth and cover and cook till carrots are tender (can be squished between your forefinger and thumb).
Let the mixture cool. Puree in batches to get a smooth, lump free soup. Return to pot, add salt, paprika and simmer before serving. Garnish with chopped fresh cilantro and some chopped apple bits.

Note: I am always trying to make every meal protein rich and usually add chopped chicken breast while cooking the carrots. Using a slotted spoon, I set aside the chicken bits before pureeing and then add it back for the final simmer. As my toddler says, "numm numm".

Mostly 365- a different spin!

2011-01-05T09:59:00.000-08:00

We are only 5 days into the new year and this blog post is a combination of inspiration from dear G and from a friend's photo project. Since being diagnosed with gestational diabetes and having to watch my sugar levels and every morsel I ingest, I have tried to make drastic changes to my diet and my kitchen/refrigerator contents. The very prospect of seeing an endocrinologist sends shivers down my spine because that would mean giving myself insulin shots. No thanks!
So G suggested that I blog about my culinary experiments. I am not really inventing my own recipes. Just twisting ones that already exist. Then I saw Aldo Figueroa's mostly365 photo project and G's words came back to me.

So without further ado- I present my first recipe for the year.

Grilled eggplant

Note: I had this dish about 7 years ago at a restaurant in Cincinatti called Cumin. This was an Indian restaurant run by a South African. Many years later, I became an eggplant lover and decided to try out this recipe. The first two times it was a greasy mess. Until I figured out the trick. Here goes.

Ingredients:
1/4 " thick slice of eggplant x 6
2 T olive oil
2 T curry powder or Kitchen King Masala
Dash of salt
Dash of lemon juice/dried mango powder/dried pomegranate seed powder

Wipe the eggplant slices of any excess moisture. Mix the curry powder/kitchen king masala, salt and the lemon juice (or whatever else you are using for the sour effect) in a small dish. Using a brush dipped lightly in olive oil and then in the above mix, smear it on both sides of each slice and set aside.

(I use a small indoor grill. But feel free to modify the recipe to suit your grilling equipment)

Spray the grill with olive oil and place the eggplant slices on it and close the lid. After about 5-6 minutes, flip the slices over and grill for another 5-6 minutes.

Serve immediately.

This dish can be modified by replacing the curry powder with herbs & balsamic vinegar mix to give a more mediterranean taste. Tope with some Mozzarella, feta or chèvre chaud to enhance the taste.
I typically serve the eggplant as an accompaniment to grilled dover sole or shrimp scampi.

Warning: It is easy to get over enthusiastic about the olive oil. But it would serve us well to remember that the eggplant is like a sponge and can absorb any amount of oil you spray on it.

New Year Musings

2011-01-03T10:42:00.000-08:00

Welcome MMXI!

My usual tradition of ringing in the new year includes listening to Beethoven's Fifth (Ode to Joy) followed by a reading of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "Ring Out Wild Bells". I have been following this tradition for the past 15 years and have never deflected even once. What a strange tradition you might say. Well, it arose out of a necessity. As a teenager I was never given permission to party with my friends for New Year's Eve. Reason? Of course we all know the high probability that a geeky teenager with sky high ambitions and a goal of studying till life's end will jump at the prospect of doing drugs, become an alcoholic or worse- marry an non-Iyer!

This year- I broke the long standing tradition of listening to Ode to Joy as well as the reading. I was asked by G whether I am going to. However, citing toddler T and fetus Z2 as reasons for bailing out, I fell asleep at 10 pm. In truth, I had no desire to ring in another year filled with disappointments, waiting for responses (all of which were negative), a year filled with a feeling of extreme unproductivity (even though I am definitely not unproductive- raising a toddler, gestating a fetus and looking after my home and family is work) passed me by. There were good times no doubt. But overall I am happy the year went by and wont return again.

Human nature is such that no matter how many times one faces bad times, hope, damn hope springs eternal. And so it goes that I am now looking forward to the new year. One event I was waiting for has fallen into place. Hopefully (there is that word again!) others will follow suit.
Maybe this will be the year I will join the work force again.
Maybe this will be the year I will regain my confidence and my feeling of productivity.
Maybe this will be the year I will start brushing my teeth at night as well.

In the mean time, a belated but much called for reading of my favorite poem:

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Unanswered Prayers

2010-09-10T20:56:00.000-07:00

"Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers
Remember when you're talkin' to the man upstairs
That just because he doesn't answer doesn't mean he don't care
Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers "

goes the refrain for a Garth Brooks number.

How many times have we thanked the powers that be for mercies and favors granted, let alone unanswered prayers? Most times these days I am just fervently and desperately begging employment and peace of mind rather than thanking Him for anything.

However an incidence occurred recently that jolted me out of my self-pity and self-centered universe. I met someone for the first time and taking in their lifestyle, their status etc, I was (I am ashamed to admit) envious. The thoughts going through my head were mostly prayers that I get my recognition for my achievements. Thank God that what I asked for could not be granted instantaneously! That I had a chance to talk to the person, reassess the situation and revamp my prayers!

What I saw was where the person was after an abusive and failed relationship. I silently thanked God for I was lucky in love and lucky to have my loved ones with me. For I am treated with love and respect and given credit for who I am and I am free to do what I want to do. I can now convert the envy to ambition (of which I already have enough!) and channel my energy towards achieving my ambition.

I thank God for unanswered prayers for I cannot imagine having to battle with loved ones at home when each day in the outside world resembles a battlefield anyway.

I have to remember when i am talking to the man upstairs that just because he doesn't answer, doesn't mean he doesn't care. There are several instances in my life that I can list to prove this. But the most recent one is fresh in my mind. That there is something better is in store for me. I am meant for something special. That I cannot have what others have because I haven't invested what others have. I have not suffered as they have (and I am thankful for that) and hence I cannot be in the same position as they are.

Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers. Amen to that!

When a mother is born of her child

2010-05-21T18:38:00.000-07:00

With the birth of my child, days were filled with a flurry of feeds, diaper changing, soothing colic symptoms, googling for home remedies for diaper rashes and other mundane but those that nonetheless afflict a child symptoms.
The last few weeks, away from all the hubbub of my life in India, away from anything to distract me (T and G can hardly be a distraction)I wondered for the first time: when does a mother exactly come to be?
Is it when the baby is born and is lain in her arms? Or is it when she hears the heartbeat for the first time? When she feels the first flutter of her embryo? The first kick?

We humans take too much for granted. That a mother takes care of her child. Mother is the nurturer. In truth, a mother needs her child to justify her nurturer tag. Bereft of the child, what is a mother?

I digress. All I intend to say is that the moment of conception, the moment of fertilization, the moment of implantation: some women are aware of each of these. Doesn't that make her a mother? That she cares about the cell, the cluster of cells? The sperm and the egg uniting? The "baby" that resembles a tadpole? An orange seed? A blueberry? That a bond forms between her and the little tadpole/orange seed/whatever even before the outside world can tell if a baby is due?

So my question is this: if this "baby" doesn't make it to the outside world, does that make her any less of a mother? Or it any less of a baby?

Note: I am aware of all the scientific rationalization of chromosomes mismatched, genetic abnormalities and any other of the plethora of explanations offered. But no amount of rationalization helps when she has naught to show for her "motherhood".

Crushed blueberries

2010-05-19T17:02:00.000-07:00

So four months later, a new continent, a new beginning. Well, not new technically, but much delayed one for sure. Days whiz by at a dizzying speed. Naked trees which had made themselves bereft of their leaves and fruits and flowers started adorning themselves again in that pale green-gold transmuting into a more vivid verdant indicating the passage of winter into spring and soon into summer. A distant chirping fills the air heralding the return of the migratory prodigals. We cut up fatted worms to welcome them amidst us.

Spring signifies fertility and birth in so many cultures. But birth is counterbalanced by death. For what decays provides strength and endurance and fertilizes new life.

And we'd do well to remember this.

Summer brings with it berries aplenty. Red juicy strawberries with green felt hats on, deeper red-pink raspberries playing peek-a-boo among the hedges. Short, stumpy bushes with fat, globular blueberries almost purplish-red near the top.

Crushed blueberries will remain close to my heart forevermore.

Thoughts about Aruna...

2010-01-13T10:20:00.000-08:00

Aruna's story...the nurse from K.E.M. Hospital who lies comatose after being raped and strangulated with a dog's chain which cut off blood supply to her brain. What do you feel when you read news like this? What about Aruna? Do you think a few months imprisonment suffices? What is the price for lying brain dead in a room with your limbs degenerating and your skin becoming akin to parchment? While you lie bereft of words, actions, movement, your nemesis works under a false identity elsewhere?
While you lie alone in the same room, day after day, year after year, nano second after nano second, bereft of family. Just a few nurses who don't know you because they are replacements for the ones who did know you, while he is surrounded by loved ones?
While you lie alone in a bed which you did not choose for yourself, visited every few months by one who used to be betrothed to you who looks at you and tries and fails miserably to imagine what life might have been with you, while he enjoys connubial bliss elsewhere. That your dreams lie shattered and with no chance of resurrection while he can dream new dreams every night. And day.
That is the price you pay for a few harsh words? For asserting your position?
Whatever be the reason, perhaps euthanasia is the only way out to such an existence which causes nothing but pain and misery to A and everyone connected to her. One hopes that in some twisted way Aruna gets the justice she deserves by at least dying a dignified death sans further deterioration.

On a whole another note, there is another A whom I am going to miss terribly. Do good byes always have to be so gut wrenching? Sigh!

Miscarriage of Nature or Miscarriage of Justice?

2010-01-08T10:15:00.000-08:00

This post has been long overdue. It is regarding the Niketa Mehta case decided by the Bombay High Court and the Punjab & Haryana /Supreme Court case regarding the abortion of a mentally challenged girl.

http://www.rediff.co.in/news/2008/aug/04abort.htm
http://www.thaindian.com/newsportal/uncategorized/mentally-challenged-rape-victim-delivers-baby_100283908.html

The first was decided in Aug 2008 and the latter (Judgment pending) in Jul 2009. Almost a year apart.

In the Niketa Mehta case, the Bombay High Court refused to grant permission to the Mehtas to abort their 26 week old foetus which was diagnosed with congenital heart defect. According to Medical termination of Pregnancy Act (MTPA), 20 weeks is the upper limit to abort a foetus, lawfully. Now the Mehtas could have gone to a quack living in an obscure alley somewhere. But they chose to do things right and sought the Court's permission as soon as they found out about the defect. Bringing a child up in these times is not easy. Add to that surmounting medical expenditure, perhaps a life of trauma and heartache- in all senses of the word. I think the Mehtas deserved a more compassionate judge. But a miscarriage of justice was followed by a miscarriage in nature and the foetus did not survive.
With all due regards and empathy for the Mehtas, perhaps Nature did remedy what the blind lady with scales could not set right?

