There really is no limit to the ruthlessness of these Anglo Saxons. People have long villified the East for their barbaric modes of torture, but please, if we were indeed so cruel, then we'd have invented aerobic exercise. Apparently, unless a man indulges in exercise that results in copious amounts of sweat (blood, sweat & tears, some claim...), there is no point in exercise. It seems suffering frightens away more calories that one would imagine. Thusly, pilates, is just a pansy form of non-exercise along with yoga... which explains the severe lack of halfway doable men in any of these classes. But still, you can't ignore the benefits of the more benign forms of exercise - gentle stretches, strong inner core muscles, well being of mind and body...
But no. Sadly, it is not acceptable to leave things at that. Walking. The the most benevolent form of exercise. Reccomended for those with heart conditions. Admittedly, growing up in South Bombay isn't the best place to develop the walking habit, but I have stretched those legs since I moved to the land of heavy duty public transport utilisation, and well, must confess to a love of walking all over NYC (much to Mimi's untold horror). But, and this is a BIG but (no pun intended, so stop it!). Still, I cannot begin to comprehend the desire or belief that for it to be effective, one must consider a minimum distance of 15 miles (even better if the walking was to mutate into running).
I shudder when I think of my one and attempt and such pointless walking - a team building day in the South Downs, walking 17 miles. What is even more deeply incomprehensible, was why I hit the yes button when the email came around!! I had no answer for all those good Indians who, when informed of the event, asked in a voice tinged with confusion and concern about my mental wellbeing, 'Why?'. Damned if I know!!! All I can say, that it is cruel and unusual punishment, does nothing for team building (well, a little if you consider being dragged along towards the end!), and is utterly devoid of any thrill. No, I do NOT feel a sense of accomplishment. No, I do NOT feel pleased to have pushed myself beyond my limits. No, I do NOT need to prove anything to myself and no, I am NOT having fun! The only triumph I felt was when I overheard someone say the word 'taxi' and managed to escape with them after some 15 odd miles of excruciating camaraderie, painfully blistered feet and muscles protesting in agony. I could have smacked the encouraging faces of 'but you're doing so well - come on, just a little more, and you'll feel so proud you finished it'. Hah! I'll finish them. All those hideously healthy, uber fit Anglo Saxons. There is locomotion and then there’s transportation. A small matter of interpretation wholly ignored by a populace of phillistines. Walking 17 miles, is the latter, and therefore requires some mode of transportation invovling wheels! A matter of interpretation wholly ignored by this bloody island.
Well, think about this.... sooner or later, we're all going to DIE! And as long as I look good when I'm doing it...... I don't give a mailto:*£$@^£ if my lungs like to pretend they belong to a 67 year old smoker!
Primitive civilisations: A study in English white goods
History claims that the British Empire was the single most dominant power for over a century. A stranglehold over a quarter of the world's population, at that time, and a quarter of the world's land mass. The sun never did set on the Empire. A nation with an impeccable pedigree that defined Imperialism between the 15th and 19th centuries. Or so popular history goes.... Some of us however, believe this to be a conspiracy pepetuated on an unprecented scale. If this was indeed true, there can be no plausible explanation for the presence of archaic white goods strewn across Central London, in the year 2008. I mean, the sheer effrontery! Any civilisation that continues to support the installation of non-frost free fridges, can only be fit for slavery!! Only a nefarious plot of gargantuan proportions can explain why I am on my hands and knees crawling about on my postage stamp size kitchen floor desperately seeking a power source for the damn fridge. Why? Why??! Because it turns out that these grossly inadequate little buggers need to be 'defrosted' every now and again, to live happily ever after. Defrosted? Wasn't that dropped from the vocabulary of all civilised nations more than two decades ago? Isn't the point of a fridge the fact that it frosts? If it wasn't insulting enough to have to put up with a parody of a refrigerator tucked away in relative obscurity among other white goods, one with a quaint old fashioned freezer compartment requiring the engagement of both hands and a foot to operate, I now have to now acquire defrosting skills! Logic (reinforced by impartial opinion) says unplug it and watch the floodwaters from a safe distance... One has, however, to locate a plug in order to unplug. How mortifying is to have to admit to the belated discovery that I seem to have a freezer compartment which seems to be glued shut. Why are no listings in the yellow pages for a 'Defrosting consultant'? Surely they can't imagine that anyone else in the Empire knows a life that's not frost free? Ask any developing country - if you're fortunate enough to have a fridge, it won't need defrosting.
What kind of civilisation, except the most primitive, would permit nay even acknowledge the presence of such outmoded technology on it's soil?!
What kind of civilisation, except the most primitive, would permit nay even acknowledge the presence of such outmoded technology on it's soil?!
Procrastination...
....seems to feature on an inordinately high number of posts on this blog. I'm not sure if I should take great pride in how I have elevated this to a fine art, or crawl under the bed in abject embarrassment given the depths to which I've sunk. The realisation that I really don't have a clue on blog protocol or what other bloggers do, bothers me not one iota and given that my sub-bed space is where my landord's rejected paintings reside, I shall drive myself to new levels, seeking excellence in the arena, like the magnificent Sergei Bubka, in a field fallow of any credible competition. Hyperbole? Melodrama tinged DNA? Delusions of grandeur? All of the above? Think about this then, a stray conversation about underwear a while ago...or was it laundry? Hardly matters. But faced with an uninteresting deadline, I began to contemplate the larger philosophy around underwear and laundry. Pragmatism suggests one should have at least 10-14 days worth so clean underwear on holidays is not an issue. Naturally, if you're the type that's not averse to longer vacations.... pro rata your knickers. Then, there's the delight that comes with buying pretty lingerie. Call it enjoyable practicality - this acquisition of delectable bits. Ok. Call it a weakness that makes the women in my life, not so gently, drag me away from temptation. My name is Apara. I love lingerie. Combine that weakness with my sterling ability to procrastinate..what do you get? A catalogue. Yes, I have catalogued, very neatly (lucida handwriting, 14 point) the contents of my four drawers of unmentionables. It began as an underwear count (bottoms only) to see how many days I could go minus laundry and blossomed into a full blown excel sheet, tagging different styles (if I ever feel the need for a pivot table...)! How worried should I be??? I can see you shaking your head and asking - about owning vast quantities of undies? or actually running an inventory on them?!
