When the clouds were parted for an instant by the sun....

                  Monsoon was the most awesome time of the year during school days. For one thing all the canals surrounding my house overflows and it becomes very difficult to distinguish the road from the water bed and schools get flooded and therefore there wouldn't be classes for most days. I still remember a day when classes were dismissed as the principal's office got flooded and he had to sit on the table for the next few hours. Its also the time when i get to meet the limbless creatures (you know who), who owing to the circumstances starts traveling through the road turned pond. Till i got my cycle i had to walk all the way to school. So there comes this day which is extra wet and roads are extra flooded and teeny weeny me with my 10kg school bag wades through the road, jumping through all the dry spots trying to find a way without hurting the fishes and tadpoles now enjoying their new grey home. It is thundering and lightening and i get super scared. Their is not a soul in the road except for the occasional vehicles. Then i glance at the road running parallel to mine on the other side of the canal and who do you think i saw....nah its nobody interesting but my class teacher. But the sight of her then was like rain in desert.....well not really as the rain is the villain here. She smiles and looks at me every other second. So now we are walking on parallel roads, to the same destination, exchanging silent assurances and smiles. That was the day we became friends (she is just out of college and is young enough to be my sister) which lead to my going for tuition at her home and got attacked by her dog...well that is a story for later.
                    After geting cycle, rainy days were disaster at first...since i didn't know to balance the cycle with one hand while holding the umbrella in the other. I hated rain coats. For one thing mine was all big and made me look fat, and it was made into a shirt and skirt instead of a single long piece of plastic, which made it all the more difficult to manage.But after long days of practice, boy didn't i manage the balance act. Nothing could stop me after that....neither the strong winds nor the roads with deep pits.Even though i end up getting all drenched and cold, those moments struggling with the umbrella , cycle and traffic, moving through narrow roads, praying not to loss balance and occasionally losing breaks and running into fish sellers, those were the best monsoons of my life ( i crashed into the cycles of 2 fish sellers, 1 in the morning and 1 after school, on the same day once).

Radha and Krishna

                                     
                                     No I don't have any intention of narrating stories from the puranas. Indeed the love between the Hindu deity Krishna and his love Radha is portrayed as the most romantic couple in poetry, paintings and what not. But the Radha and Krishna I know personally are my maternal grandparents and if reciting the name of Radha is as holy as that of Krishna, then my granpa is for sure going to heaven. He calls my granny atleast a thousand times each day. Their's was an arranged marriage even though my granny likes to think otherwise. From what the early black and white photos conveys I am pretty sure that both were stunners in their youth. From now on granpa is K and granny is R. So K is the most volatile and stubborn person I have ever known in my life. For eg I will take you to a conversation between K and A,
K: R, did you see my umbrella.I kept it open right here.
R: Somebody might have kept it in the stand
K: Noway. I kept it right here for it to get dried.
R: I am busy in the kitchen...please look on the table or in the stand
K: But why would anybody take it? It is my umbrella. I am sure I kept it right here.
Me( storming out of the room tired of hearing the conversation) : What is going on here?
R( taking the umbrella out of the stand): See it was right here. Why can't you just look.
K: Well I kept it their only...why should I look here.
Me: FINEEEEEE
                                  R is literally the epitome of peace. She is calm, composed, extremely loving and caring. K in his 70's is still smart and healthy with not a trace of pressure, sugar or so called old age ailments. He gets up at 4am with R, goes for his daily morning walk at 5am. R in the mean time will be busy in the kitchen and finishes lunch with atleast 4 currys by 7am. K by the way is a retired engineer and R, a retired teacher.K is an obsessed dog lover and our home used to have 3 dogs, 2 cats and a parrot once upon a time. Born as a pet dog to K is something every dog will wish for...indeed it is something even some of my relatives and friends wished for. The dogs are pampered by  K to that extent that at times if I happen to be in the viscinity while he is serving the lunch for dogs, he would cordially invite me to  help myself with the mutton biriani that is prepared exclusively for dogs. The breakfast for dogs includes milk, biscuits and every other delicacy he can think of. And if at all some relatives settled abroad asks him what they should bring for him when they come home, he asks for dictionaries and encyclopaedias on dog care. K always names the dogs Raja,Rani and Judy. Even if one is replaced by a new dog , he or she gets the name of his predecessor.
 Let me take you to another conversation between R and K,
The conversation is taking place in the kitchen where R is preparing the biriani for dogs and K is supervising.
K: Raja didn't show any interest in biriyani yesterday..You shouldn't boil the rice too much. And  i guess you                                        didn't season it well yesterday.
R(murmering to herself): As if they complain. Dogs are to be treated as dogs not guests.
K: You never boils the rice to the right texture... see it is getting sticky.
R(to herself): Why can't you make it on your own and serve your babies...why bothering me.
Me (a mere spectator of all this) : I wish i could be your dog in my next life.

