The Food Cycle

“Long time no see” is what every tab on this page is flashing to me! Well, a friend mentioned to me today morning that he wanted to blog about a recent enriching experience he had. Very enthusiastically, I instructed him to blog as soon as possible before the passion of expressing his experience dies down. Having said that, my suppressed desire of writing a blog sprang into action. Suppressed due to a lot of reasons but still flickering underneath a pile of fresh experiences from our recent India trip.

The one thing we enjoy to the core on an India visit is food. Not only do we look forward to storm our favorite restaurants and road side vendors, but we also look forward to satiating our unending list of home cooked delicacies. Even though our mothers are willing to cook all our favorite food items, they slowly come to realize that the list consists of items that are cooked very regularly by them. There is no special effort required. “Arre, yeh toh mein hamesha banati hoon” (I make this pretty often) is what she says. I receive a few questionable glares, doubting my capabilities as a cook, when we announce simple dishes like poha,baingan ka bharta, kadhi, khichdi, rasam, sambar, etc. from our wish list. Its not a million dollar answer when I express that even these simple everyday items, when cooked by moms, taste fabulous. Its the perfect combination of fresh ingredients and love!

Another fact that goes unnoticed is that there is not a single time when we feel hungry! Its the constant cycle with which we are presented the food that impresses me. Few lucky ones like us have working moms striving to cook three to four meals a day, with relative ease which is beyond my understanding! So, when I am still trying to get out of bed, a glass of boiling milk is waiting for me. By the time I gulp down the last sip of milk, a steaming plate of breakfast is served on the table. Its like a magician and/or a juggler at work. While a thought of having a bath crosses my mind, my parents wonder if I will have my lunch too before a bath, like I had the breakfast. Hurriedly, I take a bath only to find that the lunch plates are ready and my mom is waiting to serve me hot chapatis. As I relax after a heavy lunch, mom is already making elaborate plans of dinner. No sooner do I recover from my afternoon siesta, a refreshing hot tea waits for me. Similarly, before I regain back from a long call with my best school buddy, dinner is ready to be served. If this is the weekend cycle, the weekday cycle is no different. Only difference would be that the lunch will be prepared and ready before mom leaves for work and all we have to do is reheat it. One would say, this is just over stuffing of food by parents waiting to pamper their under-privileged babies returning from the US. But, that is certainly not the case and surprisingly is a regular chore, repeating everyday!

I would willingly take the benefit of doubt upon myself that we do not have domestic help here and hence, should be kindly excused from this four meal food cycle. But, how many of us can even manage to cook one meal properly, everyday? And how many of us feel capable of taking up such a cooking responsibility of our own family, in the future, after handling our work pressures? Maybe our work is intellectually more stimulating than our moms, but do not ignore the vagaries of commuting in traffic that our moms have to encounter, which adds hours to their work. And like my mom says, sometimes the domestic help  is so unreliable that it is easier to assume that the help does not exist and get the work done on our own. Such perseverance in routine, despite the unreliability and busy schedule is unbelievable. Not to forget, they do not expect any help from their male counterparts, who, in some cases, have not even stepped inside the kitchen.

It was a huge coincidence that I happened to check Devdutt Pattanaik’s blog today and it had a small resemblance to my expressions. Do read his blog titled “The Talking Thali” whenever you get time: http://devdutt.com/the-talking-thali/

To conclude, an immensely stressful mom’s intention is to create unending memories for her kids which we pack and get to the US. Dedicating this post to Amma and Mamma, who have permanently bound us to their food cycle!

Business as usual

Against the backdrop of all the candle-lit movements, rallies, etc to support Anna Hazare, a small incident was taking place in Pune city. It was narrated to me by my father and I felt it appropriate to be shared with everyone.