In case you were wondering.........eight weeks easy. Details available on request ;-)
In case you were wondering.........eight weeks easy. Details available on request ;-)
Another conundrum...the little red dress!
Looks like it's going to be one of those days... if the problem of character wasn't existential enough, BBC World informs me that under the guise of research in health, my reluctantly yielded tax dollars are being spent by the scientific fraternity to come to the inescapable conclusion that 'Wearing Red boosts attraction'. What?!!?
Rumour has it - oh I do beg your pardon - empirical research has it, that "Women who don a little red dress before going out with a man may find their date more attentive and generous". It is now apparently a proven fact that : "Men said they would spend more money on a woman pictured in red, compared with the same woman wearing a blue shirt. The researchers say that their study is clear evidence that the colour red makes men feel more amorous - even if this is only on a subconscious level. Their volunteers were told they had $100, shown the picture of their "date", then asked how much of that money they were prepared to spend. On average, wearing red meant a more expensive night out, and in general, a higher rating of attractiveness. Women who don a little red dress before going out with a man may find their date more attentive and generous"
While I do suffer from occasional bouts delusions about my scientific bent of mind, I'm just wondering if the superior thought processes at the University of Rochester considered the fact that a little red dress might encourage generosity more than a blue shirt? Hell, a little any dress usually has the potential to loosen more than just a wallet, yes?
Then of course, there is the little matter of irony: It is the male of the species that is afflicted by colourblindness, is it not?
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/7693708.stm
Rumour has it - oh I do beg your pardon - empirical research has it, that "Women who don a little red dress before going out with a man may find their date more attentive and generous". It is now apparently a proven fact that : "Men said they would spend more money on a woman pictured in red, compared with the same woman wearing a blue shirt. The researchers say that their study is clear evidence that the colour red makes men feel more amorous - even if this is only on a subconscious level. Their volunteers were told they had $100, shown the picture of their "date", then asked how much of that money they were prepared to spend. On average, wearing red meant a more expensive night out, and in general, a higher rating of attractiveness. Women who don a little red dress before going out with a man may find their date more attentive and generous"
While I do suffer from occasional bouts delusions about my scientific bent of mind, I'm just wondering if the superior thought processes at the University of Rochester considered the fact that a little red dress might encourage generosity more than a blue shirt? Hell, a little any dress usually has the potential to loosen more than just a wallet, yes?
Then of course, there is the little matter of irony: It is the male of the species that is afflicted by colourblindness, is it not?
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/7693708.stm
Loaded question
At Guy's insistence, I have now cost C&W consultancy fees for the privelege of acquiring a work permit as it does not behove them to have an illegal immigrant as part of the client servicing team. Fair enough. I can appreciate that while it might add a certain je ne sais quoi to my persona, it might not inspire a serious level of confidence in the corporate world. Unless you were either (a) grabbing a curry from the local take out, or (b) renovating your house... HR very kindly provided me with an immigration service to get this sorted. My own personal immigration consultant. Svitlana Grib. No kidding - Svitlana's going to help me stay :). Anyway, had a lull for lunch, so thought I'd have a stab at the multitudinous forms I need to fill (in either blue or black ink!) and was skipping along at the speed of light....5.9 criminal offences - no; 5.10 war crimes - no; 5.11 terrorist activities - no; and then unexpectedly, a challenge that sent me scurrying here: 5.13 Have you engaged in any other activities that might indicate that you may not be considered a person of good character? (Yes/No If yes please provide details below)
My pen paused of its own violition even as my synapses began short circuting, in a complete quandary. Do they mean to ask whether I have engaged in the sort of activities that might be considered by some as dubious? Could I potentially not be considered a person of good character? Are they even allowed to question you on your moral fibre? Who gets to decide which 'activities' are detremential to one's character? Define 'good' in this context (I mean there unblemished, mildly tarnished, flawed but forgivable,....), Could you deny entry to someone if they had engaged in activities that might be considered deficient to good character? Is there a schedule of activities one can refer to? How loosely does 'might indicate' imply? Who's on the panel of judges? (if it's the female parent of any Bawa boy I've know, I'm beyond screwed), Am I paranoid - Should've drawn the curtains..? Are we talking Mother Theresa levels of goodness or Roman Abramovich? (Normally, that would calm me down, but I suspect his goodness has a better credit rating than mine). Christ! How is an innately honest person to handle the subtle connotations of such a suggestive inquiry? Would I be lying if I said no? Does lying count? What about taking the Lord's name in vain? Blasphemy won't get me into heaven, but I know I'm going straight to hell anyway, so it's really only a matter of being able to get back into the UK.