The other judgment I felt strongly about is the Nari Niketan case. The mentally challenged 19 year old recently gave birth to a baby girl on Dec 3rd 2009. So there is really not much point in criticizing the judgment. There is no law that prohibits one from giving birth to a child. However, if the primary, and in this case, only caregiver is mentally challenged and not in a position to look after herself, then shouldn't there be a law regulating such circumstances?
No doubt, the protection of child en ventre sa mere is of sublime importance. But what about the protection dans le monde? Isn't the existence of the child, the care and upbringing of the child and the right of the child to have sane and stable parents not of any consequence?
How is a person with mental age of 9 years and no sense (no pun intended) of reality who does not even know she has been raped, going to cope up with the trials and tribulations (perhaps too strong a phrase- there are delights too) of parenthood?

However, que sera sera. And now we must hope for a bright future for the child. All the best, little one.

I'm Back! (And Lost Words)

2010-01-07T04:26:00.000-08:00

The one year mentioned in my previous post has almost elapsed. Just three weeks to go. Being a mother has kept me on my toes this past 16 months. Ziggi turned out to be a boy. And is called Tracii Marxall. Pretty cool name, huh? He is named after Tracii Guns the guitarist for LA Guns and after Gilroy's grandfather James Peter Marceline. Marxall is a variation on marceline and I came up with the fantabulous spelling.

It will take me some time to get back on track with topics for writing.

Today's topic is lost words.

Words are not just a mode of conveyance for ideas and thoughts. If given enough nourishment and compost and fertilization, they can acquire a life of their own. That is what happened in my life.
I love words. Play on words. Learning new words. Making flowery poetry and writing long winded letters just to see beautiful, delicate words churned out and decorated on parchment. That is the reason G has been inflicted with so many letters from me over so many years. I like to think of myself as a wordsmith, if that is not too presumptuous of me.

Ever so often, a word gets tucked away in a crevice of my brain. In some nook or cranny. Hiding away because I have not used it so long. And then like meeting a long lost friend after many years, I met "INCORRIGIBLE" today. It was a wondrous experience. Like a fine Pinot Grigio, incorrigible rolled around my tongue a few times over before I spat it out. The taste remained, as did the delight at sampling a vintage word that was stored in my word cellar for so many years.

Or like a piece of clothing that gets tucked away at the back of the cupboard. That after a few months I suddenly chance upon and I wonder "Why did I stop using this article of clothing when I like it so much?"

Or like a little bird playing hide-and seek with me. Now you see me, Now you don't. You think you remember me. But I will hide myself and continue to elude you.

I often think, I know such and such a person so many years ago. Where has she/he disappeared? And I can remember every single detail about them like his birthday cake 27 years ago was shaped like a book and my cousin tried to lick a few "pages" clean. Like she performed "Boom-Boom" by Biddu in golden coloured shimmering pedal pushers.
And like that a word's meaning pops into my head. But I cannot recall the word.
What is it? I know what it means. I know it is something that confounds me. That confuses me. But what is the word?

I search high and low. Through multitudes of dictionaries and thesauri that I have accumulated through the years. It is "NONPLUSSED"! There! I feel a lot better having remembered the boom-boom girl's name.

Countdown begins

2008-08-07T23:30:00.000-07:00

So this is the final month of the last trimester. According the doctor, there is exactly a month left. Sept 8th! I hope Ziggi is bored and wants to pop out way before then.
The house is in chaos with loads of laundry (Ziggi's) and furniture being arranged so that Ziggi enters into a convenient world and has loads of clean underwear and socks! (Thats my nightmare- running out of clean underwear and socks. More on this topic later)
random thoughts keep cropping up in my head. Ziggi is going to be 50% G and 50 % me. I do wonder what he/she will be like.
Will I make a good mom? I know parents who have disowned their kids or asked their kids to get out of the house. I know parents who think their kids are after their money and dont trust them. I know of parents doing all sorts of unmentionable, unfathomable mean things to their children.
And those are monumental things. I am worried about little, seemingly inconsequential, everyday things. Like giving Ziggi a proper bath, massage, whatever. Feeding Ziggi on time and in good quantity. Teaching Ziggi loads of things. Will I be able to live upto the challenge?
Will I do a good job and not make a mess of this child's life who has not asked to be born?
I know I will not do any of the horrendous things I mentioned above. It is the little things that matter and I sure hope I don't mess up on them.
G, I am not worried about. He will make a perfect father like he made a perfect boyfriend/fiance/husband. He always knows the right things to do and say and will guide me, I know.
Its the first year i have to spend alone that I am worried about. There is little I can do to remedy the staying apart and I am moving heaven and earth to remedy it.
Once again, miracle needed?

66.66% complete!

2008-05-30T02:14:00.001-07:00

I was just listing my list of emotions to G and a brilliant thought struck us. The names of the seven dwarfs are just various things pregnant women feel.
Sleepy- thanks to a bladder the size of a walnut, I dont get my required 8 hours.
Sneezy- Low immunity levels so the zygote/embryo/fetus remains intact. Ergo, sneezy.
Happy- Who wouldn't be! I am getting my own personal Barbie/Ken.
Bashful- Not strictly so. But increased blood flow causes a pregnant woman to look bashful.
Grumpy- Try lugging around an excess 7-9 kgs and not being able to wear your favorite pair of jeans and not being able to sleep comfortably at night and ....(the list is endless!)
Dopey- Pregnancy is temporary insanity. Ask my friends and family. I wont even refute them. Thats how dopey I am :)
Doc- Havent experienced it yet. But thats what I am going to be yelling when I need an epidural. Watch out, G...

So there you go. Snow White and the seven dwarfs is nothing but a well-veiled metaphor for pregnancy and childbirth.
You may all applaud me now.

So tomorrow marks the beginning of my last trimester. Which means Ziggi si 66.66% complete :) Well, actually Ziggi is fully formed. Ask the walls of my abdominal cavity which are getting as worn out as the soles of my sports shoes by stretching and repeated kicking by Ziggi.
For a two-thirds formed human being you sure do have a lot of strength kiddo!

Through the rain....

2008-05-30T02:06:00.000-07:00

ok- I know this constitutes cheating. But I really like this song and thanks to G will call the artist Daiki Kasho :P
In a moment of darkness, when I was really missing my friends, this song came out of the blue and surprised me. Thanks Daiki!

Through The Rain
I know it's hard
In a world gone bad
To find the truth
To understand
And I know it's hard
To turn the page
To walk the line
To have the faith
But sometimes when it's light
And you can't see
Sometimes when this world
Just seems to be so cold
Sometimes when you're lost at sea
Drowning in your pain
Sometimes the sun shines through the rain
I know it's hard
In a world so cold
To feel the love
I know it's hard
And I know it's true
That in the end
We all find our way
And that's life my friend
But sometimes when it's light
And you can't see
Sometimes when this world
Just seems to be so cold
Sometimes when you're lost at sea
Drowning in your pain
Sometimes the sun shines through the rain
World keeps turning
Nothing changes
Hope this time
We can rearrange the stars
It can't be that hard no
Sometimes when it's light
And you can't see
Sometimes when this world
Just seems to be so cold
Sometimes when you're lost at sea
Drowning in your pain
Sometimes the sun shines through the rain
Sometimes when it's light
And you can't see
Sometimes when this world
Just seems to be so cold
Sometimes when you're lost at sea
Drowning in your pain
Sometimes the sun shines through the rain
Ooo let it shine
Shine through the rain
Ooo let it shine
Shine through the rain
Sometimes the sun shines through the rain
Don't you know it's gonna shine yea
Shining down on you
Sometimes the sun shines through the rain

Taken for granted....

2008-03-29T10:51:00.000-07:00

Before I begin my ranting: Ziggi completes week 17 today. In this week's accomplishments is Ziggi's ability to yawn! Is her mother boring her already?

We take so many things for granted. Good food, for example. From childhood until we leave the comfortable nests our parents build for us, we take for granted that our moths are going to cook for us. We become so complacent that we forget to thank her for the time, effort and love she put in preparing our meals. We forget to thank our fathers for providing us with a comfortable living. Our siblings for bringing laughter and entertainment into our lives.
It is only when we leave the confines of our homes to make lives, careers in the big, bad world on our own do we miss these things.
Foodie that I am, I sure miss food cooked by the three women in my life: my mother, bhatnagar aunty and my mother in law. What feasts have been conjured by these magicians at a moment's notice by me!
I miss my kitchen as well. The freedom and space to experiment.

Today, for the first time, I was treated to excellent, home-cooked fare without having to leave Kgp. And I have two extremely generous souls to thank for having given a thought in my direction and having included me.

I have stopped taking for granted that someone is benevolent enough to cook for me. Thank you!

Week 16

2008-03-16T06:02:00.000-07:00

Ziggi is in his/her 16th week now. Did I ever mention how the name Ziggi came about?
Well, when I just found out I was pregnant and the only two people (apart from G) who knew were Meg and Adi, we were discussing how big the baby might be and what stage of development. And it was just a mass of cells- a Zygote. We cannot obviously go about calling a potential human as Zygote. Thus came about Ziggi. The name's stuck. Everybody loves it!

Ziggi can hear now. As well as digest amniotic fluid and breathe. And Wave and flail. It amazes me! I can talk or sing to Ziggi. Does it make sense to Z? I like to think it does. Ziggi gets to hear how my day was. Ziggi gets to hear snippets of songs I sing while dressing or heating water. Ziggi gets to hear me discuss WTO provisions. Ziggi gets to hear RGSOIPL politics. Ziggi gets to hear me talk in Tamil, Hindi, English, sing in French and Hindi and Englsih and Spanish. Ziggi gets to hear me talk silly stuff with Adi and Meg. And mushy stuff with G. What does she make of all this? Does she like being bombarded by such a plethora of languages and myriad of topics? Does she like Guns and Roses better or R.D.Burman? Or even worse...sappy songs like I feel it in my fingers!

Does Ziggi like me discussing WTO, labour, enviro? Or better when I talk about my day? Or when I am giggling? Or excited?
Around this week, I get to feel Ziggi moving about. Not continuous movements. But occasional popcorn popping or butterflies or goldfish. Maybe Ziggi will wave and signal what her preferences are. That would be nice.

This is a special time where only the two of us communicate. Me through words and she through her gestures. No one will be able to see or feel it. I dont know whether I want it to last forever or whether I want the next phase to come around. Not that I have a choice.

I find myself wondering if Ziggi will be a writer like me or a musically gifted soul like her father. Will she be impatient like me or the embodiment of patience and virtue like G? Whatever she is, she will be a wonderful individual who will be loved and cherished by many in her lives. Three sets of grandparents. Loads of Mamas and a Periamma and loads of cousins.
There is something to being the youngest. :)

Love you!

New & Improved

2008-02-23T04:47:00.000-08:00

Its been more than two months since I last blogged. As a rule I refrain from blogging about my personal life. But here's a brief update: Since I last blogged, I got married. And now am going to be a mother.
Since I found out about the big news, I have been overwhelmed. It is a big event in anybody's life. I have been known to move at break neck speed. Known to speak my mind. Known to be short tempered. A little crazy. A little impetuous. And suddenly I realize I am responsible for another individual. I have to take care of myself. walk a bit slower. Well, a lot slower! Eat sensibly. Talk sensibly. Any decision I now take will involve another person apart from G. And all my decisions henceforth will affect this new person a lot more than it will affect any other person in my life.
I will be responsible for passing on morals, values, educating, imparting knowledge, partly influencing this person.
Probably more. Feeding this person. Responsible for this person's health and well-being. For wiping her tear and perhaps bringing a smile on her face. For her being a person who makes the world a better place to live in.
And I wonder, am I up to all this? How does one go about being a parent? A thinking being who knows every action/word/thought of hers will directly/indirectly affect this life inside her. I found this beautiful prayer online. Posting a part of it.
For they're only little one time,

only innocent and trusting and pliable for a space of time, one minute in an eternity.