My parents are renewing their passports and changing addresses too, since we shifted houses in between the two passports. As you all know by now, there is a police investigation when there is an address change on the passport or even when you are applying for passport the very first time. The police called my parents over to the police staton of our jurisdiction. Needless to say, the investigation is not done in one visit and my parents had to visit the police station three times in a day for one reason or the other, just to get their work done. During the last visit, my father was supposed to enter the cabin of the Inspector, the Inspector would ask him a few questions to validate our residential address and sign the documents. But of course, today, this routine was going on with one eye of the Inspector on the television set, updating himself with the daily happenings of Anna Hazare and the rallies. As soon as he signed the papers, he kept one hand on the documents and asked my father, “kiti deNaar?” (which means, how much are you giving me?). My father, a litlle shocked, looked at the TV, then at the Inspector. But, as usual, he handed him  Rs.200 and left from there with the words, “Anna Hazare Zindabad, rishwatkhori band karo” ringing in the background.

With this, I would like to pose a few questions:

• Should my father, a middle class man, who is anxious to meet his daughter in the US decline to give money to that Inspector?
• Why should he take that risk when his work is getting done by bribing the Inspector, because for him, getting his passport is much more important?

• Tomorrow, will all those friends participating in the rallies, changing their facebook profile picture to that of Anna Hazare, joining pages to “support Anna Hazare” never bribe in any situation?
• Will you be ready to pay a fine of Rs.1,500 odd and take a receipt from the traffic policeman if you jump a signal, or pay him 50 bucks and leave?

Try to answer these questions.

The questions are simple to answer but very difficult to act upon when you are in that situation. It is very easy to take part in rallies and change your profile picture, but very difficult to not bribe someone when he/she is asking for it and when you know your work will not get done if you don’t. Likewise, it will be easy to support and maybe pass the Jan Lokpal bill, but it will be very difficult to execute it. You think the current govt is corrupt, then which other party is not? Who are you voting for, next?

Corruption is not just top level, it is abundant at the grass roots level and then, at that level, are you ready to individually become an Anna Hazare? Nothing against Anna Hazare and I appreciate what he is doing for the country, since someone has to take the first step. But, if he is taking the large steps, its upto us, supporting him, to take the baby steps. Otherwise, there’s no point in supporting him, period!

Keeping this pessimism apart, I believe change will happen, but will the Anna Hazare in you wake up in daily situations like these? There is a saying in Marathi, “Shivaji janmaycha asel, tar shejarchya ghari janmu de” (which means, if Shivaji is to be born, let him take birth in my neighbor’s house). By that, I mean, are you just supporting Anna Hazare or are you ready to inculcate him in your behavior? Maybe I am not ready for that, may be you are and maybe thats the reason why you are supporting him, right?

Or is it going to be business as usual after that rally ends?

Chai time magic!

Making tea is an art in itself. It has taken us three years to finally claim ourselves the masters of this art. We have moved on from regarding tea as just another beverage made for guests to labeling it as an extract of love. It is not something that can be offered or consumed as a formality or a routine. It is an essence that is slowly brewed over time.

You might be thinking I am crazy to give a simple drink-in-a-cup so much importance. But, believe me, making tea has been more than that for us. Well, to begin with, my husband and me were not satisfied by the fact that a tea should be anything as simple as a concoction of boiling water, milk, sugar and tea powder. So, overtime, we developed a recipe for making tea, which I would love to share with all of you. Also, a forewarning; this is the recipe of a Puneri steaming hot sweet Amrutatulya type of tea, with milk, unlike the other non-milk, diluted (and further iced) counterparts. We like to begin by giving an equal share to water and milk in our tea. Also, make sugar your friend, for a while, and add about two teaspoons for each cup of tea you make coupled with one teaspoon of tea for each cup. This equal share of water, milk and religious quantities of sugar and tea are mixed together in a pot and mounted on a “sim” flame or “low” heat. Like I said before, tea is not a result of boiling the ingredients together as fast as you can. It is the result of a non-hasty, constant, slow brewing. My mother would say, more the time you take to make your tea, the more you brew, the more you express your love for your guests. Amazingly, the same stays true for relationships!

Alright, once this first, simple, but important step is over, we move on to the next step. Add freshly chopped mint leaves and lemon grass leaves to the pot. Gently stir the ingredients after every addition. Now, we believe in making fresh masala rather than adding the ready made one. So, for that, we would need a small mortar and pestle. In the mortar, add cardamom pods (with the shells), clove and ginger. Make sure that the quantity is just right for the amount of tea you make. We recommend about a pod of clove and cardamom for one cup of tea. Take ginger about the size of the topmost phalange of your index finger. Grind them together with the pestle until they are fine. Then, add them to the pot, stirring constantly. Now, all you need next is an ounce of patience! Keep stirring on a low flame till the mixture starts rising in the pot. Curb your freedom to increase the flame/heat.