My pen paused of its own violition even as my synapses began short circuting, in a complete quandary. Do they mean to ask whether I have engaged in the sort of activities that might be considered by some as dubious? Could I potentially not be considered a person of good character? Are they even allowed to question you on your moral fibre? Who gets to decide which 'activities' are detremential to one's character? Define 'good' in this context (I mean there unblemished, mildly tarnished, flawed but forgivable,....), Could you deny entry to someone if they had engaged in activities that might be considered deficient to good character? Is there a schedule of activities one can refer to? How loosely does 'might indicate' imply? Who's on the panel of judges? (if it's the female parent of any Bawa boy I've know, I'm beyond screwed), Am I paranoid - Should've drawn the curtains..? Are we talking Mother Theresa levels of goodness or Roman Abramovich? (Normally, that would calm me down, but I suspect his goodness has a better credit rating than mine). Christ! How is an innately honest person to handle the subtle connotations of such a suggestive inquiry? Would I be lying if I said no? Does lying count? What about taking the Lord's name in vain? Blasphemy won't get me into heaven, but I know I'm going straight to hell anyway, so it's really only a matter of being able to get back into the UK.
Predictability
Doesn't it absolutely gall you when people think you're predictable? I don't get that as much as I do the more, you can't be serious/you're just weird look. Sort of similar to the horrified fascination elicited by a train wreck. So how exasperating is it, when you could have predicted 4 hours ago that you'd still be up at 2 am on a Monday morning, with an extreme reluctance to head towards the bedroom, even knowing you're going to feel like hell in the morning, because unlike when you were in your early twenties, your body has forsaken vocabulary combining 'late nights, bright eyed, work the next day' in the same sentence. I know this. I knew it yesterday. Last week. Last year. Painfully since the ealry 2000's actually. A veritable trend. So why the fuck am I still on this thing???? I know it. You know it. The whole world and his dog knows it - I am going to consider death a viable option tomorrow morning....
What can I say, I'm Indian - melodrama is hardcoded into my DNA.
What can I say, I'm Indian - melodrama is hardcoded into my DNA.
Alcohol and the English
You cannot live in this country and not be bemused by the peculiar relationship between the English and their alcohol. The ease at which the famous English reserve is stripped away after a few pints is nearly as spellbinding as watching David Blaine do his freaky stuff. Which leaves one to wonder about the whole reserve thing. Is it just a myth? A security blanket to cover myriad insecurities? A veil of sophistication over sexual repression? It is quite easily the strongest stereotype I've ever come across (and being Indian, that's saying a LOT!), not to mention, the most consistent. The English laugh about it in their self deprecating manner, and we laugh along with them. So why is it, that it still disappoints when I see it amongst those I know? Why would I expect them not to devolve into the stereotype. Becuase that exactly what it is - a stereotype! Yet, it's so much more. It's not the alcohol fueled hooligans or yobs - thankfully beyond my sphere of influence. It's about the people I spend time with. People I like. People I respect. You think you know them, but a few drinks, and the veil starts to slip. Not rude or offensive behaviour - just unexpected. A side to them you've never seen. Subtle facets? We all have them, and the longer you know someone, the greater the glitter, but one doesn't marinate it in alcohol to bring out it's beauty. Just realised the way I phrased that last sentence - with most people, it's an enhancement, but here, it's a stipping away of... like in a wholesale market, a discounting of anything said or done while there's a glass in the hand. Is that who they really are? Or is that who they wish they were?
So many words....
and just not enough time to lay them out... and the only reason I'm on here right now, is that I still haven't finished my homework! It's amazing how somethings just never seem to change, 20 years on, and I still spend daylight hours pfaffing around and then stay up till obscene hours meeting deadlines. Gah! Needless to say, I'm nowhere near finishing what I need to (at 5 past midnight, on what is now technically, Monday morning) so the last thing I should be doing is signing into the blog, but I'm so bored! On the bright side, my google problem has been resolved - cache issues, and my feet hurt less.. but I could still do with a foot massage (not to mention a back, shoulder, neck and butt massage), but what's pleasure without a little pain :), and it was certainly was a pleasure last night -yet another sari sacrificed to the Gods of Bollywood! But oh, so well worth it... but now I do need to engineer an event (dinner in my world is an event - that's got to be a good place to start?) I can wear a sari to between now and December. While the whole Star Wars minus light sabre/Tomb Raider effect is nothing to sneeze at, given that I only suffer attire ridden withdrawals symptoms with saris, why did I let the potential of inclement weather deter me?!?! Guess I'm more ticked off because the weatherman lied - it wasn't that cold and the heavens didn't weep... I really need to find a plan B. Or I suppose I could just get back to work... :-(
A dilemma denied...
...is a dilemma lost. While you ponder that, I shall ruminate over the realisation that my original dilemma for the day has graciously made itself scarce (and people say procrastination is pointless). I guess I was nearly as guilty of not expecting complexity... actually, that's not entirely true - what I wasn't expecting, was to be overwhelmed by it. Complacency, like London is a good place to visit.
I wish to register a complaint!
And it's not just because I have not a single share in the only company bragging profits in these grim times. Except for I'm not really sure whether I want to be complaining about Google or Pishka. If it's the latter, then the Chinese have much to answer for! Sadly, I doubt any of my geek buddies are reading this, but if on the off chance you are, for some inexplicable reason, Google is behaving diabolically! It chooses to randomly deny me access to searches before laying there inert, causing me to invoke the gods of ctrl+alt+delete. So is this google being temperamental or Pishka playing up? Either way, I am NOT amused. I do have this horrible suspicion that Lenovo is to blame - it only packs up on Pishka and not my work laptop. Bugger! How aggravating is it when the newer, allegedly improved model feels like the always ignored question from the audience?!? Any bright ideas from my beloved nerd squad? BV/Dude/Ypschita/Raoul? Someone... anyone???
How strange..