Let me do my best for them while I have the chance.

~Amen

People...

2007-12-02T06:38:00.000-08:00

I am learning a lot more in my stint at IIT than I learnt in St.X or Kalina or OSU or SB or Tahoe. This is my first experience of hostel life in India.
My friend and I are outspoken and maybe a bit brash. We lack the subtle niceties and coquettishness perhaps. The "I am a girl and subservient to thee" attitude. Moi being older, got labelled. Badly. Snob (ok, that I am ), rude (not), bitch (definitely not!) etc, etc. All the other girls who were good in PR were considered great friends.
But this is not about me. Its about people.
People think that PR is everything. That an individual who doesnt indulge in small talk, or doesnt behave the way you do, or doesnt share the same likes or dislikes as you has got to be BAD!
The last few days in KGP were super stressful. The above friend and I were so rattled,shaken by the sight of a colleague that sleep eluded us. Concentration was destroyed. My GPA has probably spiralled downward. All for someone who spent the past year gossipping about me. Listening to false tales about me. Thought I was out to ruin her life and out to insult her. Victimize her. Who thought I lacked morals.
For this person, I couldnt focus on my academics. I couldnt sleep. I wanted to leave KGP and come to the sanctuary of my home.
I won't lie. My ego was hurt. A little. That my efforts went unnoticed.
But for the most part it was my principles. I believe in somethings like it is the word of God. (read previous blog entry)Feminism and equality is a large portion of that belief.
What hurts more than my silly ego is that people don't let anything good touch them. They prefer going through life committing the same mistakes, feeling the same pain, reopening the scabs from previous wounds, prying it open with a blunt instrument.
But they won't listen to you merely because you are the person who before the accident was BAD! You cannot have anything beneficial to say to them. You cannot have anything that could deem productive to their lives.
So when will I learn to shut up?

Of what use?

2007-12-02T06:19:00.000-08:00

I am a student of this country's elitest institution. Where the brightest and the best brains of this country go to earn their undergraduate degrees. In such a premier school I atten a postgraduate course in- law, of all things in this blighted world.
I learn about concepts of equality and liberty. Articles 14 and 21. I read about judgments pronounced by stalwarts like Krishna Iyer and P.N.Bhagwati. I read case facts and accompanying judgments the size of tomes. I read books on fundamental rights. I read law of crimes. Cases where women, little girls, infants even are abused, raped, brutally assaulted because they are weaker. I cringe when I read cases like Sudesh Jhaku or Delhi Domestic Working Women or Vishaka. I flinch unknowingly as if I am witnessing the incident and not reading it with a view to analyzing it. To critique the judgment, to review the evidence.
I read about trivial cases where passports are taken away by authorities and the judgment runs into 600 pages analyzing the right to life and liberty of the person whose passport it was. I read about the making of the Constitution and how the makers deliberated over whether the words "due process" should be included or not.
I read about women being granted special priveleges under Art. 15. I read so many things. And somewhere they touch a chord or a nerve as the circumstances warrant.
But I realized that people go through life untouched by great words. Who don't look through news articles for interesting clippings that they can cut and preserve for posterity. Who still feel women must be battered, bruised, treated as unequals.
Whom education refuses to touch.
Of what point is such education? For a moment let me become objective and put a price tag on my education: By the time I graduate I would have spent 3.6 lakhs (not including monthly kharcha) on this degree alone.
Should we not make use of what we learn? Should not every individual stand up for themselves and for others who are underprivileged? Should not every person strive for the right to life and liberty? Dignity? Self-respect? Equality? Arent lawyers a section of people to whom people look upto to fight for their rights and all the above necessities? If lawyers fail, who stands up to take the lead?
If women step back and give up the war for themselves, who will take charge? If the victim loses hope, of what use is the warrior?
If you don't let education mould you, of what use is anything?

HD humans

2007-10-25T21:16:00.000-07:00

This picture is very special -on various counts. One because its a picture of fall colours. I love autumn. It heralds the end of summer with brilliant colours akin to fireworks and a slight nip in the air to complement the warmth of the colours. Fiery reds, sunny oranges, mellow yellows. Another reason is that it is a HD picture. 9 exposures- 3 low, 3 medium and 3 high exposures all mapped together and gives this picture with so much information- colours of window panes, buildings in downtown, a picturesque sky.
And then a thought was introduced in my head. That....the depth of these photos can also represent depth of emotions.....
And it is true. Humans are never to be taken at face value.Because every reaction, every word, ever emotion emanating from them is a multi-dimensional map of innumerable exposures. A human being is an HD picture, if you will.
Exposures to various experiences from childhood, adolescence,early adulthood. Interactions with parents, neighbours, teachers, friends, acquaintances, enemies, strangers....The possibilities are limitless. Every set of exposure- be it negative or positive, be it low exposure (stranger) or high (loved one), contributes to our reaction at any given point of time, thus capturing that moment forever in a HD picture- A memory.
So the next time someone gives you an unfavourable answer or reacts adversely to what you said, just remember it is an HD memory and you possibly had nothing more to do with it than being the software for merging the various exposures.
Say cheese and the picture might turn out to be a nicer memory than what it started out to be!

Lovely lyrics

2007-10-24T07:27:00.001-07:00

Laaga chunari mein daag…

Manwa mein meri aandhi hai uthi
par stabhdh khadi hun main
sanson mein baandh apni hi saans
nishabd khadi hoon main
duniya se jeet jeeti khud se haar
bas dhwast khadi hun main
aaina main aur aks main
madhmast khadi hun main

Laaga chunari mein daag chupaoon kaise
laaga chunari mein daag
chunari mein daag chupaoon kaise
ghar ja-oon kaise
laaga chunari mein daag

Cham cham cham cham cham jhan jhawaat
antar mein goonje diwas raat
ek shoonya shoonya tapti vishal
maaya ka madhyam mantra jaal
mann ki dasha se ladti main phirti
vishwast khadi hoon main
meri laaj main hoon,
chunar bhi main hoon,
chunar pe daag bhi main

ho gayi maili mori chunariya
kore badan si kori chunariya
jaake babul se nazre mila-oon kaise
ghar ja-oon kaise
laaga chunari mein daag
chupaoon kaise
laaga chunari mein daag chupaoon kaise

main dhwast dhwast main nasht bhasm
main saral virral main ati vishisht
hain shyam shwet badal mere
nirjhar si jhari hoon main
andhiyari raat deepak ki baati
swapnil si khadi hoon main
kanchan ki kaya apna hi saaya
bas unse darri hoon main
lakdi main geeli thodi seeli seeli
thak thak ke jali hoon main
main maaya maaya
main chhaaya chhaya
aatma aur kaaya main
nistabdh khadi hoon main
nishabd khadi hoon main
vishwast khadi hoon main
sarvadra khadi hoon main

Feminist or Realist?

2007-10-24T07:16:00.000-07:00

Movies have become a very impersonal medium. I only watch comedies or romantic ones once in a while. Maybe a Victorian one or something. Very rarely do new releases have an impact on me and if I am not mistaken this is my first blog about a movie.
Laaga Chunari Mein Daag. The end was very typical Bollywood style so lets assume the end is out of this blog.
The movie was about a woman who wanted to help her family. Not having qualifications she takes up prostitution as a profession. She has to battle with the pain and humiliation of that. In addition she has to battle with her parents thinking she is not capable enough because she is not a man. And every time she sends home money her father says "my daughter is my son".
This is something most Indian girls deal with. You are not a boy. This fixation for a male child.
How is my gender my fault? How does my gender make me inferior to a male? How does that make me less capable? Less intelligent? An onus? A responsibility?
Enough to make people kill female fetuses. And girl children. A test to determine gender of fetuses is illegal here. People still persist in doing so.
Everybody knows education and making a girl self reliant is the answer to end this social ill. ?
Its easier to turn wombs into tombs, right?

Miracle

2007-10-06T02:40:00.001-07:00

In my sometimes narrow, one-dimensional perspective of life and the world, I forget other exist. I become self- absorbed and get intensely focussed on the quagmire of my own problems. Who says what to me(Unnice things). With what intent(malicious). Who is out to get me(everyone). That is when I over analyze things. I tend to misunderstand everything and everyone. Will things work out for me? The way i want them to? A single incidence. A single person. A single event. My entire existence revolves around that and when I defocus from that for a split second I realize life is passing me by and I am not noticing all the marvels created for me. The beautiful things in my life. The nice things said to me. By nice people. My roommates doing thoughtful things for me.
I made my gmail status as "Miracle needed". Some may know instantly what it signifies.
Very rarely i want things that desperately in life.

But then I realize I do have miracles in my life. It has been 12 whole days since Cation came home. Considering my past experiences with fish, the first few days I was extremely nervous. I kept wondering if today would be the last day I had with Cation.
12 whole days! It is indeed a miracle. My little Cation with his orange head bobbing around. Now quiet and pensive. Now chasing after bubbles from the oxygen tank. Now making fish faces at me. Gobbling up the food like he is starving and then giving me admonishing glances for being late in giving him food.
I do have miracles in my life.
I just need my life.

Dear God, This is Shalini!

2007-10-01T21:55:00.000-07:00

I keep reverting back to this title because of a book I read which had a similar title. "Mr.God This is Anna" by Fynn. It was a beautiful book and I read it numerous times before passing it on to someone who was capable of appreciating it. Kanan, my roommate for a very brief period. A bundle of energy and enthusiasm. That’s all the nostalgia in this blog. I have changed this title to 'Dear' instead of the more limited 'Mr' because of my feminist outlook. But thats material for a different blog.
I chose this title because of a conversation I had yesterday. I asked someone to include me in their prayers and they asked me if I had a specific cause in mind. Did I? I had several. I cannot list some of them here. They include spontaneous combustion of some people. Just kidding. But yes, I do have a lot of petitions and prayers. Especially this week. But I have learnt over the past years that sometimes asking for specific things is being presumptuous. God, the omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent power. How can I dare dictate what should be done with my life? It is like telling your teacher I do not like this syllabus, please redesign it. Ha! Having been a teacher, I can vouch for the feasibility (or lack thereof) of that particular option.
Besides sometimes the best thing that can happen to you is that your prayers are not answered. I have often, in my limited knowledge of the grand scheme of things, prayed for something and not have my prayers granted. In the long run, I realize that was the best thing that could happen to me. Who am I but a tiny insignificant speck living an inconsequential existence in this grandiose world. What do I know about running a Universe? Did I design it? Was I on the advisory committee? Was I the predecessor? Indeed, no!
So for my peace of mind, I have decided to adopt a simplistic path of not asking for anything in particular for myself or anyone else. Just a general prayer that I and everybody in my circle of cognizance should be looked after, should enjoy good health and peace of mind and be loved.
Because I know, bad karma not withstanding, that is definitely in the grand scheme of things.