Since we were great fans of the small conical glass cups used in Pune to serve tea, especially at the roadside vendors, we brought some of these glasses to U.S. from Pune. The feeling of holding these glasses by their rim while sipping the hot tea is divine. We love the glasses so much that our next investment is going to be the steel kettle and the iron stand that holds all the glasses together when the tea is served. Now, in the end, make sure to press and ooze out the last ounces of tea from the tea powder in the strainer once you have finished straining all the tea in the cup. Yes, I am a KokNastha Brahmin from Pune, but the amazing flavor of this last trace of tea is beyond any peculiar caste characteristic.

Tea fanatics is what you can call us because we love to brew our tea and have garnered our own group of tea lovers. We have also transformed a few people into tea enthusiasts after displaying our tea making skills. Nothing to boast about and no hard feelings towards coffee. I personally love the typical South Indian filter coffee made from the decoction cup, but tea will be our first love! I am sure many people from different cities and countries have their own special recipes of making tea and my next favorite tea type was the one brewed by my Iranian neighbors. Well, see, thats the thing about tea, when you make it on your own. The slow brew, an occasional stir, the fine natural ingredients, and the loving company of your tea buddies, all blend together in a way that no chai tea latte from Startbucks can match. Then be it the end of a long working day or the start of a long journey, tea is the perfect energizing companion you need!

A tribute

Who would not like to write today? Each and every Indian will be doing his bit to permanently mark today’s day in their calendar and remember it for all the years to come! So, me writing a post for today is completely justified and I want it to be as fresh as it can be!

After 1983, today, the Indian team brought home the ICC Cricket World Cup after a long rigorous wait of 28 years! Every Indian would have, by now, accumulated their best memories of the 2011 World Cup tournament that lasted for one and a half month. And since I am married to a cricket fanatic, I knew, right from the start of the tournament, that I was in for a joy ride!

And what a joy ride it was!! Full of small precious memories, never to be forgotten! It all began by unfolding the 6 feet by 4 feet flag of India and mounting it up on the main wall of our living room. Patriotism glistened in every wall of our house. Since all matches were being played on India time, they would begin at 4 am EST and then 5 am EST in the U.S. Because there was a slight chance of oversleeping, the computer and television were set up for the match and kept ready the previous night. Several alarms were set and we ensured to get up at least half an hour before the match began. Sometimes, I remember, Neeraj would be up the whole night and compensate by sleeping in the afternoon after the match got over. We had to wear the same blue tee, blue jeans or pajamas,  and blue underwear for every Indian match. They were laundered and kept ready before every game. Every match was watched right from the toss up to the presentation ceremony, not forgetting the banter of Navjyot Singh Siddhu in Extra Innings at the end! The entire audience of eight to ten people watching the match in our house was expected to be standing, in attention for the National Anthems preceding the match. This was expected not just for the Indian National Anthem, but for the opposite team Anthem as well! Mind you, it was awesome to listen to the National Anthems of all the different countries. Yet, goose bumps appeared every time we started reciting ‘Jana GaNa Mana’.

Then of course, superstitions made their way in our lives as if our sitting positions and actions will be the ultimate determinants of the match result! Neeraj had to sit in his “throne” (a $7 recliner chair). Every game had to follow this sequence of earlier night set up, toss, national anthem, ending presentation, Siddhu. All these specific superstitions and expectations confined us to our home. Although people were welcome to watch the game at our place, we never left our flag-clad-patriotic-house. Every boundary or a six was appreciated with claps and every wicket was celebrated with loud shouts. Grapes, of any color, were bought before the final match and were eaten, throughout the game, in a specific style; their skin was first peeled and then the naked grape was eaten with relish. This ensured that the grapes were eaten by ten different people and yet, they lasted for all the eight hours of match. We could have easily bought more quantity of grapes but, obviously we did not do that because it did not fit in the clause of our superstition. A leather cricket ball was always placed in Neeraj’s hand, throughout the final match, as a lucky charm. And, deep within, I would feel that India did not perform well if I was not giving them their due attention or if I was not watching the game with full concentration. So, I made a point to watch every single delivery for the semifinal and the final match (interspersed with a few unavoidable dozing off episodes).