Fairy tale love

                                      I belong to the tribe of people who believe in fairy tales, happy endings and ever afters and I am sure that the more intellectual class does believe us to be silly...may be girly types or dreamers. But then what about all the artists and writers? If they never believed in happy endings, all we would have is stories that ends in tragedy. So I belong to the most important class of the society. It makes everybody feel good,to read a book that has the perfect anticipated ending where the reunion of hero and heroine occurs.But that is not how it always ends in life (moreover one love story is never the end these days).I think it happens so only for those couples who write to ponds age miracle valentine's special contests or reader's digest contests. Last day I watched a tv show called ' I-Propose' in which a guy makes all these preparations to propose his girl friend like getting a diamond ring, booking the perfect venue with musicians and flowers and a gorgeous gown. The theme was fairy tale and he being a cop, was least expected by his gf to do all that. Anyways to make the story short I watched it all ( secretly admiring the guy and wishing if I had somebody who would present such a big diamond ring) and shed tears with the bride to be on her happiness...well the least I could do was this. 

                                      Now searching for pages of love in my life book, I find some truly romantic (one sided) stories. As far as my memory goes, my first encounter with the opposite sex happened in my kg. The first day in school after the break when i returned to my teeny weeny chair i found an alien bag instead of mine there. I looked around and then a small boy (shorter than me) appeared out of nowhere and started staring at me. here goes our conversation.
 me: Whose bag is this?
 he: It is Rahul's.
 me: Where is Rahul?
 he: Rahul is here.
 me: Where?
 he: Here.
 me: Can you just point to Rahul?
 he (pointing to himself): This.
 me: U are Rahul!!!
 he( just a nod).
 me: Why didn't you tell me so?
 he: Rahul told the bag is Rahul's.
 me(pulling my hair): Alright just take away your bag and give my chair back.
 he obeyed.
 I don't understand why some people doesn't use pronouns. For them I, me, my all tends to be their own name. Weird!

...continues

                  I usually travel in ladies compartment for reasons apparently unknown even to me.I know what you are thinking...for security reasons right. No. I don't believe that the other compartments pose a security threat to ladies. The reason might be that I don't have to be self conscious. Some people(men) stare as if i am from a different tribe.If i am in a mixed compartment (where the ratio of men are greater), I either shield myself with a book and pretend to be in deep reading or sleep with my head resting on my bag(in my lap).Otherwise I stare to eternity through the window.When ever I look around for a change, i catch someone staring or someone catches me staring and it feels very awkward.
                 I guess the railway entertainment department (if something like that exists) read my mind and installed televisions on either end of each compartment. And it did help...now all i have to do is get a seat facing the television and enjoy the old movies. And only the intercity had this development...more reasons to love the train. But all this good girl stuff happens only when i travel alone. When i travel with friends....well we are the trouble makers. We look around catches all the love birds within...make fun...tell tales...laugh out loud and what not.For reasons unknown after a few months the televisions were removed.  
                 The first time i traveled alone was when i just joined the college. It was terrifying. May be because it was the first time i was going to a big city all alone. I didn't know how to get out of the station...catch an auto or give the directions. I literally forgot the use of tongue. Going from a station that has just 2 platforms to one that has 6 was confusing and scary. But i soon learned it all. Now it is my parents who wonder how i find my way around the traffic and people. 
                 So back to the ladies' compartment....it is exhausting. I even felt dizzy once owing to the lack of oxygen. The daily going employees and students add to the rush. The seats are 3 seater but one can find atleast 5 ladies stacked in one pushing this way and that. The aunties comes to you and say 'please adjust' and then if you do, you will have to take the full responsibility of being crushed, plastered to a side wall or thrown out of the seat. There are times when i had to sit in a space that wouldn't even hold all my 5 fingers...and that is how i acquired my balancing skills. Once in some what such a situation when i was crushed by two fat ladies on either side and covered up by others standing so close, i decided to lean to the front and read a book balanced between my knees. After some time i realized that something like flakes was pouring down from above ( no it was not a pleasant feeling like snow fall i see in all christmas based films). I looked up but since i was covered by two chattering women it was dark and  i couldn't see the origin of it. It continued and at some point I managed to find some light and discovered that i was being showered upon all that time by peanut shells by the two women. They were crunching down the peanuts and were dumping the waste on me!!! they were almost finished...so there was nothing much to do than brushing it away. More of my train adventures will come to you but now i think is the time for a kitchen war.