Where's my box?

2007-09-28T11:18:00.000-07:00

So you have heard my filler Styrofoam peanuts theory. My lack of handbook theory. Time for a new one. This is the box theory. Actually it is not a new one. Joe and I came up with this box theory one cold, dreary, Midwestern evening when perhaps it was too cold and chilly to step outdoors and nothing interesting on television (nothing new there!) Joe and I came up with the handbook theory as well. He is an interesting guy. Doesn’t need external stimulants to act insane. That’s why we get along.
Anyway, getting back to the box theory. Some people live in a box. Some boxes have windows. Some are windowless. And then there are those who don’t have a box to live in, fortunately. We are also the no-handbook people.
I think the reason is- and this may sound too harsh- our parents let us live our lives the way we wanted to. They were so involved in grappling with their own problems or lives, that they forgot we were children who need nurturing, caring and tender love and care. Mercies! Well, people like G were fortunate that they had parents love and care and still grew up right. But not everyone is lucky. So we are leaving exceptions out of this, ok love?
The no-handbook people or the no-box people are ready to experiment, greet new ideas with alacrity and enthusiasm. They lack a box and therefore are open to meeting new people, despite all the negative experiences they’ve had.
No parents laying down rules for these people. No mothers telling their no-box daughters about touching idols etc. during “the” time of the month, or to fast for a good husband. No fathers telling their no-handbook daughters which career path to choose. No boyfriends, significant others telling their no-box girls whom to talk to or what to wear.
Somethings are biological constraints, some are mental. Some merely whimsical. Don’t the chains suffocate you? Don’t the walls of your box make you claustrophobic?
Come see what life in the open with no dictates and no boundaries is like. See what the fresh air of new ideas, new people, new conversations, new experiences is like.

Take a deep breath. Its refreshing!

Thirty!!!!

2007-09-21T11:19:00.000-07:00

This is my last blog as a twenty-something. (Unless inspiration strikes and I write something over the weekend) Monday is D-day. I turn 30! Am I excited? nervous? anxious? proud? happy? You bet! All of the above. Why is turning a year older such a big deal?
A close friend thinks turning a year older is no big achievement. But is it really the years we are applauding when the birthday girl blows at the candles? (birthday woman...lets not get too technical)
After years of subconscious pondering and deliberation, I have come to realize that its not the age people are applauding. Some are happy I have survived another year and am still alive (thank God for small mercies, eh?!) Some are happy to have made my acquaintance in the past year and perhaps glad to be in my company. Some are applauding my achievements since the last 24th September (even if it was attending tedious classes in RGSOIPL. But I enjoyed them) Alright, some are just there for the cake!
This is a "taking stock of previous year ritual", usually. But 30 is a time to look back over the previous decade I think. Not that I have personally achieved anything by turning 30, per se. Well, if you count not killing myself or managing to not get killed by someone or something, then yes. Roses, applauds and accolades my way please!
I celebrated the start of my 20s with getting myself an undergrad degree. Then came the crucial decison- Physics or comp sci? I think good sense prevailed and I stuck with Physics. I have Pattu to thank for this decision ultimately. And my temporarily messed up grades. Perhaps my principles of not taking favors also?
World outside Xaviers was like a culture shock. But ultimately when all the mud settled down, the water was quite drinkable. Having G on the same campus was definitely what got me through the two years though. Ali and the computer episode rattled me thoroughly. But what matters is that I got through the episode unscathed, right? Trial by fire, 'twas. Well, spark, if not a full blown fire.
That was also the time all the match fixing, arranged marriage deal, wearing kanjeevaram sarees and singing in front of random prospective grooms, fighting for what I believed in (and still do), hyper acidity, hyper mom....Fun!
I landed in the land of opportunities a few months short of my 23rd. The next three years flew by in a whirl of lab work, course work, Barnes & Noble, SB. I made a couple of great friends too. Ahhh grad school life!
Move to SB. Road trip of 2000 miles in 3 days. My Honda Accord all stuffed to the brim with my belongings. Low budget trip. Flatlands and cornfields of the midwest, beautiful and deserted Wisconsin, miles of desert roads with soaring temperatures, pristine hills of Utah and finally SoCal!
Coffee shop barista, Borders book seller, cashier, cafe person. I learned to convert my coffee snobbery into actual talent and became a connoisseur of coffee.
Brooks Institute, perpetually high students, driving down 101 along the ocean, Hollywood concert, Del Taco quests, yellow sub trips and finally moved to Lake Tahoe.
More crazy students, more friends for life, movie and wine sessions at Jackson's, music swap fests, cooking Indian food for friends and moved back to India.
One year of unencumbered life in good ol' Bombay. Reconnecting with people, sorting out certain tangled messes, traveling.....I am finally back home, where I belong, Whew!
I turn 30 in a sleepy town called Kharagpur, surrounded by some friends, some acquaintances, some random filer material. I still miss the absence of loved ones. This decade will be more fun filled,a new life with my beloved, more adventurous,more knowledge, more learning, more experiences- good and bad, a new and improved shalini, some wrinkles, some grey hair,but overall- not too shabby!
An afterthought:
I will turn 30 someday. And when that happens, you are invited for the party. Until then, remember, I am 19 till I die?

Sepia to colourless

2007-09-13T05:13:00.000-07:00

Somebody sent me some beautiful pictures of what India looked like a 100 years ago. I am always partial to sepia. And these pictures were breathtakingly beautiful. Awesome, if I may use a superlative. Places I've visited....Mount Abu, Elephanta, Taj Mahal.Of course I saw them in their present condition. Dilapidated structures.Lying in shambles. What do you expect after the rape and pillage they have undergone in the past? Jewels vanished. Mere faded colours- a mute reminder of what used to be.Trimurti with two of his faces crumbled. As if he is a victim of burns. No plastic surgery here.
Konark temple- the homage to love and lovers. The beautiful wheels of the Sun God's chariot broken. How does the sun manage to rise everyday, bereft of his chariot?
What have we done to this country? I concede that the pictures from a hundred years ago do not portray a technologically advanced country. But what do we have today to boast of? A stunning market. Latest technology. Premier institutes.
But what do we have from the past as a keep sake for posterity? Unskilled artisans who replace exquisite carvings with dreary rectangular bricks.
This is some way reflects the mindset of the new generation. How did I make this leap in thoughts? Well, we think we are the best. We don't need to improve. We are better than our forefathers and everyone around us is blessed by our mere existence. I am not exaggerating. I have colleagues who think like this. I used to be dismayed by the mindset of my classmates when I was in Xaviers (10 years ago). But now that I am back in school with the next generation, I think my peers (age-wise) are better. But age, as someone said to me once, does not signify maturity or wisdom. So what do I know?
I had written a similar article once when I was 19- let me hunt for it and post it. It was along similar lines. I reiterate the point. We are headed towards disaster with our bloated egos and limited vision. Unless we pull up our boots, take notice of the impending doom and do something drastic to rectify the situation, the fit is going to hit the shan, my friend.
And so, the sepia from a century ago is now slowly fading, leaving the India I love colourless, insipid and frayed. What will this picture of the mighty, splendorous Arkoditya's chariot look like in a 100 years?
I dread to imagine.

Pandora, revisited....

2007-09-03T09:24:00.003-07:00

Hope is a four letter word. What more can I say?
Unwanted elements still out of my life....Thank heavens!

Overwhelmed...

2007-09-02T07:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday a very close friend sent me a forward email. Gosh, I hate those infernal pesky space hoggers.And I almost never open one of those. But this one had a catchy subject: "How friendships break". And I said to myself why would she send me something with such a nasty subject line. De facto, I opened the email. It went something like this:
You both are busy and don't contact each other. Then you think your friend is busy and don't contact her. Soon you think why should I be the first one to contact her? Soon the memories become weak and love turns to hate and thats how friendships break.

Dismal, innit? It got me thinking. Is this how friendships break? Do they break if you do not speak to your friend for sometime? Is that what relationships boil down to? If I were to use mathematics to express myself, are relationships a function of time and space? Does geography determine who I am friends with? That would be a deplorable state to be in. So here is something for all my friends and loved ones.
Lets not make something as beautiful and precious as our relationship a factor of space and time. And let us not get ego into it either. I may not always be physically present where you are. But I am a phone call/email away.

Back to hobby horse

2007-08-30T13:52:00.000-07:00

I have blogged about this earlier, so forgive me. Added to that, extreme paucity of sleep may lead to typos (definitely), irrational thoughts (perhaps?) dreamy language (as always).
I have been doing some serious spring cleaning and have cleaned my life up a bit. It is easy being a doormat. Something I balk at when I see others do it. But I have no qualms and no shame in admitting that I detest confrontations. I will go to any lengths to avoid it. It gives my close friends the impression that I am a doormat. Perhaps I am one. People need to wipe the dirt off their feet after all!
I will forgive you anything. Almost anything. Just don't cross boundaries when it comes to my loved ones. But the tragedy is when the new generation, people 8-9 years younger than I, criticize my way of life, my choices. Have so much ego and carry so much baggage that it brings tears to my eyes. You call yourself my friend and then you cast aspersions, whether directly or indirectly on my choice of life-partner? On the one thing that means the world to me? One the one issue that is my entire being, my world,nay, my universe? Is this what you call friendship?
Oh ignorant one! what do you know of friendship? Where I have committed the gravest of travesties of hurting a friend and he forgave me quicker than I could breathe? Where a friend gave me her entire savings of (don't laugh) Rs 1000 because I wanted to elope and did not have money. Where I refused to acknowledge my best friend on the street and she forgave me. Where I did not always approve of things my friend said or did or believed in. But I always stood by her and will be there when the fish hits the shan. Where I went through hell for the very same decision and my friends pulled me through.
I am older. But age, as you said, does not always signify wisdom. I do not claim to be wise. But age has made me more experienced. I will turn three decades old in three weeks. And I have seen a better life than you. May you learn humility, acceptance and may you experience true friendship where I just have to say a word and have at least five people responding to my call- be it for succour or to share my joys and sorrows. I am indeed very fortunate. Thank you, my friends.

Travel Bug!

2007-07-27T06:33:00.000-07:00

I've been bitten by the travel bug. As of my last entry I was in Tattamangalam. I went to Chennai for a day to see my parents off. Bid them a bon voyage. Went back to Bangalore to collect my scattered belongings and heaved a sigh of releif when I was back in Kolkata.A few days later back to Kgp.Had a few days off so my group and I decided to do something fun. Travel! Puri seemed to be the destination of the hour considering its proximity and the fact that there is a beach there only adds to the excitement. Another friend who hails from there offered to find us a place to rest our weary heads and transportation. So to Puri we were to go!
Bhubaneshwar seems to be a well planned city. Not polluted and quite clean.I didn't really have any idea of what BBS would be like. But if I did have some preconceived notion then I would be proved wrong...of that I am sure.
Next stop was Puri...to the temple.
The lore goes that the king of Puri had a dream from Lord Jagannath that he was to hire the celestial architect Vishwakarma to make idols of Him, Subhadra and Balaram. The king acquiesced. Vishwakarma had one condition. Under no circumstances was the king to know on the door of his workshop before the architect himself opened the doors.However, the night before the deadline, the king was intrigued by the absolute silence emanating from Vishwakarma's workshop and knocked on his door. Vishwakarma vanished leaving the idols incomplete. To this day the idols have no hands.
So every year Lord Jagannath along with His siblings is transported to his aunt's place for a week- the Rath and then brought back in richly decorated carriages at the end of the week.