.. while I can multitask with great fervour, to the limit my xx chromosomes will allow, I can't seem to write and sing at the same time! Not to be confused with humming along or unconsicous lip synching to a silly song or even an active playback rendition to a shopping list. Actually, I err. I can write and sing (I think...), I can't think and sing at the same time. Where the lyrics and melody matter, my brain seems to be capable only of focusing on the magic that it weaves around you, cocooning you in it's sensual imagery and passionate sentiment. I also think (shall embark on gathering empirical evidence in due course), that this only happens when the lyrics are in Urdu and Hindi. Such exquisitely evocative and beautiful language, that choice is a mere illusion. There is none, but for it to drench you with it's mellifluous cadence, any inattention inexorable reined in by its alluring charm. How magical is that - to be able to have such moments of pure, unadulterated joy?
Ack!
It's bloody freezing tomorrow!! How in bloody hell is a woman do an ensemble under such adverse conditions?! Damn it to hell and back! I had visions of looking ethereal in a sari (fine! so ethereal fits me as well as dainty - I'm traumatised.. [just the sheer number of !!! should've tipped you off]...indulge me!). Deliciously cold, yet bright and sunny - what a perfectly crisp autumn day. Gah! Overrated seasonal balderdash!! If I want crisp, I'll wear a starched cotton shirt. I'm peeved now... seriously peeved. I like that word. Peeved. I am indeed. It's one of those words like smock. You don't get to say it very often, but when you do... you can't stop! Smock. Smock. Smock. An overpaid shrink could possibly make the connection that it's just a repressed way of not alluding to my deep seated attraction for Spock (think pointed ears, not babies). You can stop sniggering, the man fascinates me enough to ignore your hilarity in a deeply dignified manner.
So, Plan B. Do I go back to my baseline assumptions for Plan A viz. reverse engineer? (you can tell I'm a nerd. Who uses words like that when trying to explain that unlike conventional dressing, reverse engineer would mean you start with the jewellery and then work your way upto a level of dress acceptable for public consumption). Yes - I'm feeling ornamental.
By the way - do women, who say they have nothing to wear, actually mean it??? (and for God's sake, don't email me, leave a comment - that's what it's there for!!!)
So, Plan B. Do I go back to my baseline assumptions for Plan A viz. reverse engineer? (you can tell I'm a nerd. Who uses words like that when trying to explain that unlike conventional dressing, reverse engineer would mean you start with the jewellery and then work your way upto a level of dress acceptable for public consumption). Yes - I'm feeling ornamental.
By the way - do women, who say they have nothing to wear, actually mean it??? (and for God's sake, don't email me, leave a comment - that's what it's there for!!!)
Dilemma...
...or as one would say in benglish, I seem to find myself in a dilemmatic situation, compounded by the fact that I'm distracted by the soundtrack of Jodha Akbar, having to deliberate on what to wear to the ballet tomorrow and circulating this rather funny email from Durga (the goddess, and not your friendly Bong neighbour in Cal). No, that isn't my dilemma, just the reason for my meandering (although those of you know me better might rudely suggest that I usually always meander whenever something needs to get done.., and occasionally, well, because I can). While I'm wending my way to the point, 30 years on and I'm still unable to remember where occasion(ally) does a single c and double s or vice versa! Which begs the question, why don't they have one of those silly 'i before e, but never after c' jingles for it? Uh oh - a lull in the music (last CD of the deck), which calls for an executive decision. Blog or Ensemble? Ensemble. It just sounds so much cooler...
Collagen Mascara...
...and you thought you'd heard it all. Collagen mascara? What exactly are we competing for these days? Is it to coyly entice men with a flutter, or to outlash other women? So does that mean your eyelashes now look like La Jolie's pout? Which then begs the question... is that an attractive thing? Will it send masses of men into a frenzy torn between wanting to nibble on your eyes and lips? Does collagen even work on hair?! Weren't they supposed to be dead cells, or am I just anatomically challenged? I have trouble with ordinary mascara (alright, so perhaps I'm not the most feminine of women to stride the planet in her size 6 1/2's) (a) they look fake (b) they do clump (c) one keeps mislaying the little comb that's used to rid one of the clumps (d) the other implements used frighten me (they look like something the Marquis de Sade would happily use - and i'm not using any M de Sade apparatus..well, not on my eyes anyway!) (e) they keep bumping into your lenses displacing your glasses from their precarious perch on a snub nose). And now they're brining on mascara on steroids?
I have a confession. It is entirely possible that my perilous mascara pas a deux is a direct result of my rather prolonged possession of it. Reliable, if somewhat horrified sources till me that a new tube should be bought at least 2-3 times a year....Ahem. Unfortuantely, my loyal persona has seen my relationship with my mascara last longer than my marriage. Didn't someone wise say older is better? Or was that just for single malts?
I have a confession. It is entirely possible that my perilous mascara pas a deux is a direct result of my rather prolonged possession of it. Reliable, if somewhat horrified sources till me that a new tube should be bought at least 2-3 times a year....Ahem. Unfortuantely, my loyal persona has seen my relationship with my mascara last longer than my marriage. Didn't someone wise say older is better? Or was that just for single malts?
Poledancing
Don't think I've used this much pink since... well, ever! Not sure how I feel about it, but it's better than the pea soup, and so much more exciting than the less than subtle polka dots. Did I mention that when I was in Chamonix, we went clubbing on Saturday night - No Escape (it really felt like that after 4 hours stuck with a bunch of 20 year olds!), and I had the most surreal experience... electronic dhuchka dhuchka dhuchka dhcukha dhuchka music which is appropriate for mystic hand waving, head bobbing and disjointed gyrating...except, I had this Pole (person not object) who insisted on dancing. And by that, I mean really dancing, full on with real steps, twirls and dips - a swinging affair if you will. I have NEVER done that in a club to an artificial beat, and judging by the looks on the faces of the people in that room, neither had anybody else :). Mortifying I'm sure, but I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Hee hee - I danced with a Pole. Not that far off the title...... rotfl.