Rails not taken...

               My favorite poet is Robert Frost. My love for his poems started from 3rd standard since i recited his famous work 'Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening'. Later in one of my high school English classes I learned 'The road not taken' which has been an inspiration to me from then. I love his poems for its illustrative quality. I am adopting a slight variation of that title to share my train travel experiences.
                 Since my college is in a district far from mine I stay in hostel and visit my home only when i get atleast 2 days off. I HATE BUSES. Hope that statement did not hurt anyone's feelings.Trains and me are friends even before I started telling ma or pa....well the evidence is a couple of pics of me with in cute little frocks sitting in my fathers arms with my thumb in my mouth. But now that i think about it, i feel that i don't hate all buses...just the ones that have cushion seats and closed windows and are meant to be more comfortable. I love the rickety ones with wind passing in and out freely and the ones in which one has to hold on to a pole or seat for his or her dear life. Otherwise chances are that you either get thrown out of the window or door (well doors are just imaginations) or you get crushed by some fellow travellers. It is exciting and adventurous. But trains are the Gandhian version of buses...calm and not dangerous as buses. Moreover you can walk around and even enjoy the scenery if you get a window seat. But i should warn you. This happens only during working days and never on a weekend.

                                             
               I will explain. I am in love with the intercity train. I only travel in that even if i get a train that reaches early.It takes almost 3 and half hours either way.During working days the train will already be there at the station....so I go an hour earlier gets the ticket and get to choose my seat as it will be almost empty then.But if it is a friday the train will only come at the right time and from the fly over the platform will look like a swarm of bees...all black heads...even if i go before an hour there won't be any use. When the train comes what happens typically is the "SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST".One might even see the old lady who was in wheel chair so far, running and pushing to get a seat. And by chance one feels like getting involved unless he/she is good in kungfu, karate or the like..it is likely that they will end up with a blackened eye or a lost shoe. Anyways so after one or two experiences, i decided to go home only on working days.
         

...continues

                         It is nearly night and my pudding is getting cooled in the freezer....but i had no patience to wait so long and for that matter i had it hot from the pan....hmmm it was heaven (and hell as my tongue almost got steamed). I  think my inventive hormones are raging. But let me tell you I find all the cutting of veg parts totally not connected with cooking or rather my experiments that all the chopping  process is done by my granny. Some of you might wonder where my mom is...she is at work and is pampered by granny to such an extend that she doesn't cook unless the situation badly demands it. I am bored of sitting at home.I am going to take a walk along the road to the small stationary shop next-door and buy some veggies. I remember seeing a chaat masala packet in the refrigerator...maybe i'l make an aloo chaat this time. To be frank i have no idea what it looks like or how it tastes. Who cares.
                          With half kg of small round potatoes and a little small talk with the shop owner, (which indeed led to my getting a free lime juice)  an old man who always smiles, i head back home. Grans and ma  are watching the new reality show on demand, grandpa talking about his ailments to air(he is past 70 and is healthier than me but finds himself quite inferior in that context. He claims of having all the sickness ever discovered by medical science starting from gas trouble to cancer) and my bro doing circus with a plastic chair. I find the kitchen inviting. Alright i think i'l boil the potatoes first....i drown 2 potatoes in water to boil..Smash it as if it is my worst enemy....and 15min later i am left with half fried potatoes coated with all the masala powders ever discovered including the chaat masala. Usually what i do at this point is taste it and troubleshoot it but this time i have something else in mind.