We caught Him at His aunt's place. The idols are absolutely adorable. They have a mischievous look on their faces. Huge eyes widened as if in awe of the throngs of people who gather to see them and worship them. A slight grin as if to say "I know something that you don't!" The kind of children you want to give a huge bear hug to when you see them.
An alternative theory to the no hands bit is that they cannot clasp the hand of every devotee. So the Gods prefer no hands and big eyes to see everyone and acknowledge them.
I love such cute Gods!

SE7EN

2007-07-04T08:47:00.000-07:00

Jealousy or envy is one of the seven sins. Deadly sins. Yet we are all guilty of it at one point of time or another. Anger is another. Gluttony. I am not going to preach. Just that I am guilty of all three today. Three. In one evening. Tsk. Tsk. Jealousy I can overcome. I spoke a few calming words to myself. Deep Breathing. Looking at the brighter side of things. Easily remedied. Gluttony.Pshaw! Nothing a little Omam water cannot cure. Or Jeera water. Resolved.
Anger I cannot cure. I cannot vent it out on anyone either. Why can't people be reasonable? When alcohol is poison to your system. When you know your body cannot take it, why even consume it? Why embarrass your family in front of others? And people then look askance at me. As if I poured him a few pegs. If only you had stayed behind a few minutes and got him with you, we'd be spared this sight. As if! As if he cannot go somewhere unknown to me and take a few gulps from the damned bottle. Why is it my fault? Sorrows! It boils down to that. Sorrows can swim. And why can't you look at the other less privileged? Anyway misery and sorrow is no reason to drink. And I am certainly not responsible for people not able to hold their drink. I said before...I prefer a thornless existence. I'll spare myself this sin.

Monsoons

2007-06-30T02:02:00.000-07:00

I am writing this from a little village called Tattamangalam. The tt should be pronounced softly like in thyme. Tatta means parrot. Mangalam means auspicious. There you go. Little village does not mean it is lacking in technology. Broadband has arrived. So have monsoons.
I am surrounded by greenery. "zhadaanchi hirvi paalvi hirvi shalu nesleli aahe jashi" Thats the line that comes to mind. Something I perhaps read in my Std.VI Marathi lesson. The spritz of the shower hitting me while I sit on the patio with the gentle breeze ruffling my hair.
Sitting on the "mittam". Rain water pouring into the center of the house. My great-grandfather thought of feng shui long before it became a fad.
Idyllic existence. Beautiful weather. Soon I'll go back to my busy life where I wont have time to stop and smell the roses. But absence of roses implies absence of thorns.
I am eagerly awaiting some thornless existence. Who needs roses, after all!

Home sweet home

2007-06-26T08:17:00.000-07:00

I've been away from my proverbial nest for so long now. Lived in different places. A multitude of settings. Parents, neighbours, roommates who are strangers, friends, students, in solitude, future in-laws.... Never before have I felt like this before. Homesick. Not even when I left home for the first time at 22. How did this strange feeling find its way into my life?
Maybe its because I realize the frailty called life for the first time and realize my parents are old. Maybe I've been given so much happiness and warmth at my in-laws that I miss the concept of home with them in the background. Maybe I am living at my friends' place and I see the dynamics they share with their parents and I feel I can recreate something similar in my house.
If only I could.....Capture the soul of their relationships with their folks and implant it in mine. Is life that simple?
Or maybe, I am avoiding the easiest option. And perhaps the truest one. I am missing you. Can you remedy that?

Taking stock of life

2007-06-23T09:22:00.000-07:00

Things happen that make you stop and contemplate. Not rethink any decisions or anything that drastic. But the flow of adrenaline combined with youth. I did not realize that life was whizzing by. People around me growing older. (Well, I AM 19 till I die!) Circumstances made me feel that the world was against me and I did not want it to be so. I retreated into my shell. Now I reemerge and part of me is capable of dealing with the world not being able to view things from my perspective. But I am saddened. I missed out on telling people how much they mean to me. On making them feel special while I carried on doing things my way. I was not proficient in the art of diplomacy. If only I knew then what I know now. If only....If only....
A person who I care about very deeply. Whom I respect a lot. Who I think is brilliant. An intellectual giant. Yet caring and loving at the same time (a rare combination, that) I enjoyed talking to him. Learning from him. When I was a child I looked forward to summer vacations so I could get ice cream treats and "nannaari" and goli-soda in TTM. Who got me into the habit of reading by gifting me loads of classics. And national geographics. I remember lugging a whole suitcase full of Dickens, Wilde, Austen, Twain....much to the consternation of the coolies.
I saw this beautiful person all shrivelled up and ill. And when I gave him a hug he cried for not having seen me in so long. Crying for wasted time. For lost conversations. For lost treats. For lost opportunities. Two generations separated by over 4 decades.....both cried at meeting after a long time. Both cried for thetemporal and spatial chasm that now separates them.
Youth has energy but is also foolish at times.

Silver bells....

2007-06-16T10:11:00.000-07:00

I was wrong about the weekend. It goes better than I expected it to be. More later dearies. I have some smart ideas sometimes. I impress myself, even. And I am a tough critic.
Ciao.
P.S. I have got myself a silver ring, finally. Someone with whom I discussed it a while ago....are you listening?

Heebie-jeebies

2007-06-13T07:28:00.000-07:00

Somethings give me the heebie-jeebies. When this weekend is over, I will let you know if my fears were unfounded.
To quote an old blog entry of mine: "Maybe I should just learn to keep my mouth shut."

Always somewhere

2007-06-12T10:30:00.000-07:00

I catch snatches of songs on my ipod and suddenly the song appeals to me. Either because I've paid attention for the first time or because of the mood I am in at the moment. Last week's song was Always Somewhere by Scorpions.

Arrive at seven
the place feels good
No time to call you today

Encores till eleven
then chinese food
Back to the hotel again

I call your number
the line aint freeI
like to tell you come to me

A night without you seems like a lost dream
Love I cant tell you how I feel
Always somewhere
Miss you where Ive been
Ill be back to love you again

Another morning
another place
The only day off is far away

But every city
has seen me in the end
And brings me to you again
Always somewhere
Miss you where Ive been
Ill be back to love you again

Negative

2007-06-08T08:02:00.000-07:00

I don't know how elaborate this one is going to be. But in my tedious bus journey to Ullal and back everyday I read a lot. But ever so often, to keep track of where I am, I look up, take in a bit of the world around me. The morning hustle-bustle. Men and women rushing to work. Playing musical chairs. Except that buses replace the chairs. School children resembling beasts of burden. Uniform, ribbons, huge backpacks. Takes me back to nostalgia alley. College students.
Thats what I want to write about. Will get back to that in a moment.
Summers are hot. I don't recall Bangalore being this hot. But it is. And I slather sunscreen all over my face and arms. Put on my sunglasses. Am ready to beat the sun. My face devoid of make-up. Bereft of any adornment. The only thing on my face is my pair of sunglasses.
There is a Muslim neighbourhood close to where I board the bus to work from. And I see these college girls. No more than 20 summers old. Wearing a hijab that covers their head, face, body. Everything except their eyes. Kohl lined, light brown eyes. Darting from here to there. Expressing what they are trying to say through the piece of cloth covering their mouth. Their friends completely comprehending what they are saying while I strain to gather the topic they are discussing. Is it boys? Is it trigonometry? Sociology? Home front? I fail miserably adn go back to my book.
But then a thought strikes me. They are like a negative of me. Or maybe I am the negative. The latter. I am always negative. In more ways than one. The only part of the face they expose are their eyes. The only part of my face i cover.
And I am thankful for my freedom. I have no other words to express it.
Just that every morning I see the covered faces in front of me and I say a small "thank you" to whoever takes care of the universe that no matter how tough things get for me, atleast my friends can lip read me in class. In crowded spots. I can breathe the poluted air more freely. I can wear lip gloss and colorful lipsticks and show off the new shades. Be vain. Show off my beauty spot. Sport a nosering for a while. Color my cheekbones if I feel like it. Curse someone who stamps on my foot in a crowded place and make sure they know they are the object of my swearing.
Small pleasures in life.

Where'd u go?

2007-06-04T08:44:00.000-07:00

I am sure it happens with all of us. I like music. I try and maximize my music listening time. Except for my bus ride and dinner time I have music playing all the time. And as I move from place to place, snatches of songs remind me ....of a beach visited, of a conversation had, of thoughts shared, of minute memories I can never recollect otherwise.
Black Dog by Led Zepp reminds me of the avenue leading to UC Santa Barbara...of the early mornings when i used to drop G off at the univ before heading out to Borders. Of the Cypress lined avenue....So does California Dreaming.
Joe Satriani Always with me always with you of sitting in a yellow SUV with jd and G and the G3 show. Del tacos. 2 am drives to hunt for a del taco.
The OC soundtrack reminds me of the drive from home to LTCC when i used to teach there. not the short Pioneer Drive, but the Hwy 50, alongside the lake.
The surf songs of driving around the lake on weekends in a blue convertible. Stopping at all the scenic stops.
Tribalistas and Velvet Underground of Kendra and Andre- red wine and spanish cheese. Brazilian fish dish. Ice cream and weird desserts concoted on the spot. Barbeque on a balmy summer Tahoe evening. Gossip shared in closed office space.
Random songs playing in the background. Surrounded by my students. Jackson, Miguel, Jesse.
Sugar Ray playing and Karen and me in the car. Chatting. Gossiping.
The GNR numbers remind me of the drive from SB to Ventura, when I used to teach at Brooks. I drove there couple of times with Anna. And she laughed at me. The image of an Indian GNR fan.
The songs Yellow, Pepper and the entire Love Actually OST takes me back to Borders Goleta days. Thank you for calling Borders Goleta. This is Shalini here. How may I help you?
November Rain reminds me of sitting out on the porch of 1578 Worthington and singing it tunelessly with an old friend.
Skid Row I remember you reminds of something I cannot list here but the person concerned will get the reference.
Tesla Love Song....I tried making it my answering machine message once.
Tango music and cha-cha music of Ohio State ballroom dancing days. Rachmaninov, Swan lake, Mozart. All in the mid-west.
Guitar stumming while i relaxed. peaceful. Tequila sunrise. White Lion.
Hindi songs playing in my hostel. People are crazy blasting from a friend's room. Sweet child o'mine played in tandem to piss people off. People yelling outside my door. Babuji zara dheere chalo. Agar tum mil jaao. Aditi singing outside the door. Price for me to let her into the room.
Tuneless gmail messages from crazy friends.
Oh the memories!
And now I have several songs that remind me of you. I wonder if you listen to them and your eyes glisten with tears. Some I haven't even explicitly shared with you. Just thought of you when i heard it. Do you do that? Think of sharing songs with me?
Music we heard when we were together, sub consciously settling in our minds. Our hearts.
And now this wide chasm...Our music is all we have to keep us together right now. Maybe you hear snatches of songs and remember me as well.
Where'd you go?I miss you so,Seems like it's been forever,That you've been gone.

