The Articulate & Aching Noggin....

I've realised I'm definitely NOT a "Sun 'n' Sand" person !!!!!!!!!

My lungs feel like tar soaked sponge. My nasal passages are blocked. My head is throbbing. It's been an ouch ouch day. And also an ouch day in terms of realising that blogging is becoming a habit of the past.

Jane Austen chides pretentious wives who give up their "hobbies" post marriage. I always considered this post marital/maternity syndrome a myth. When a colleague pointed out that I have been an inactive blogger for almost a year, I realised I'd over stewed my apples. Baby time led to no blog time; and voila, my applesauce turned rancid.

***

In other news, do I have new insight to share on motherhood/maternity/blah blah? No. Non. Nein.

Do I feel different? Maybe. Who doesn't? The stretch marks and floppy belly are probably going to be lasting reminders.

Do I want to talk about the maternal instinct ad nauseam? I don't think so. I love my daughter, but I'd much rather shirk the mother mantle as such. I don't wish to shrug it off, but I have little intention of eulogising it.

***

Else, my life and its hardly-have-time times go on.....c'est la vie !!!

Ambrosial !!!

 Coconut and Lemon Syrup Cake

     A Donna Hay Recipe

Another stunning cake by the Goddess of all baked goods. I dislike coconut, but this cake makes one fall in love with this humble ingredient.

Moist, spongy and zesty; it is akin to eating a lemon soaked cloud !!!

And the best part, I tweaked the recipe to make it egg less. The Australian company Orgran's "No Egg Natural Egg Replacer" worked wonders. Yay !!!

The Cheesecake Factory

Classic Baked Cheesecake 

      A Donna Hay Recipe

Donna Hay is THE definitive baker. Her recipes are flawless. She helped me create my favourite dessert, the baked cheesecake.

Ricotta, cream cheese and lemon zest baked to creamy perfection...yum !!!!!!!



And yes, cheesecakes do improve after 24 hours of refrigeration. The taste test proved that. 

Shrikhand....food of the Gods !!!

श्रीखंड 

Once again made under Aai's supervision. This traditional Maharashtrian dessert is very easy to make. 

Ingredients :

Curd - 1.5 kgs (Made from 1.5 litres of milk)

Sugar (powdered) - 3/4 cup or to taste (I prefer less sugar)

Cardamom (powdered) - 1 tbsp

Nutmeg (powdered) - 1 tbsp

Safforn - A few strands + for garnishing

Milk - 1 tbsp

Method :

Hang the curd in a muslin cloth for a few hours. Wring out the excess water. Dissolve the saffron in 1 tbsp of warm milk. Add the saffron, sugar, cardamom and nutmeg to the drained curd and mix well. 

Stretch a piece of muslin over a clean vessel to form a sieve. This should not sag. Pass the curd mixture through this muslin sieve a little at a time. Transfer to a bowl and garnish with a few saffron strands. One may garnish with chopped dry fruits as well. 

Note : To make fruit flavoured Shrikhand, add about 1/4 cup of mashed ripe fruit to the curd mixture before sieving it. Adjust the powdered sugar based on the sweetness of the fruit you are adding.

Batatyacha Kees - Shredded Potatoes with Peanuts

बटाट्याचा कीस

Made under Aai's supervision. Easy breakfast / fast recipe. This is my mother's version. Serves 3-4 depending on their appetite.

Ingredients :

Potatoes (peeled and grated) - 6 medium
Ground Peanuts (Roast, peel and coarsely grind peanuts in a food processor) - 1/2 cup
Green chillies (roughly chopped) - 4/5
Cumin Seeds/Jeera - 1/2 tsp
Ghee/Clarified butter - 4 tbsp
Curd - 4 tbsp
Rock Salt - To taste


Method :


Heat ghee in a pan, and add the cumin seeds. Add the chopped green chillies after the cumin seeds turn dark. After about a minute, add the grated potatoes and the peanut powder. Mix well. Cook on medium heat while constantly shifting the mixture in the pan so that it does not stick. Add the curd and salt and mix once again. Cover and let the potatoes cook on low heat till they are done. Serve hot.