Dammit!
I was going to call it an early night, but I've now decided that while I love green, the blog now looks like an indisposed pea soup :(. Should I leave it overnight in the off chance that someone might just glance this way, and gasp! actually leave a comment? Or just change it, so when anyone does ever read the last post, they'll just feel hallucinatory? Talk about a cheap hit :)
8 o'clock....
...and aaaall's well............. fed :P. The British can truly be proud of their pork, and I'm wiling to support whatever promotional acitivity is required to bandy about the sublime qualities of the porcine Brit! No wonder pigs are always such happy little creatures, wallowing in filth, replete with their lives, curly tails quivering, perinnial contentment writ across their piggy snouts. If I knew I tasted that good, I'd look deeply satiated all the time as well!
Dabbling....
...with some ideas for stories and the inspiration has been brought on by a healty dose of online lingerie shopping - never agree to receive newsletters!! they just hook you with the prettiest of babydolls you didn't really need and then offer you one for free!! You then spend 20 minutes scouring the site for that elusive £1 thong to get that free delivery, check all the specials, and suddenly wind up with being able to get free delivery twice over.....
First sexy undies, and now the tantalising aroma of pork loins wafting from the kitchen. Truly, there is nothing more satisfying that a happily dead pig, succulent with juices flowing, a touch of mango, apricot and coriander chutney, meandering ruminatively all over your palate...bliss. It really is too much to bear, so farewell..
First sexy undies, and now the tantalising aroma of pork loins wafting from the kitchen. Truly, there is nothing more satisfying that a happily dead pig, succulent with juices flowing, a touch of mango, apricot and coriander chutney, meandering ruminatively all over your palate...bliss. It really is too much to bear, so farewell..
STATUTORY WARNING
It has come to my attention, that this blog has been relatively benign, as while it began as someplace for me to write, it sort of became an update for the masses, which meant I had to watch my more pithy comments.
Well, I'm sorry to say, that is no longer the case. I'm taking it back, and this is just fair warning to all those eyeballing, that it may contain highly improper language and sentiment likely to offend more susecptible sensibilities. Not as a regular feature perhaps, but whenever the mood takes me...so definitely not bedtime reading for the bacchas.
Well, I'm sorry to say, that is no longer the case. I'm taking it back, and this is just fair warning to all those eyeballing, that it may contain highly improper language and sentiment likely to offend more susecptible sensibilities. Not as a regular feature perhaps, but whenever the mood takes me...so definitely not bedtime reading for the bacchas.
Chingri, O my chingri...
This is ridiculous I know - 4 posts the same night. What can I say (that was a rhetorical query), I'm on a roll, this time, inspired by a crustacean or 5.....
Eeeps! A chocolate fashion show... I think I'm going into cardiac arrhythmia...!! Detachable edible strawberries - I swear that's what they said.... see, it's not really my fault that I go off on tangents. Under these circumstances, what is a woman to do????!!!! Let some dark chocolate melt on contact with body heat, obviously. I shall return.
Now focus. It's' been a while since I've done this, but it would be criminal not to...Chingri Malai Curry. Hardly a secret to anyone with a half decent Bong pedigree, but not all of us have that privilege. Luckily, you have me :). I got this receipe off my mummy, because it's one of the best things she makes which doesn't even come close to tasting of stew! As an aside, if you want to get your grubby paws on any of my Dad's receipes, you're just gonna have to buy the book. But back to the chingri (prawn to the less perceptive), it a traditional bengali curry, with coconut and is simply scrumptious! It's best eaten with rice, even though it's quite a thick jhol (curry in bengali - that's for the Hungarian) and tastes even better the day after - make that a couple of days after. But now, without any furhter ado, let me share with you...
Ma's Chingri Malai Curry
Ingredients:
3-4 tbsp Vegetable oil * 250 gm prawns (leave the tails on – well, you could take ‘em off, but any self respecting Bong will tell you that’s where the flavour comes from) * 2 Onions (finely chopped/paste. I actually bought a mixie for this!) * 1 cup thick coconut milk (the proper way to do this would be to use real grated coconut, but I’m not very proper. Neither is my mother) * 2 Green chillies (just snap in half or leave whole) * 3 Elaichi (cardamom) * 2-3 Lavang (cloves) * 1 Tejpata (bay leaf) * Haldi powder (a smattering of turmeric) * Salt (to taste) * Milk (if required)
Method:
Lightly sprinkle salt and haldi and coat the prawns (best done with your fingers – food always tastes better when not held at spoon distance. Or yes, maybe I just enjoy messing about….). Heat 1½ - 2 tbsp of oil and quickly sauté the prawns very lightly just till they start to go opaque (shouldn’t take more than 1½ -2 min). Keep aside. Heat the rest of the oil; add the onions, and 1 elaichi & lavang, crushed. Fry till the onions turn red and the house smells delicious. This can take some time, don’t rush it, but also make sure you don’t burn them. Add the tajpata, coconut milk and stir in to mix. Throw in the prawns, the other 2 elaichis & lavangs and chillies, and bring to a gentle boil, stirring to blend. If it’s too thick, add a little milk and keep stirring – a couple of minutes, and then you’re good to go… (it's meant to be a thick gravy, so DON'T make it runny!!) or as Kolkatar Didi used to say, Jompesh kore kheyyo!
But if you want to have Apara's Chingri Malai Curry, do exactly as above, let it cool and chuck it in the fridge for 2 days.... then zap in the microwave AA-HAAA MORI!