Contentment

2007-05-25T08:09:00.000-07:00

I should stop planning. Stop forecasting my life. And just live it. I make all these plans- some grandiose, some modest. Past few years nothing works out.
Now I am in a city doing internship. I am luckier than some cos I have friends. I have a roof on my head and food in my plate. But human nature is such that contentment is scarce. So I must complain. I really shouldn't.
I just need few more things and my life will be perfect. So close yet so far away from contentment.
Some more love from some place I know I will never get it from. Some more acknowledgment and appreciation from some improbable quarters. The presence of some folk who cannot be here. Some more ...
Am I not an ungrateful wretch? I have so much in life. Yet I am yearning for more. Look at the more unfortunate folk, you say. I justify by saying I am self absorbed and don't like to compare. On an absolute scale I won't say I am miserable. But I am not exactly happy overall. Wait. It is not about happiness or unhappiness. That is something that fluctuates daily. We are discussing contentment. How much or how little does it take to be content? Overall I am not a demanding person. But lately I find that because of my undemanding personality I lose out. I will make peace with the circumstances. And will make good my depleted contentment.
When I was young we used to get a strawberry flavoured powder which you add to milk. It was called Happyness. It was Happyness indeed. And contentment. Wish things were as simple now.

Separating wheat from chaff

2007-04-28T01:17:00.000-07:00

My observation is that sometimes you don't have to work towards separating the wheat from the chaff. In times of peril (maybe peril is too strong a word. Lets say trouble) or even when you plain need something, the circumstances ensure that the wheat separates from the chaff.
In every friends circle, you don't get one friend from whom you get everything. Or one friend whom you can confide everything in. (Well, sometimes you get lucky!) But when the one corner from where you expect help does not rise to the occasion, then well, I'd say the wheat is separate from the chaff.
A huff and a puff and blow the worthless chaff away! Thank you little piggies.

Its so unfair!

2007-04-27T22:43:00.000-07:00

"Expecting life to be fair to you merely because you are a good human being is like expecting the bull to not charge at you because you are a vegetarian."
This was a quote sent to me by Paige (I miss you, girl!) I'll tell you about her sometime. This is not the right moment. (Suddenly I sound like a Zen master talking about right moments)
The veracity of the statement struck me like lightning and I use it every now and then - more to convince myself than anything else. For I need reassurance about the fairness. I read about it all the time in law- justice, equity, fairness- all idealistic words. Their only purpose is to adorn the pages of tomes.
Why do I despair? Why do I sound despondent? Because I am tired of waiting for things to turn out my way. And they never seem to. It was not supposed to be like this.
O wretched Pandora! Why ever did you succumb to temptation and release hope?
Lightly fluttering hither and thither on her snowy pinions, Hope touched the wounded and cheered their downcast spirits. Indeed!
I sometimes wish hope never existed. Because you become complacent and lethargic and "hope" things will get better. That things will take a turn for the better and life will finally be what you want it to be. But what if it never does? What if this is how your life is meant to be and you just don't know it? What if the means justify the ends is true? What if this journey, no matter how much you despair of it, how much you hate it, how full of obstacles it is, is what it is all about? That I'll never get to the end? That I am lusting after something that I am never meant to get? Maybe, just maybe....
And this set of norms laid out for me, I feel I must conform to- what if they are not the real norms at all, but what I am adhering to out of compulsion is the real thing?
I'll never know the answer to all these questions. Meanwhile hope springs eternal.
Damn you, Pandora!

Maybe...

2007-04-26T08:24:00.000-07:00

I should just shut up. Life would be much better for everyone.

Tragedy strikes

2007-04-21T13:47:00.000-07:00

This is a homage to the people who lost their lives at Virginia Tech. I am not here to eulogize about the victims. I am not here to comment on the Asian who shot them. I don't know either party. As a lawyer I should be fair. What are my arguments if i am to be the prosecution? What are my arguments as the defense? Do I have to pick sides? I'll pretend to be Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler for now and say "I'll think/worry about it tomorrow".
Guns don't kill people. People kill people- quoth National Rifle Association and Charlton Heston. But as Eddie Izzard says the guns help. What motivates a person to take another person's life? What thought process makes it ok for him to pick up a weapon and assault a fellow human being. Certainly he has not conferred life upon him. What right does he have to taken it away? Mentally disturbed, army background, abused childhood, stress- the list of excuses are never ending.
I am reading jurisprudence right now- the theory of rights. the theory of persons. And while I was reading these vague concepts, I realized that they are archaic. They should not be. But they are. In print but not in practice. People have rights. people have liabilities. Liberty. power. Immunity. Hohfeld sure could wax eloquent.
I am disillusioned with the happenings around me. I think we take our rights and liberties for granted. The fundamental idea is that our rights and liberties exist as long as no one else's rights are being infringed or trampled upon. But we ignore the proviso. We take the enforcement of our rights to a whole new level not caring whether someone else's rights are being infringed upon. What good is this society if all we care about is our rights, liberties, power?
A right is a legally sanctioned interest. And we very faithfully fail to remember that. We morph the definition to make it a self-sanctioned, self-enforced, selfish interest.
As always, its some other happening, not as remote as the Blacksburg disaster, that made me write this piece.
It does not matter how remote or how proximate the cause -I am disillusioned with this world at large.
P.S.: There are always a few bright spots in my day/life. So please don't despair. Life goes on the way it should. Whether I approve or not. All we can do is make humble contributions by not making a nuisance of ourselves. I'll be the first to try that!

Au revoir

2007-04-19T13:22:00.000-07:00

Goodbyes are never easy. Sometimes you know you will see the person in a few months time. Sometimes you know you will never see the person again. Unless by some quirk of fate you run into them in some random place.
Some are acquaintances. Some are friends. Some are enemies. Some just occupy some physical space. Filler material I call them. With each, the goodbye is different.
With some there is no goodbye. How can you say goodbye to someone with whom you have shared so much?
The butterflies in your stomach. I know I am not leaving this place anytime soon. But others are. And I wonder what will it be like when I am leaving this place. I would have spent 3 whole years with these people. Twice the time the current "leavers" have spent. And I see them getting teary eyed. The atmosphere is charged with emotions.
I am more sensitive than others around me. What will it be? how will it be? I don't know. I wish even semesters were not so short lived. It is going to be tough.

A beautiful evening

2007-04-12T08:18:00.000-07:00

The clouds were sitting demurely in the sky. slowly gaining colour. Like a blushing girl. They were sitting decorously in the sky. Like they had been arranged there. Like some child had painstakingly dabbed cotton in some water colours of light pink, nowslowly turning blue and then black, onto the canvas. I could tell that a thunderstorm was impending.
The clouds were swept to one side. Move away- said lightning. I am here. A trident set ablaze. Spearing through the sky every few minutes. Shattering the sky into a million different pieces with the fiery trident. The cry of thunder- of pain- every few minutes....a slow response to being blown to smithereens and then being rejoined. The skies had put on a musico-drama for us mortal spectators. The celestial beings now shower praises at the amazing performance. I love this weather!

Where are all the Gods?

2007-04-10T07:54:00.000-07:00

I need a miracle. Just one. Are you listening, God? Where are all the Gods?
Just grant me this. One small voice speaking in the dark. One set of forlorn eyes. Searching. One insignificant wisp of a girl. caught in the whirlwind of this universe. Praying fervently.
What will happen?
Mr.God, this is Shalini.

Of poets and poetry

2007-04-08T00:58:00.000-07:00

this one's origin is unknown. I might have written it a long time ago. or copied it from somewhere. I don't know.

I never loved you enough
Why, I never loved you at all
Though it be more than yesterday
It will be lesser than tonight fall

Can nothing be more than nothing?
No, it cannot. So you say
But today's love is more than the day before (which is nothing)
And nothing compared to that of the following day.

Reply to "one more thing"

2007-04-05T12:22:00.000-07:00

Not an original, folks! But its lovely. And written especially for me :)

your absence has gone through me like a thread through a needle
everything i do is stitched with its color.

one more thing...

2007-04-04T07:11:00.000-07:00

There's a hole in my heart
That can only be filled by you
And this hole in my heart
Can't be filled with the things I do

-Extreme.

need i say more?

Speechless

2007-04-04T06:02:00.000-07:00

i have no words to express anything anymore. people always say that and then proceed to give you the most cliched, pithy maxim loaded speech you'll ever hear. or, they will say, i am in no position to advice you. and then instruct you how to live your life.
i make no such tall claims. i am born without an instruction manual on life. i don't know what is the "right" way to live it. i don't know if i am right or wrong. if you are right or wrong. i have no plans. i have dreams. and nightmares. sometimes one morphs into the other and gives me the heebie-jeebies. sometimes the dream starts becoming a reality and i realize that was not what i wanted. at other times nightmares come true and become my dream come true in the process.
the point i am trying to make here is that i am supposed to know more as i grow older. know what? i learn from my mistakes. but how does that help you?
there are some who are of the opinion that i haven't learnt from my mistakes. i just keep adding more to my repertoire of faux-pas. blunders sometimes. foot in the mouth. little toe in the mouth at times.
i don't appear to repent. i don't look like i am wallowing in a pool of tears shed because i am really sorry for what i have done to you. i appear to be a callous, heartless person. trampling over a million people's feelings and hearts. making them shed tears of pain at my heartlessness. to get to where i am. that when i look like i have hurt you i clap my hands in glee and jump for joy.
don't get fooled, my friend. i do repent. for every thing i say or do that hurt you. or you. or you. that was not my intention at all. u were born with a handbook for life. i am blind and get around by asking for directions and grappling the walls for support. sometimes the walls collapse. sometimes they make me feel claustrophobic.
the point is, i am sorry. i apologize. for every time it appeared i didn't care. for every time i hurt you. for every time i lied to you. for every time i caused hurt to something you care about. for every time. and all the times.
i wish i could tell you it will never happen again. but i am only human.
to all my friends.
i am not crazy. i am just not you.

Of Poets and Poetry.

2007-03-31T08:31:00.000-07:00

I attended a Kavi Sammelan last night. Yes. I do still speak Hindi. And chaste Meerut hindi, at that. I understood 99% of what was spoken. And loved 100% of it.
Do enjoy this particular piece.

Koi deewana kehta hai,koi paagal samajhta hai
magar dharti ki bechaini ko bus pagal samajhta hai
mein tujhse door kaisa hoon, tu mujhse door kaisi hai
ye tera dil samajhta hai, yaa mera dil samajhta hai

Mauhabbat ek ehsasson ki pawan si kahaani hai
kabhi kabira deewana tha, kabhi meera diwani thi
yahaan sab log kehte hain meri aankhon mein aasoon hain
jo tu samjhe to moti hai, naa samjhe to paani hai

samandar peer ka andar hai lekin ro nahin sakta
ye aasoon pyaar ka moti hai isko kho nahin sakta
meri chahaht ko apna tu bana lena magar sun le
jo mera ho nahin paaya wo tera ho nahin sakta

Ki brahmar koi kumudni par machal baitha to hangama
hamaare dil mein koi khwab pal baitha to hungama
abhi tak doob kar sunte the sab kissa mauhabbat ka
mein kisse ko hakikat mein badal baitha to hungaama

Main uska hun wo is ehsaas se inkaar karta hai,
bhari mehfil me bhi ruswa mujhe har baar karta hai,
yakin hai saari duniya ko khafa hai mujhse wo lekin,
mujhe malooom hai fir bhi mujhi se pyar karta hai.