If you are not fasting, you may add chopped coriander to the potatoes. You may serve this with some whisked curd if you want an accompaniment.

Some things make more sense now...

Metaphors

I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.

Sylvia Plath

On "1984"....

It is indeed shameful that I should peruse this George Orwell classic at so advanced an age. It is particularly embarrassing to confess that I am a student/teacher of literature. After owning a copy of the book for almost half a decade I finally managed to trudge through it.

Trudge is a very apt word for a book which is resplendent in its stupidity. This dystopic dystopia strikes one as the ravings of a closet capitalist cowering behind his "Capitalist black top hat", presenting one with a monumental perversion of Marxist/Socialist/Communist ideology. The vapid and stereotypical delineation of girls/women further manages to make one cringe at the abysmal lack of insight exhibited by the text, and its blatant gender insensitivity.

So much for 1984...I am hoping that Running in the Family by Michael Ondatjee shall prove more fruitful reading.

Gratitude....

In the normal course of life, one generally takes many things for granted. It is only when circumstances are unusual that one realises who really cares. For my part, I've realised how invaluable a person my husband is, and I am ever so grateful that he is a part of my life.

Thank you God for that beautiful serendipity that introduced me to this affectionate and ever so caring human being. It could so easily have been a miss.

Thank you !!! Thank you !!! Thank you !!!

New innings....

It is that time of the year again...when you realise another "new" year has begun. This year shall bring an addition to the family, and resolutions or not, things are bound to change. There has been/is much anxiety, but I hope April shall bring things to a successful resolution. *Fingers crossed*

Otherwise, this post is my reminder that I need to write more. There is something about putting pen to paper (finger to keyboard) that sort of makes vague diaphanous ideas more cogent and comprehensible to oneself. A mirror to the mind so to speak. A rendering that reveals what is occupying the occipital. More reading, more listening and less speaking. Mantra for 2012.

Happy new year everyone !!!

Remembering Brecht fondly...

On the Critical Attitude

The critical attitude
Strikes many people as unfruitful
That is because they find the state
Impervious to their criticism
But what in this case is an unfruitful attitude
Is merely a feeble attitude. Give criticism arms
And states can be demolished by it.

Canalising a river
Grafting a fruit tree
Educating a person
Transforming a state
These are instances of fruitful criticism
And at the same time instances of art.

Bertolt Brecht

***

A Persian proverb tells us that doubt is the key to knowledge. Descartes "cogito ergo sum" seems to sum it up. T.S. Eliot claims that criticism is as inevitable as breathing.

Questions, questions and more questions, and the answer is another question. Oh, what a happy happy world. Never definite, hence never insipid. I shall always be happy as long as I am free to ask what, why, when, where, who and how. I may not always acknowledge that felicity, but I am sure (or am I?)that my subconscious somewhere recognises that incertitude liberates me.

Amen.

On Creation

I have been accused multiple times on a social networking site called Facebook for not being "original", but merely quoting from other people.

To make my case, I quote once again from John 1:1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. After this first creator called God, so many have had so much to say that I fear my ratiocination will to a degree always resemble plagiarism.

So why not borrow from someone who said it better than me? Let me be polemic and say that originality is overrated. It does not exist. New ideas are merely a mastication of old ones. Can I attempt anything better than another permutation of syllables all previously defined and sorted by lexicographers? Also, I do not have enough wisdom to attempt being wise.

And some say wisdom comes with age and experience. As junk food has increased the mortality rate substantially, I fear we shall be deprived of many a pearl of wisdom. Till then, I shall be happy to string together what already exists.

P.S. - Social networking sites like FB are considered windows to your personality. Please make sure you invest in dark hued curtains.

Othellos in the making...

Sigmund Freud insists it is sex. Karl Marx believes it is economics that rules in the last instance. And in the penultimate instance, it is likely to be our insecurities.

When food, clothing and shelter are taken care of, what drives us are our insecurities. Everyone, is generally an Othello in the making ready to strangle an innocent/not so innocent Desdemona. Am I tall, dark, handsome, rich, poor, short, fat, pimply faced, smart, unlearned....what I think I am drives me. Some strive to better their odds, most to merely efface them. To mask them as well as they can.