Eeeps! A chocolate fashion show... I think I'm going into cardiac arrhythmia...!! Detachable edible strawberries - I swear that's what they said.... see, it's not really my fault that I go off on tangents. Under these circumstances, what is a woman to do????!!!! Let some dark chocolate melt on contact with body heat, obviously. I shall return.
Now focus. It's' been a while since I've done this, but it would be criminal not to...Chingri Malai Curry. Hardly a secret to anyone with a half decent Bong pedigree, but not all of us have that privilege. Luckily, you have me :). I got this receipe off my mummy, because it's one of the best things she makes which doesn't even come close to tasting of stew! As an aside, if you want to get your grubby paws on any of my Dad's receipes, you're just gonna have to buy the book. But back to the chingri (prawn to the less perceptive), it a traditional bengali curry, with coconut and is simply scrumptious! It's best eaten with rice, even though it's quite a thick jhol (curry in bengali - that's for the Hungarian) and tastes even better the day after - make that a couple of days after. But now, without any furhter ado, let me share with you...
Ma's Chingri Malai Curry
Ingredients:
3-4 tbsp Vegetable oil * 250 gm prawns (leave the tails on – well, you could take ‘em off, but any self respecting Bong will tell you that’s where the flavour comes from) * 2 Onions (finely chopped/paste. I actually bought a mixie for this!) * 1 cup thick coconut milk (the proper way to do this would be to use real grated coconut, but I’m not very proper. Neither is my mother) * 2 Green chillies (just snap in half or leave whole) * 3 Elaichi (cardamom) * 2-3 Lavang (cloves) * 1 Tejpata (bay leaf) * Haldi powder (a smattering of turmeric) * Salt (to taste) * Milk (if required)
Method:
Lightly sprinkle salt and haldi and coat the prawns (best done with your fingers – food always tastes better when not held at spoon distance. Or yes, maybe I just enjoy messing about….). Heat 1½ - 2 tbsp of oil and quickly sauté the prawns very lightly just till they start to go opaque (shouldn’t take more than 1½ -2 min). Keep aside. Heat the rest of the oil; add the onions, and 1 elaichi & lavang, crushed. Fry till the onions turn red and the house smells delicious. This can take some time, don’t rush it, but also make sure you don’t burn them. Add the tajpata, coconut milk and stir in to mix. Throw in the prawns, the other 2 elaichis & lavangs and chillies, and bring to a gentle boil, stirring to blend. If it’s too thick, add a little milk and keep stirring – a couple of minutes, and then you’re good to go… (it's meant to be a thick gravy, so DON'T make it runny!!) or as Kolkatar Didi used to say, Jompesh kore kheyyo!
But if you want to have Apara's Chingri Malai Curry, do exactly as above, let it cool and chuck it in the fridge for 2 days.... then zap in the microwave AA-HAAA MORI!
Uh oh...
...the world's most dangerous weapon in now loose on the streets of Miami.
Hyperbole - you gotta love it, and no one does it better than the Amrikans and I'm not even referring to Sarah Milf Palin :P
Saved by the growl, I feel weak and in need of urgent sustenance so shall toodle off towards the kitchen to rectify this anomaly.
Hyperbole - you gotta love it, and no one does it better than the Amrikans and I'm not even referring to Sarah Milf Palin :P
Saved by the growl, I feel weak and in need of urgent sustenance so shall toodle off towards the kitchen to rectify this anomaly.
It occured to me...
...that some of you might not so graciously point out, that I just obviously have rubbish taste. No denying that said taste in literature swerves rather dangerously towards the dodgy, but I still demand that my sensibilites by protected by a minimum level of acceptable rubbish. I'll take ludicrous plots, unbelievable poetic license, abrupt endings, pendantic exhortations, hallucinatory rants, crude construction.... I'll take a lot, but not BAD writing! You have to draw a line somewhere, and I do believe it is the sole responsibility of those who publish to maintain that standard. Why in hell have those glossy magazines otherwise??? So stick that in your pipe and smoke it! (assuming they still let you smoke in that part of the world)
.....rant over
I'm back.... :) Sheesh - now there's groundbreaking news!
Where was I? Oh yes, trash! The reason for my tirade - travel reading. I'm a lightweight when it comes to airport reading, so I tend to veer towards rubbishy romances (actually, the term is misleading - for you men out there, 'romance' these days is soft porn at a minimum, just without the pictures) or murder mysteries. Well, I have been round and about a fair bit of late, so decided I'd best acquire some reading material from amazon in an effort to slash profits at the airport bookshops, especially after the malta trip when i read my first Hello! or was it OK? Well, in either case, it sucked - all about preganant women, and whether tomkats baby was dressed better than brangelina's or that fruit salad of gewnnies... i mean, honestly - who cares?!?!? what happened to all that rude gosisp about who was sleeping with whom and such like?? This is why I'll never write a novel - it'll be like Vikram Chandra's by the kilo effort, without any blooming conclusion!
The point I was making, was that glossy pictures of posh/becks and assorted bacchas don't ring my bell, so I armed myself with a slew of trash for the next time... I mean, this is published goods. Instant credibility, right? Gah! I should have know when I read, correction made an attempt to read this IITan's effort: 'India - A journey through a healing civilisation' (I had to google it coz i couldn't remember his name or the books!) which is and I quote 'In 1997, on the fiftieth anniversary of India’s independence, Shashank Mani, an IIT alumnus, organized a train journey across India. The purpose – to get a sense of how the country had changed in the past fifty years of independence, and what needed to be accomplished in the future. On this twenty-two day journey, in a specially chartered train, were 200 Indians from different walks of life – young men and women whose commitment would help shape the country’s future.