Basti basti ghor udaasi,
parvat parvat khaalipan,
man heera be-mol lut gaya,
ghis ghis reeta tan chandan,
is dharti se us ambar tak do hi cheez gajab ki hain,
ek to tera bholapan hai,ek mera diwanapan.

en fin de la vie...

2007-03-29T08:34:00.000-07:00

at the end of life. thats the title of this post.
d'où venons nous? where do we come from?
où allons-nous? where are we going?
qui suis moi? who am i?

a whole bunch of jurisprudential questions. i haven't quite figured out the answers to them. but what i do know is the skies are dark. clouds looming large. no downpour. no respite. this is the way it is always going to be. murky waters. shallow you tell me. but i don't trust you. why should i?
the clouds- i was telling you about them. a million thoughts crowding in my head. crushing my veins. stifling. strangulating the blood flow to my brains. ideas fighting with each other to attain some tangibility (yes. that is a word!) but when the sculptor sits with her chisel to give them some concrete form they hide. where are they? did they exist? or are they merely a part of the whimsical sculptor's imagination? i don't know.
the clouds- stifle the atmosphere. humidity rises in the air. it smells like bombay. thats home for me. but this humidity is different. it portends doom. the kind of humidity you can cut with a knife. except i don't have the tools to cut it. slice through the veins of this damn humidity. slowly. with a malicious grin. a maniacal glint in my eye. the rain shall trickle down slowly. red is the color of the rain when it mixes with the omnipresent oxygen. red as the blood that might have been. except there isn't any. and when all the rain has poured down and the clouds lost all that they were flaunting, i shall breathe easy. for the air shall be lighter. and smoother. but i haven't any tools to cut this humidity. the rain that might have run down the steely edge of the knife. rain mixed with mud. the pleasant aroma. but i haven't any space for pleasant things. not until i have eradicated the clouds.
en fin de mon vie- at the end of my life. i was told the world is my mirror. i look into it and it reflects what i am feeling. does it reflect this confusion? this misanthropism? this anguish? this heartlessness? am i mirror for the world? or is the world a mirror for me? maybe the silver is wearing off. maybe the mirror is cracked. i cannot see clearly anymore. my eyes are constantly blinded by rays of light which arrive at my retina after multiple reflections.
the clouds - they gather around so that i cannot see anymore. its too dark. there is a hole in the sun. the winds are howling. they hover around me. closer. closer. invading my bubble. i can't breathe. help.
this font did not have any capital letters to signify the absence of any egotistical feelings.

Fini? Oui.

2007-03-26T06:25:00.000-07:00

I always think to myself, after every experience - this is it. Now I've seen it all. Now I am a wiser person. Now I'm a better person. Now I have experienced this as well. Until the next situation comes along. Demanding a whole new skill set. Demanding a whole new level of maturity. Understanding. Acceptance. Miracles. Demanding more smiles to cover more shards and glass pieces that sting my eyes. Sometimes I don't have anymore left in me. To give or to take. Can we just leave it be?
Useless' death brought a few things in perspective. And this is a much flogged horse. But its my blog. So deal with it!
With some people, we cross their paths for a brief moment. Well, a few days or even months perhaps. And isn't that a drop compared to the eternity of lifetime we face here on earth? And this brief moment ends up being one of the best moments ever. The smile on your face, the joy in your heart, the spring in your step. The knowledge that there is someone waiting for you when you get home. (OK, fine. Useless is a fish. But what if he/she was a person and still brought a smile to my face like he/she did as a fish?)
But now the joy is gone. And all I am left with is a few moments with my dear fish. Who will never return. All because I did not take proper care. Life is so fragile. And I let myself forget that fact. Even if it was for an instant. I made a mistake. And now I pay for it.
The loss, dear Useless, is all mine.
May you be happy wherever you are.

An Epitaph

2007-03-22T09:49:00.000-07:00

Useless passed on today.
To a better world.
Where he has unlimited space to swim in.
Have real plants in his world.
More oxygen.
Better food. Real phytoplanktons perhaps.
Better company than Ugly, Chintu and Chandi (no offence, but I don't think they were sympathetic towards him)

I knew him only for 10 days. I spoke to him a substantial bit. But he kept to himself. Somewhere deep inside my heart I curse myself. He was acting weird and jumpy over the last few days. But I attributed that to nerves rather than ill-health.
Also I acquiesced to the name Useless because I thought he wallowed in the bottom of the bowl because he was useless. Had I known then that this nomenclature would drive him to actually lie at the bottom of the pool and eventually lead to his untimely demise, I would have conferred upon him a chirpier and more positive attribute loaded name.
Its going to be weird looking into the fishbowl, expecting to see Useless wallowing at the bottom of the pool and not finding him there. I get attached to fish (and people too) really fast. I am going to miss Useless.

He got a decent burial in the rose garden. Few of my friends attended the burial. I prayed that his little piscean soul may rest in peace.
I dedicate a couple of verses from my favorite writers to little Useless.

Life is real ! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
(From A Psalm of Life by H.W.Longfellow)

Funeral Blues by W.H.Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public
doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Ok. Maybe the second poem was a little over the top for my pet fish. But I am sure if Useless had a life partner, that poem could be dedicated to Useless by his partner.
Be happy, Useless.

Piranhas

2007-03-21T05:27:00.001-07:00

Piranhas too. Though I don't think I know any. If you are a piranha, please make yourself known to me.

Sharks

2007-03-21T05:25:00.000-07:00

Sharks are good. Sharks are cute. They have nice teeth. Fish are friends, not food.

Fish!!!

2007-03-17T09:54:00.000-07:00

So I got myself 4 cute fish. I don't know what kind- two are orange and two black. They don't do much except swim in their fish bowl all day- waiting for the water to be changed every other day and to be fed twice a day. I do take care of them to the best of my ability and even talk to them- much to the amusement of my roommates. I think they are beginning to recognize me.
Call me delusional. Call me a freak. But I gain a lot of solace from my 4 friends. And maybe people may realize that I do take care of my friends. That I do value them. That I adore them. That I talk to them even when they don't understand me or comprehend the language I communicate in. That friends do not have to be similar or come from the same socio-economic or cultural background. Heck my fish and I are from different species altogether! I don't know how to swim and they would die on land. But I still care for them and they depend on me for their food and clean environment.
Do I lack good family values? What are good family values? Do my fish have family values? They probably do. Heck! I don't even know what kind of fish they are, so I am not the best judge here. But they don't care what my family values are. They are with me unconditionally.
The four of them are thrown in a fish bowl - two orange and two black. Yet, they co-exist very peacefully. They play, they swim, they eat from the same plate. But they don't fight. Even if they do have momentary lapse of insanity, they sort it out. And the best thing is that they have 3-5 second memories. They don't hold grudges.
I am swimming in a fish bowl. Do I get nice, peaceful black and orange fish with extremely short term memory for friends? For the most part, yes. I won't not give credit where it is due. But I have sharks and piranhas for company too who retain every little bit of my misdemeanors in their excellent memory.
Blood-thirsty creatures. Waiting to devour my peace of mind. I hate swimming in the deep, blue ocean. Beautiful colors, pretty shells, lovely exotic sea creatures I see. But the blood thirsty creatures I told you about- they swarm around. Sweet talking. Feasting on my time. On my emotions. On my weaknesses. Lurking in the shadowy, murky waters. And then slowly....when I have become complacent, they attack. When my defences are down. When I am least prepared.
I think I shall go back into my fish bowl with the orange and black fish again. I think I will be happy there.

Reply...

2007-03-16T14:26:00.000-07:00

This is a reply to the beautiful poem written earlier. I wont claim authorship. But I wont disclose who the author is, either. Fact is it is a beautiful response to some delicate issues raised. Enjoy...

If music be the food of love, go on. Give me excess of it! Along with poetry.

Kisi kae itnae paas hai hum

Kae door jana chahte nahi

khaie ki hum ko kya fikar

Kae kafan bandh kae chalte hai hum

Kisiko itna apna bana chuke hai hum

Kae khuda bhi use hum sae juda na kar sake

Dar jisae na ho maut ka usae koi kya dara payae

Jindagi who bhie kya jiya jo khud ko na bhula paya

Sapnae bhie woh kya joe aankh bandh kar kae na dekhe

Hum toe who musafir hai joe sapnae hakikat mae badalte hai

Woh pyaar kya jismae jindagi kae do pal kho nae sae darta hai

Hum nae to yeh jindagi kya apni rooh bhie uskae naam kar di hai

Yaar bhie mera who kya jiskae bagair mai tanha nahi

Are bheed ki kya baat bagair uskae yeh jindagi hi rusva nahi

Woh yaar kya jiski yaad mae mai diwana nahi

Are yeh jindagi kya uskae yaad mae meri saasae bhi rukh jaye toe koi gum nahi ….

I am getting new friends...

2007-03-08T07:21:00.000-08:00

Thinking of getting a fish bowl and some little fish to brighten up my drab room. What is it going to be like? I have never had pets before. So this should be a novel experience. More tomorrow.

Where art thou?

2007-03-07T07:20:00.000-08:00

I am lost. These halls look familiar. The streets look like I've walked down them before. Where do the paths lead? The corridors. The signs. The signals. They function. But none of them lead me to you. I keep wandering, meandering aimlessly along these vaguely familiar walkways. But promising as they might seem - they change tracks midway and I end up more lost than I was before.
The memories drenched in sepia. I know they exist. Perhaps thats all that remains of them. Shards of sepian dreams like pinpricks (get over it!!!) in my eyes. Hurting. Smarting. Where do dreams end? Where does reality begin? My mind has lost grip over reality.
The people look familiar. I speak to them. I laugh. Louder than I need to. To drown out the echoes of your voice resounding in my head. In my head. In my head. I don't want them around. They encroach on my territory. Breathing down my neck. Telling me things that I don't want to hear. I retract that last statement. It is that I don't care about them. They seem so inconsequential compared to you. But it is fate that I have them around me and not you.
I remember things I know you perhaps don't remember. Perhaps you do, but are kind enough not to mention. I know I do. And you are not with me today. And I wonder......

Beautiful poem...

2007-02-19T05:52:00.001-08:00

No hidden messages here... I just love it and want to save it somewhere...

किसी के इतने पास न जा

के दूर जाना खौफ़ बन जाये

एक कदम पीछे देखने पर

सीधा रास्ता भी खाई नज़र आये

किसी को इतना अपना न बना

कि उसे खोने का डर लगा रहे

इसी डर के बीच एक दिन ऐसा न आये

तु पल पल खुद को ही खोने लगे

किसी के इतने सपने न देख

के काली रात भी रन्गीली लगे

आन्ख खुले तो बर्दाश्त न हो

जब सपना टूट टूट कर बिखरने लगे

किसी को इतना प्यार न कर

के बैठे बैठे आन्ख नम हो जाये

उसे गर मिले एक दर्द

इधर जिन्दगी के दो पल कम हो जाये

किसी के बारे मे इतना न सोच

कि सोच का मतलब ही वो बन जाये

भीड के बीच भी

लगे तन्हाई से जकडे गये

किसी को इतना याद न कर

कि जहा देखो वोही नज़र आये

राह देख देख कर कही ऐसा न हो

जिन्दगी पीछे छूट जाये ..