I seldom have any fixed memories of the previous world cups, but, this one has definitely been special! It is etched, forever, in our memory. Except for the one unfortunate loss against South Africa on 12th March (Neeraj’s birthday) and the tie against England, the Indian team won every match. Their efforts were coupled with the superstitious support from Indians of every corner of the world. Finally, the wonderful journey came to an end with relentless jumps on the sofa, lots of hugs, fist thumps, claps, high fives, shouts, sore throats, and not to forget, precious tears for all the players! And, amidst all these emotions, as a tribute to this wonderful win, I make a promise to never strip the Indian National Flag from my wall. It will stay where it is and will follow us, wherever we go, in the future. This flag will always remind us of this joy ride and display our relentless support to the Indian Cricket Team, for all the days to come!

A letter that…

I have a habit of opening the window blinds as soon as I wake up, just to see how the day looks like. Sometimes, the sun just gushes inside planting in some thoughts. Thoughts of some special people, who might meet you just once but carve out a space in your heart forever. Today was the day to reminisce  one such special person.

Those were the days of 2002, when I was proud to be a part of the ever energetic Express Youth Forum (EYF), a youth group lead by the Indian Express, one of the leading daily newspapers in Pune. Half of 2002 was over and we had successfully conducted the annual intercollegiate youth festival called Verve and an annual career guidance program called Crossroads. We were all due for a well deserved break and decided to celebrate by spending a day in Mulshi. It was a rainy day in August and Mulshi was beautifully clothed in fog. The EYFians were enjoying the relaxing company of waterfalls and lush green spaces of Mulshi. One EYFian amongst us, Sarang, had just had an ankle fracture and because I was not much of a water person, decided to give him company. We were sitting by the banks of a stream recollecting the wonderful times of Verve, which is a usual conversation for any two EYFians meeting at any point in their lives I guess. Right there, when we were engrossed in our banter, another EYFian joined in. Judging by his dry clothes, I figured he was not soaking himself in the waterfall and he introduced himself by telling me how much he appreciated me sitting with Sarang in this situation when I could very well go and enjoy with the others. I was not expecting such appreciation, especially from a person I had never met before. I thought he was a new member who did not like the water and was trying to fit in the conversation between me and Sarang.

Turned out that he was a very senior member of EYF and knew Sarang very well. He introduced himself as Sushant. Since he served in the Indian Army, he was away most of the times but always made a point to visit EYF whenever he came back to Pune. Hence his presence at Mulshi. I was impressed that he even decided to spend a day in Mulshi with EYF when he had just a week off!  As any other army man, he had an amazing personality. Although he was a little shy, it did not take us very long to start a long walk-the-talk session with our wet shoes hanging by our shoulders. We spent the whole day together talking about his posting in Jammu, his work, his passion for Indian army and yet, how he misses being with his family and EYF in Pune. A constant supply of hot tea, rainy day, me not getting pulled into the waterfall, Sarang constantly appreciating my company even though he kept pushing me in the stream in between, the silent demeanor of an army man smiling at the innocent fun and frolic of young EYFians in the waterfall, and our incessant conversations on worldly affairs transformed my day in to sheer pleasure. Once back to Pune, Sushant and me exchanged addresses and promised to write to each other. He also made a surprise visit to one of our EYF meetings before he left for Jammu.

I had to get back to my routine college life in Pune. A busy exam schedule made me drift apart from EYF, very reluctantly, for a while. One day, as I was frantically reading for one of my exams, I brushed across Sushant’s postal address of Jammu in one of my notebooks. I realized how lazy I had been to have not written to him for about three months. Instinctively, I started writing him a letter to wish him a happy new year, how we miss him in EYF, recollected a few of our fun conversations at the picnic and promptly posted it the very same day. Realizing how easy and fast it was, I resolved to write to him more frequently. For that matter, I even urged my mom to remind me about writing to him, if I forget again.