Together they made a voyage of discovery that took them from the Jallianwala Bagh in Amritsar, an enduring symbol of the price of freedom, to Bodh Gaya, where Lord Buddha gained Enlightenment; from Tilonia, and Bunker Roy’s novel experiment in village development, to Ralegaon Siddhi, where Anna Hazare has wrought miracles in terms of economic growth, spiritual fulfi lment and education.
As they travelled, they discussed among themselves the issues that bothered them as citizens, and possible solutions. They came up with ideas on how best to fight corruption and kindle a new spirit of entrepreneurship. There was a reaffirmation of love for the country, tempered by an awareness of just how much more needed to be done, whether it was in population control or in protecting the environment. In a world suffering the first signs of an ‘industrial hangover’, the developmental models discovered during the journey offered the participants new and pragmatic alternatives.
As India enters its sixtieth year of independence – and as the original 1997 team plans one more ambitious journey across India – this story is a fitting reminder of where we once were and where we need to head.'
Yep, we love being verbose..anyway, the concept seemed interesting, but the style... well, there wasn't any. Somya tried. Aashish tried. I tried. Can't remember who managed the most number of pages, but don't think any of us reached double digits. It was just the most boring writing ever.... there was just no desire to turn the page, forget the words magically leaping off and grabbing you, taking you along for the ride. Abyssmal - so we kept waiting for someone to read it and tell us what it was all about. Still waiting....
It just seems that anyone can now all themselves an author and get published. Not by Papaji Publishing either... this one was Harper Collins. Hell - didn't anyone there read it??? Did all their editors keel over and die? How could anybody who reads, allow such dead writing to be printed on pages, bound and sold as a book to an unsuspecting public? Dunno. But I managed to give away my hard earned money on some more namunaas. This time, trash too. A romance novel that was just so badly written, that not only could I bring myself not to finish it (and this was post several stern admonishments to self about paisa vaisooli), I couldn't bring myself to carry it off the plane... let some poor sod think they've found a dirty book and suffer! Share and share alike - that's what I say!
The time after, something about werewolfs because I was fascinated by Patricia Briggs (now that's a bloody good writer!) - her style, humour and language... yeah well. I'll now wait till someone recommends something, borrow it to make sure, and then think about buying.
I'm not really expecting Munro or Woodhouse. They were geniuses. The stories irrelevant - you bought the books just for the sheer pleasure of how they arranged the words. Always the correct ones, in the most incredible order, tripping over each other in their haste to be read... how many times have you had to stop and put down the book just to finish laughing at a sentence.... read it over again, and get hysterical all over again. Or just to go back and read the sentence again, for the beauty the language afforded you. But surely, to read books that seem to be written by joyless authors isn't right. And I'm not referring to their state of happiness, but just the limitless joy of words and the imagery they create. I've read newspaper articles on the current state of the economy, that are more evocative, and actually make you want to read the next sentence despite the fact your portfolio is now worth less than your battered jeans and you wish you had done that Iceland holiday now instead of in August! Where are the editors? Isn't it their job to protect the public from such atrocity? ....... or is it just me? Kismet has forsaken me after all these years to make me reach for books you can't even feel pity for? What is going on................???????
Where was I? Oh yes, trash! The reason for my tirade - travel reading. I'm a lightweight when it comes to airport reading, so I tend to veer towards rubbishy romances (actually, the term is misleading - for you men out there, 'romance' these days is soft porn at a minimum, just without the pictures) or murder mysteries. Well, I have been round and about a fair bit of late, so decided I'd best acquire some reading material from amazon in an effort to slash profits at the airport bookshops, especially after the malta trip when i read my first Hello! or was it OK? Well, in either case, it sucked - all about preganant women, and whether tomkats baby was dressed better than brangelina's or that fruit salad of gewnnies... i mean, honestly - who cares?!?!? what happened to all that rude gosisp about who was sleeping with whom and such like?? This is why I'll never write a novel - it'll be like Vikram Chandra's by the kilo effort, without any blooming conclusion!
The point I was making, was that glossy pictures of posh/becks and assorted bacchas don't ring my bell, so I armed myself with a slew of trash for the next time... I mean, this is published goods. Instant credibility, right? Gah! I should have know when I read, correction made an attempt to read this IITan's effort: 'India - A journey through a healing civilisation' (I had to google it coz i couldn't remember his name or the books!) which is and I quote 'In 1997, on the fiftieth anniversary of India’s independence, Shashank Mani, an IIT alumnus, organized a train journey across India. The purpose – to get a sense of how the country had changed in the past fifty years of independence, and what needed to be accomplished in the future. On this twenty-two day journey, in a specially chartered train, were 200 Indians from different walks of life – young men and women whose commitment would help shape the country’s future.
Together they made a voyage of discovery that took them from the Jallianwala Bagh in Amritsar, an enduring symbol of the price of freedom, to Bodh Gaya, where Lord Buddha gained Enlightenment; from Tilonia, and Bunker Roy’s novel experiment in village development, to Ralegaon Siddhi, where Anna Hazare has wrought miracles in terms of economic growth, spiritual fulfi lment and education.
As they travelled, they discussed among themselves the issues that bothered them as citizens, and possible solutions. They came up with ideas on how best to fight corruption and kindle a new spirit of entrepreneurship. There was a reaffirmation of love for the country, tempered by an awareness of just how much more needed to be done, whether it was in population control or in protecting the environment. In a world suffering the first signs of an ‘industrial hangover’, the developmental models discovered during the journey offered the participants new and pragmatic alternatives.
As India enters its sixtieth year of independence – and as the original 1997 team plans one more ambitious journey across India – this story is a fitting reminder of where we once were and where we need to head.'