Do you ever feel that someone reacted over much to something you said in general? Maybe you touched a nerve somewhere. Or there have been instances when its been vice versa.

Can one look beyond one's insecurities? Maybe. Maybe not. In the interim it might be very sapient to acquaint oneself with them in order to ensure that Desdemona lives.

The Feminist Backlash

I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat or a prostitute ~ Rebecca West

I have begun so many articles on feminist theory with Ms West's very apt quote, but it is only recently that I have realised that at a subliminal level, I was/am still wearing the feminist straitjacket.

The idea of picking up a Fair & Lovely tube, or a Femina magazine embarrasses me. I would not like to be seen with either. Simply because in theory, I am supposed to be against them. Of course, I still am against the way they are advertised, but I can no longer deny their utility.

The first is an excellent skin cream. The fairness factor is dubious, but it is the only product that soothed skin which had been irritated by the ingestion of a strong compound to expunge cystic acne.

The latter, though not exactly an exemplar of Pulitzer journalism, at Rs. 50, is one of the cheaper though still readable "Women's" magazines in India. Many sections make no sense to me, but nevertheless some articles do strike a chord. Browsing through it has its pleasures.

So should I deprive myself of these and much more simply because in theory I should be against them? Are they not products meant to shackle? I think I need to remind myself of what I have often told my students. To move beyond labels. If you label yourself, you are circumscribing yourself. Limiting yourself to a certain definition of you which may not really be you.

So yes, I read Femina, though I am no "new" woman. I am capable of reading a Jeanette Winterson as well as picking up a women's magazine. I choose to sample it all.

In time I hope not to cringe at being seen with the same. I wish to lose the urge to explain my use of these products. That, I believe, would be true freedom.

I wanted catharsis...

...basically, I wanted to use this blog to rant and rave on the last day of this year. Venting is such an important part of life, isn't it? Else, we would all be weapons of self destruction.

On the other hand, blogging about perpetual bad days is a total waste of time and e-space. No one cares, and I don't care either. Yaaaaawn...

***

I have been thinking about God. I find little time for prayer. I was devout till I lost my fear of the dark. A pity that. Now, on very fine days, I merely request him/her to curse some very select people. So much wiser than doing it to their face. It avoids so many complications, and thank God for that !!

In spite of a very sapient Professor (whom I worship and credit for all my eccentricities) being a stout atheist, I fail to comply. I agree with his take on most -isms, except this one. Infinite philosophical speculation exists on the subject, but I want no part of it. I just want to believe. It is so comforting. Like cool breeze on a warm day, or a cosy blanket on a cold one.

I plan to wrap myself snugly in my speculatory blanket and hope for the best for next year. My only resolution for 2011...optimism.

***

Happy New Year God...I hope you are reading !!! I deserve an especially good year because I am probably the only one who wished you. The rest were too busy asking for stuff.

Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?


***

Or does the dream haunt you perpetually like a nightmare? Does it constantly rattle like a break dancing skeleton in your very own very very private cupboard? Does this happen because the hoi polloi tell us to "dream big"? Visualisation is the key word here.

Size matters, but why not begin with the microscopic? Maybe like reading one poem a day to revive and rejuvenate a decaying mind that fails to find companionable conversation?

Julie and Julia anyone?

Free Fall

Can it stop? Or do you just keep falling into an abyss with absolutely no end in sight, except THE END? Existentialist thought seems predominant.

Once again, time to turn a new leaf. So many new leaves....it's like autumn every single day of the year. I feel I am burying myself in a pile of dead leaves in trying to turn green ever so often. The burden of expectations gets more and more onerous to bear...Atlas like almost.

Ironically, the Existentialist hopes. Paradox, anyone?

Only Time - Enya

Who can say where the road goes,
Where the day flows?
Only time...

And who can say if your love grows,
As your heart chose?
Only time...