                         In our 5th semester at college we had an industrial visit trip that covered Bangalore, Mysore and Hyderabad and that's when i first tasted all the north Indian stuff. With every snack they will have a piece of lime and some onion rings in the plate. Why don't i give the lime twist to my recipe here (it was devil who gave me that idea as in cartoons where you  see a red one near your ear whispering things). I squeeze half a lime into the dish. Yup it is done. I make some rotis next and takes a generous portion of the curry and heads back to the dining room with a smart look on my face.
                        Grans is truly amazed by my cooking skills. She asks ' dear child where did you learn to make such things'. Well i just brings a modest look on my face and smiles humbly. The first bite.............................i feel like THROWING UP...good heavens!!! it is very limy and sour and everything it shouldn't be. Thank God nobody felt like tasting it. Now i should find a way to dispose it without anybody noticing. As if to take a glass of water i make my move to the kitchen again and throws it all in the waste bin...coats the rotis with ghee and sugar and heads back as if nothing happened. A quarter of the lime would have doe the job...it is not good to be generous always i realize. I think i need a break. Too much experiments can make one light headed..... I retrieve into my humble abode with a book in the hope of falling asleep and dream of all tasty food on earth....WITHOUT LIME.

Sweet success and sour disaster

Holidays are when I get the kitchen all to myself to conduct my experiments while my poor grans do the less important chores like making the dinner. Let me check out the refrigerator and find out what are the raw materials available...Hmmm nothing interesting.One thing I shouldn't forget to mention is the strong support my family provides for my experiments. They don't freak out when i spoil a lot of things which when put together in the right quantities could have been edible. This doesn't mean that i waste things or that most of my experiments are disasters. The only way you can prevent that is by working on your sweet tooth. I'l elaborate...if you are somebody who has only entered the paavan kitchen to take a plate or search for chips, the best way to start experimenting is by preparing sweets. The best thing about sweets are that even if something goes wrong in the preparation, it will be sweet and you will be able to 'consume' it.So this evening all i have are milk and eggs. And if the first thing that comes to your mind is to make a pack out of both and nourish your already over nourished skin, let me tell you....GET OUT of the kitchen....you will kill food.
                  All i can think of now, to satisfy my sweet tooth, is to make a super quick marble pudding. But you might want to know the origin of my cooking habit. Well I am not quite sure when this plague started....maybe as with all the monotony of the 2min maggi made me commit this balaatkaar (as in the movie 'three idiots'). Anyways since then i never looked back or stopped.I just started by mixing up different foods which often ended up in the great recipes of the future.

                              
                 Now I am going to molest my egg...yes beating it up as if it is my worst enemy.In goes the milk. I can indeed think of dipping some breads into this and making some toasts...but no i will never deviate from my mission...ie, mission marble pudding....which is mission possible. And for the quantity of things...their comes the advantages of being a partial electronics engineer. This is when I remember the lab sessions in which i troubleshoot the faulty circuit with all the resistors and capacitors i can put my hands on and still preventing any fireworks from happening.The moral is that it is all an assumption and one thing i will never do is give up or lose hope....well maybe till the examiner literally throws me out of the window.
              So the next thing i need is sugar. Oh no I got another work to do...Mission powder sugar and all it takes is a trrrrrrrrrr in the mixer. Now is the time to ask my little brother if he wants it taste like vanilla or some other essence...He says vanilla. Easy where is the teeny weeny bottle of vanilla essence. Bad luck!!!! its empty. Never mind...remember the lab, when you don't have 25k resistor use one which is nearly the same.So all i do is take out some aromatic cardamom...remove the rinds and crush the seeds. In goes those black sweetums. Next is the most difficult of all the jobs...caramalising sugar...but you know what it is worth the effort. The sight of the crystal white cubes turning golden yellow and then deep brown is an experience. I butter the pudding tray which can be any pan...caramalise the sugar in it...pour in my mix and let it steam for sometime. A fact worth noting is that we don't own an oven...hence all me cakes and puddings are steamed which makes it more healthy and soft. Now is the long wait for my cutie pudding to be fluffy and turn into a semisolid jelly like texture. I am gona watch my favourite series 'castle' in the meantime...tata...