And then, the unfortunate day dawned in January 2003. I was frantically getting ready for college and when I was about to leave the house, I saw my mom sitting in the living room, with the newspaper in her lap, staring at me blankly. I couldn’t understand her expression and asked her if she was feeling alright. She handed me the newspaper with great fright not knowing how I would react. What I saw there swept the ground off my feet. There was Sushant’s photo in a group of Indian soldiers with the news that Capt. Sushant Godbole had sacrificed his life for the nation.

I had met this person just once and a conversation we had did not even last for a full twenty four hours. If that news would make me so weak, I was unable to imagine the state of mind of his parents and loved ones. A few days later, me and other fellow EYFians visited Sushant’s family. I cannot even express how bravely his parents and his brother faced the situation. They spoke to us about how it all happened and showed us his photographs from school and army. No matter how many visitors they had, they narrated stories and shared photographs with every visitor. Their relentless patience and strength, even in these tender moments, was beyond a normal person’s imagination.

Just when I was looking through his photographs, one of my friends asked me if I was ready to leave. Sushant’s mother looked at me at that moment as if something struck her. “Sayali, was it you who wrote him the letter?” My heart skipped a beat right at that moment. I answered a meek yes without looking up. And then, my heart started pounding even faster. “I am sorry Sayali, Sushant was unable to read the letter and it came back to us, unopened, with all his possessions”. I had never tried so hard to hold back my tears before. Mustering a lot of courage, I looked up and my eyes met with those of a strong woman standing in front of me. A mutual understanding was struck and I left from there, with a heavy heart, and the knowledge that the letter was safely tucked somewhere, resting in peace, just like the noble soul of our beloved Sushant.

Now, eight years later, I read a blog of Rahul More who has described, in detail, the events of that fateful day when Sushant gave up his life for the nation:

http://rahul10.blogspot.com/2008/03/capt-godbole-baby-proves-to-be-man.html

Thanks to Rahul. I could understand, in detail, the nature of Sushant’s work. I was glad that I could meet Sushant, even if it was just for a day because people like him touch our lives forever. I have been striving to write and publish this blog for a long time now, since I did not want to get anything wrong or hurt anyone’s sentiments in this sensitive matter. My heartfelt sympathies to Sushant’s family and loved ones and a salute to all who lay their lives for the nation.

Home is where the woman is

Being a woman, I have always swayed my thoughts from being a full time housewife to being a working woman. And I have always felt fortunate to possess that freedom to choose.

When I came to US and spent the first one year in Purdue as a dependent, I experienced a way of life, being housewife. A typical job description for a housewife would vary depending on the different stages in life, with responsibilities getting added or subtracted at every point. If you think the tasks are mundane, then every woman tries to add aesthetic beauty to them. If you think the tasks are fairly easy to carry out, then maybe you can go ahead and try to cook all three meals of a day, everyday, to start off. If you think the tasks are very home centric and a woman is trapped forever within the four walls of a house, then try to think of the innumerable leaps that a woman takes when she migrates to any corner of the world with her husband and converts that corner into a place called home. Then it doesn’t matter if its her own house, because, she continues to do it for all the generations to come. If you just picture a housewife as a woman watching soap serials on TV, you may be overlooking the fact that she wakes up early in the morning to finish all the chores appropriately to seek this one entertainment breakout in the whole day. Even though a housewife does not venture out to work, she believes in the idiom, ‘charity begins from home’ and devotes her life to produce efficient citizens for a country, who can then venture out and put in their best efforts, in whatever field they choose. Neither does she earn anything, nor does she crib about all the overtime she puts in to clean up after a late night party. Isn’t that her job? What is she doing anyways?… is what many of us would say, but, never would we question ourself, if we ever put in efforts worth the pay we get. A woman is said to be independent when she earns her own bread, but she is considered dependent when she takes responsibility to bake the bread for herself and her family, every single day. If illiteracy forced a woman to stay at home and take care of her family, I think literacy should help us take that decision with a straight mind. ‘Keep doing something, be independent, don’t let the men rule you’ are the words reverberated by women liberation groups, but, it is up on us to realize what works best for us and our family. Liberation is when you have the freedom to choose what is the best option? To keep a crying, three month old baby at day care center with some pumped out breast milk or stay at home and provide the baby with all the warmth and care, not just for three months but for three years of his/her life. I can understand when it is inevitable for a woman to work. All the ancient years have seen women work all their life, farming with their babies on the back, etc. It might become more affordable if the woman works and brings in some additional income or it may purely be an interest of the woman. But, again, choose the best option and gain support from your family members for whatever option you choose. Feel fortunate to possess that freedom to choose.