And there is another country....Part II

2007-02-02T03:47:00.000-08:00

This is answer to a comment posted for the blog by the same name, Part I.

I have lived in a strange land. Moved there without roots, to escape things going on here. It was as if i had lived there all my life. And per se I have no problems. Give to me the life I love....and let it be in California.
However if one must discuss India or Indians thats when the concept of belonging somewhere originates. One is constantly questioned as to the roots of one's heritage. What is your last name? Where do you come from? Where do your parents come from?
And for someone like me who is "pure" Palakkad Iyer, it is not a problem. Although I abhor identifying myself by that dreaded tag, it becomes easy for me to belong. (Heaven knows I don't want to belong to them)
But what will become of someone who is , lets say, 1/2 Palakkad Iyer, 1/8 gujju, 1/8 MP, 1/4 Goan ? That is what my kids will be. Where will they belong?
Let me make one thing clear, my friend. It is not at my discretion whether I want to belong somewhere. Even if I don't want to associate myself with a certain country, or a certain region, or language or state, it is the community that lets me know whether I belong or not.
I would rather associate myself with like minded folks. Where we can assemble on a platform with only our words as weapons or as peace signs. Argue, debate, exchange opinions and learn something from each other.
But it is all very idealistic to say I belong to everything and everything belongs to me. When you see more of life, you know that at least in India, they don't let you be. They never do. Someone or the other keeps hounding you for answers to questions that they should not be asking in the first place. Answers that will not enhance their existence in any manner.
And they make you felt "unbelong" even though you never wanted to belong in the first place.
I agree with you in the sense that living in an alien country is not a bad thing. Second class citizen or not, sometimes the privacy, peace of mind and seclusion is worth it. But you have to have lived in a foreign land to know the feeling of being treated like you are nothing.
This of course happens only in places where people have very little or no exposure to foreign cultures and where literacy rates are buried in the depths of the earth's core.
So the bottom line is spread knowledge.
Tamasoma Jyotirgamaya - From darkness lead me to light.

Peace!

Jurisprudence

2007-01-14T04:28:00.000-08:00

Writer's block is a nightmare. This semester, inspiration has run scarce. One wonders where my muse has disappeared. My mind roams more widely - and returns with nothing. Where is my passion for new languages? Where are my reading habits? Where are my paintings? Perhaps the only thing that exists is my music.
This drive for learning....I would be lost without it. I must revert back to my previous blog. I am 29. And in constant fear of perishing if I am not evolving. Look at all the organisms that became extinct because they refused to adjust and adapt to their changing environments.
I was given a challenge that I must act my age (I don't know what 29 year olds act like! If you do, please leave a comment) I could not last 5 minutes without bursting into laughter or without making a silly joke.
I think i was far more mature when i was 19....and boring as hell! I studied, learnt music, and studied and read literature in my spare time! I was Ms. Exciting.
As the years have evolved, the walls around me shifted. Most collapsed. And now all that I am left with are some pseudo walls to show people I am sorta normal (I am not) and a mental person!

Oldies

2006-12-27T01:35:00.000-08:00

For the sake of this post only- I am calling my generation old and the people born say 8-9 years after me (not specifying that, HA!) the younger generation. You'll never hear me refer to myself as old ever again aftr this. Thats because I am not old! I am 19 till I die...A year older than Bryan Adams.
One hopes that the next generation is more forward in thinking. Likes to experiment. Lives outside the box. NAAAHH! Not the case here.
I have found more people in my age group willing to experiment with careers, relationships and life in general. They are less judgmental and more understanding.
The new generation has a rulebook by which they swear- You are 29. Therefore you must be married and must have kids by now.
To which I ask- "Says who, child?" They are stymied. They do not know who said so. But they are all born with rule books and therefore everything written in the rule book must be law. I'm studying to be a lawyer and can vouch for the fact that my kind earns its daily bread because laws are broken constantly.
They do not even know why the rule book says what it says. Poor creatures.
Meanwhile my generation carries on- enjoying life, creating new things, learning new things, interacting, not judging, not living life according to the rule book, not living in a box...Living Life!
I am not disappointed in the oldies. However the new generation...I hope you guys learn..and learn fast that rules sometimes are meaningless. Live according to the circumstances. Learn to mould yourself as the situation demands. And take life a little less seriously. Laugh at yourself. (Trust me...you are funny !) And don't be too quick to judge people. You never know why they do the things they do.
Kudos to the oldies!!!

L'amour

2006-12-21T10:29:00.000-08:00

Something I penned while waiting for the bus on my way home from French class- May 2006.
Its pretty cliched I admit. But it is my first attempt at writing in french. Maybe someday I will post some fresh English poetry pour vous.....Ma cherie...

L'amour
Tu est entré dans ma vie
J’ai perdu mon cœur
Tu a vole mon cœur
Quelle difference?
J’ai donné ma rire
Pour toi
Voir un soirire
Sur ton visage
Tu a cassé ma rire
J’ai pleuré
Pour toi
J’ai pris tes larmes
Dans mes yeux
Mais tu est parti
Sans moi
J’attends pour toi
J’ai rien
Sans cœur
Sans rire
Sans larmes
C’est amour?
Mon voleur
Dis moi
Mon amour, C’est amour?

Translation
You entered my life
I lost my heart
You stole my heart
What’s the difference?
I gave my laughter
For you
To see a smile
On your face
You broke my laugh
I wept
For you
I took your tears
Into my eyes
But you left
Without me
I wait for you
I have nothing
Without heart
Without laughter
Without tears
Is this love?
My thief
Tell me
My love, is this love?

Pseudo-ephedrine

2006-11-18T22:24:00.000-08:00

The effects of pseudo-ephedrine....Or some such substance. No! I am not into substance abuse. I just have a head full of cold from all the construction work going on around me. Not to mention a head full of ache due to the noise from the construction. I took something like Sudafed. Now I feel woozy. Not the best time to study law. Especially Law of Contracts.
Void and voidable contracts. Most are voidable and mistake is void. Voidable at the option of the one who is mistaken. Sometimes. Sometimes at the option of the one committing the mistake. Merely voidable. Void as to mistake of fact. Mistake of law.
Free consent. Consent that is purchased.
Mixed with some stand up comedy by Jeff Foxworthy. Red necks. Innuendo. I saw a bird flying innuendo.
Must go. Duty beckons. Before I go, I'll leave you with a thought. Except I haven't any at the present moment.
There is no difference between people and animals. We are all territorial. Not to mention possessive. And of course the female of the species is deadlier than the male. Beware.

Errata: Chicken and egg analogy does not work in the previous blog. Chicken and egg is an example of cyclical causation. I meant it is one of the much pondered mysteries of life or something like that. Ask me when I am better.

And there is another country....

2006-11-16T05:29:00.000-08:00

Should we live in an alien country as third class citizens or should we live in our motherland as first class citizens? This is the proverbial chicken and egg question. I don't have an answer yet. But I can share some views with you. Later though....Torts and Constitution awaits me right now.
Thought: Why be an option in someon'e life when you can be a priority in someone else's?

Torts

2006-11-16T03:46:00.000-08:00

People like to get things on a platter. Five day weeks for lawyers...have you heard of anything that ridiculous? No assignments. No work. No co-curricular activities. Thats voice of the people, dearies!
I am not one to talk about people. So I shall move on to my musings, shall I?
I have lost my muse for writing. And that is probably a good thing. Flowery essays tht serve no purpose- what is the point in their existence?
I can utilize my life better by studying- Torts. A twisted wrong. Ironically, I am on the topic of defamation. The very same thing I am subjected to. But when I am pushed to a certain limit, snap. Which is what people have been witnessing past few days. I don't usually like retaliating.
Focus, child. Focus!
If someone utters something that is false and lowers my estimation in other people's eyes, i can file a suit for defamation. My reputation is what others think of me and a defamation affects my reputation. Therefore all you people- beware! I am armed and dangerous.
Ciao for now.

What is a Masterpiece

2006-11-15T00:35:00.000-08:00

What is a Masterpiece?

Capture rhythm on the fiery canvas of life
Harmony shimmering through the surreal silhouette of dreams
Chisel a sculpture out of purple and blue
Paint the skies with your favorite color
Carve my thoughts into realization
Create a perfume out of dew and rainbow
Music rippling like waves through your inner being
Laughter originating somewhere deep within you
Panoramic feeling encompassing
The heights to the depths of my soul
That my friend is a masterpiece!

Article 21 of the Indian Constitution

2006-11-13T21:07:00.000-08:00

I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
-A speech delivered by Patrick Henry on March 23, 1775.

Stirring words indeed. Liberty and Freedom are expressions which have stirred many souls, inspired many mission, aroused great passion, heralded many revolutions. A Right, when enjoyed or exercised unilaterally without requiring its enforcement against another, can be called Liberty or Freedom.
The Constitution of India, the Preamble contains a resolution to secure to all its citizens justice, equality, liberty and fraternity.
Article 21 whose evolution the writer desire to trace, from Gopalan to Gandhi states:
No person shall be deprived of his life or personal liberty except according to procedure established by law.
The centre stage in a legal debate on life and liberty must ordinarily be occupied by Article 21 of our Paramount Parchment which, with emphatic brevity and accent on legality is stated above.
This article is negatively worded beginning with the words “no person”. However it forms the backbone of Part III – the fundamental rights of the constitution. It is one of the most widely discussed articles in part III of the constitution. It started off as being interpreted as freedom from physical restraint and ended up encompassing a plethora of unnamed rights under its penumbra.
Studying the evolution of article 21 was a veritable roller coaster- from meaning strictly the liberty of a person to an article that takes in and comprises the residue . The law that borrowed heavily from American precedents and jurisdiction, the law that has been loosely framed from different constitutions, developed its own meaning once applied to the Indian context.
It was interesting to compare and contrast the article in question with its counterpart in the Magna Carta, the Irish, American and Japanese Constitutions. The concerns of the Constituent Assembly became apparent. What would be apt for the Indian public? What law would not be ridden with loopholes? In what way should something so inherent as liberty be worded so as not to be taken advantage of? Should our nascent republic have access to due process? Should this due process be substantive or procedural? How can this article be drafted so that it is not misconstrued? While this article attempts to highlight the evolution of article 21 and will address some of these issues during the process, the above mentioned issues are beyond the scope of this paper.
The makers of the constitution felt that addition of the adjective personal along with liberty would pose limitations and narrow down the scope of the word liberty. It would not then include all the rights conferred upon the citizen through article 19. However now we know this is not the case. Speech, movement, expression, association- all these “elements of liberty” are so inherent in us that we cannot really isolate them from the word personal. These rights are in a way tightly interwoven within the ambit of the word personal.

More later......