(interlude)
Dee dah day, dee dah day, dee dah day
Dee dah doe day doe, dee doe day doe

Who can say why your heart sighs,
As your love flies?
Only time...

And who can say why your heart cries,
When your love lies (dies)?
Only time...

(interlude)
Dee dah day, dee dah day, dee dah day
Dee dah doe day doe, dee doe day doe

Who can say when the roads meet,
That love might be,
In your heart.

And who can say when the day sleeps,
If the night keeps all your heart?
Night keeps all your heart...

(long interlude)
Dee dah dah dah
Dee dah dah dah
Dee dah dah dah
Dee dah dah dah

Who can say if your love grows,
As your heart chose?
Only time...

And who can say where the road goes,
Where the day flows?
Only time...

Who knows?
Only time...

Who knows?
Only time...

More lyrics: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/e/enya/#share

Disillusioned with friendship....

Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person - having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away. ~ Dinah Craik, A Life for a Life, 1859

***

Oh...the loss of that comfort !!! And the horror it can perpetrate. Sigh.

Goodbye Party for Ms. Pallavi M

I recently had the privilege of being given a fond farewell by my well meaning colleagues. After they "facilitated" me with a bouquet and a book, the speech given in my honour reminded me of Nissim Ezekiel's poem Goodbye Party for Miss Pushpa T.S.

My very own "Goodbye Party" homily was just as farcical. Part appraisal, part insult, and part malapropisms, it redefined the “Send-off” concept. Indeed, we English teachers have much to applaud ourselves for. In our incompetence, we tend to convert everything into stand up comedy.

The goodbye speech evoked such strong emotions in me, that my lachrymal glands shrunk instantly and I could not produce the expected histrionics. I regret to say that I failed to shed a tear.

In hindsight, I wish I had recorded the momentous event. I am sure that that is the important stuff you share with your grandchildren.


Goodbye Party for Miss Pushpa T.S. :


Friends,
our dear sister
is departing for foreign
in two three days,
and
we are meeting today
to wish her bon voyage.

You are all knowing, friends,
What sweetness is in Miss Pushpa.
I don't mean only external sweetness
but internal sweetness.
Miss Pushpa is smiling and smiling
even for no reason but simply because
she is feeling.

Miss Pushpa is coming
from very high family.
Her father was renowned advocate
in Bulsar or Surat,
I am not remembering now which place.

Surat? Ah, yes,
once only I stayed in Surat
with family members
of my uncle's very old friend-
his wife was cooking nicely…
that was long time ago.

Coming back to Miss Pushpa
she is most popular lady
with men also and ladies also.

Whenever I asked her to do anything,
she was saying, 'Just now only
I will do it.' That is showing
good spirit. I am always
appreciating the good spirit.

Pushpa Miss is never saying no.
Whatever I or anybody is asking
she is always saying yes,
and today she is going
to improve her prospect
and we are wishing her bon voyage.

Now I ask other speakers to speak
and afterwards Miss Pushpa
will do summing up.


                                    ~ Nissim Ezekiel





About The Poet :

Goodbye Party For Miss Pushpa T. S. was written by Nissim Ezekiel, one of India's foremost Indo-Anglian poets. He was born in 1924 and was educated in Mumbai and London. He produced several volumes of verse and plays and was an art critic. Ezekiel died in 2004 at the age of 79.

Most of Ezekiel's poetry is for adults, as it is serious and quite difficult to understand. In this poem, however, Ezekiel uses simple Indian' English. Here he is making gentle fun of the people who cannot speak English properly by including in the poem common mistakes made by speakers whose mother tongue is not English. There are grammatical mistakes, strange arrangements of words and phrases and idioms which are direct translations of expressions in Indian languages - they all sound very odd in English. The poem is in the form of a speech made by one of Miss Pushpa's friends. It should be taken in the spirit in which it was written.

Courtesy : http://www.english-for-students.com/Goodbye-Party.html

Discontent...

..that is what I feel, all the time. What am I doing? Where is life going? Why am I so tired all the time? What do I want to do with my life? Do I have the motivation to see my resolutions through?

I think it is time to find out. There is no other choice left.