Kudos to all the working women. Although they are excelling in the dimension of work/research, no hard feelings, a house wife is honing the dimensions of home and family so that her better half and children can explore the multidimensional opportunities in this world. All you great stay home mums and housewives, feel proud to be the women who can boast of having an option to work for your home and family. Not disregarding the helping hand that all the men offer to their women, but next time, when you ask a housewife whether she is happy doing “nothing” at home, revise that question and ask her if she is happy to do “everything”, ‘for you’ at home.

Stage-a-vu

For a little four year old, one of the first introduction to a social life is by participating in the school gathering. I am sure many of my friends, who have a kid now, will sometime look forward to this occasion. They will be the proud parents showing off their talented child to an audience full of other parents showing off their own talented kids!

A good memory and a few old photographs certainly help in flashing back all those days of our first school gatherings. I started off my school gathering career in junior kindergarten and it was a pretty daunting task to be nominated as P.T. Usha! My only job on-stage was to run with Mikha Singh from one corner of the stage to the other, carrying a torch in my hand. The torch was all decorated with colorful gelatin paper to give it the effect of a flame. Now, the only problem was my rivalry with Milkha Singh since we were sharing the same torch. He even went to the extent of hitting me with the torch, multiple times, on my head. Well, I had to complain to the teacher because no matter how much I hit back, the foam pagdi of Milkha Singh protected him. So, P.T. Usha and Milkha Singh’s fights were resolved back stage, and we somehow managed to run across the stage together.

The next year, I participated in a one act play. Now, one of the scenes in the play was such that a family of mother, father and two kids are sitting at the table and having dinner. All through the practice sessions, we practiced the scene with fake food on plates. But, on the main gathering day, our teacher arranged real sandwiches and cake on the dining table for a good real effect. As the gathering was a long event and our play was last in the list of performances, we were very hungry. Seeing the sandwiches and cake at the dining table, we decided to eat them all during our play. The only problem was that a two minute dinner scene transformed into a seven minute eating orgy! The father forgot his dialogues, and our teacher was frantically prompting us to leave the food and proceed with the rest of the play. Moral of the story, never leave children hungry before their on-stage performance!

The first grade school gathering was one of my best, with respect to the role I got to play. I was Thumbelina! The most prettiest prop was a life size three dimensional lotus, crafted by our art professor. With my frilly pink frock, I could sit inside the lotus and hold all the petals together. A breathtaking entry was to just release the string holding all the petals together. I came out of the lotus as the petals would peel off gradually. Never again did I have such a performance centered around me. A frog friend, a loving apron clad mother (who was actually one of my best friend), a charming prince (who was actually the most notorious boy in the class), a ballroom…haah! Everyone should have one such lead performance in a school gathering sometime in their life!

Then there was the nightmarish kawwali performance. Nightmarish because I fell down and injured myself one week before the gathering. I got a pretty bad bruise on my chin but a very encouraging teacher thought that the scab on my chin actually looked pretty and suited the performance! Now, if I think back, it was very sweet of her to encourage me to perform in spite of the injury.

As years went by, I slowly graduated to a musical group, since I took a lot of singing lessons. I was even attracted to a few priceless folk dance performances and now, Purdue gave me another opportunity to participate in some of their Indian cultural concerts. Not only does it get different talents together, it gives you the best of friends as you try to perform together. A tight schedule made me a silent audience sometimes when my peers performed, but it always helped me realize that the right place for me was on stage. Although, it’s always fun to be a proud audience when any family member performs, be it lil sister’s bharatnatyam or husband’s Himeshgiri!