Yep, we love being verbose..anyway, the concept seemed interesting, but the style... well, there wasn't any. Somya tried. Aashish tried. I tried. Can't remember who managed the most number of pages, but don't think any of us reached double digits. It was just the most boring writing ever.... there was just no desire to turn the page, forget the words magically leaping off and grabbing you, taking you along for the ride. Abyssmal - so we kept waiting for someone to read it and tell us what it was all about. Still waiting....
It just seems that anyone can now all themselves an author and get published. Not by Papaji Publishing either... this one was Harper Collins. Hell - didn't anyone there read it??? Did all their editors keel over and die? How could anybody who reads, allow such dead writing to be printed on pages, bound and sold as a book to an unsuspecting public? Dunno. But I managed to give away my hard earned money on some more namunaas. This time, trash too. A romance novel that was just so badly written, that not only could I bring myself not to finish it (and this was post several stern admonishments to self about paisa vaisooli), I couldn't bring myself to carry it off the plane... let some poor sod think they've found a dirty book and suffer! Share and share alike - that's what I say!
The time after, something about werewolfs because I was fascinated by Patricia Briggs (now that's a bloody good writer!) - her style, humour and language... yeah well. I'll now wait till someone recommends something, borrow it to make sure, and then think about buying.
I'm not really expecting Munro or Woodhouse. They were geniuses. The stories irrelevant - you bought the books just for the sheer pleasure of how they arranged the words. Always the correct ones, in the most incredible order, tripping over each other in their haste to be read... how many times have you had to stop and put down the book just to finish laughing at a sentence.... read it over again, and get hysterical all over again. Or just to go back and read the sentence again, for the beauty the language afforded you. But surely, to read books that seem to be written by joyless authors isn't right. And I'm not referring to their state of happiness, but just the limitless joy of words and the imagery they create. I've read newspaper articles on the current state of the economy, that are more evocative, and actually make you want to read the next sentence despite the fact your portfolio is now worth less than your battered jeans and you wish you had done that Iceland holiday now instead of in August! Where are the editors? Isn't it their job to protect the public from such atrocity? ....... or is it just me? Kismet has forsaken me after all these years to make me reach for books you can't even feel pity for? What is going on................???????
What is going on??!!
I feel like one of those crochety pensioners, shuffling about, you know, they seem harmless enough, but sit next to them on the bus and you get a whiff of wet dog... it's those cardigans they wear. Lethal. I was going to have a bit of a rant about the good old days, when it seemed that publishing houses actually employed editors to ruthlessly destroy any illusions of grandeur a budding author might have had. Horror stories of reject letters by the kilos, battered and bloody dreams, endless re-writing to please your editor. The good old days. These days if you can masturbate after a fashion, you're an author - all it takes is two fingers.....!! It's gotten so bad, that even trashy novels of yore seem like literary masterpieces. I would continue, but my eyes seem to be following Gandhi's credo of non-cooperation... it's been a long day and my loverly sauterne is kicking in - so shall continue my tirade tomorrow - not to worry, I'll still be as infuriated...actually more so, given how mellow I am right now :-)... night night.
Another glorious day...
....with glaring sunshine glancing of gleaming windows, a deep, intensely blue sky, and yours truly flaunting fuschia toes in white sandals in readiness to forage for dimsums in chinatown. what could be better???
Ouch...!
talk about intensive. just spent four very interesting days at Chamonix, toasting in hungarian, portuguese, russian, dutch, polish and cockney, and now everything below the neck hurts...!! if you can take your mind out of the gutter for a fraction of a moment, retrieve that slathering tongue from the floor - let me elaborate. A C&W (that's where I work) training program for 'peyshaal peepuls', that almost didn't happen (would you believe a recall message to all the participants who were selected?!). Anyway, despite hard times, the company thought the program and us good enough an investment, and 22 of us made it.... each of us thinking, jeez - 4 days with people you don't know, ugh - what a nightmare way to spend your weekend. Well, that was what I was thinking anyway....and i couldn't have been more wrong!!!
utter humiliation, burning muscles, frustration, smugness, laughter, banter, annoyance, extreme competitiveness, unexpected encouragement and support, irritation, raised voices, sense of accomplishment, new tricks, old tricks, calories, snow capped mountains, ruined manicures, group hugs, espressos by the bucketful, exhaustion, teasing, pulled hamstrings, thick accents, toasts in 7 languages, abseiling, dependencies, dancing, patisserie to die for, stress, spiders webs, blindfolds, anger, champagne, competitiveness, sunshine and snow....and that's just scratching the surface.
the most intensive 4 day training course i've ever been on, the most effective, and the most rewarding.
the highlight had to be patrick from our belgian office with his 'listen to the client, talk to the client, think with the client'... all this with his foot up to his ear, mouth and head, in a standing position!! which lead to a ridiculous challenge of the cereal box - the trick being to bend down and pick up the box with your mouth, no hands involved, and tearing a strip off the box after each successful try. how low can you go???? not low enough without putting your hamstring in a shockingly compromising position as i discovered much to the greeks chagrin as that put an end to any bending over ;-)
utter humiliation, burning muscles, frustration, smugness, laughter, banter, annoyance, extreme competitiveness, unexpected encouragement and support, irritation, raised voices, sense of accomplishment, new tricks, old tricks, calories, snow capped mountains, ruined manicures, group hugs, espressos by the bucketful, exhaustion, teasing, pulled hamstrings, thick accents, toasts in 7 languages, abseiling, dependencies, dancing, patisserie to die for, stress, spiders webs, blindfolds, anger, champagne, competitiveness, sunshine and snow....and that's just scratching the surface.
the most intensive 4 day training course i've ever been on, the most effective, and the most rewarding.
the highlight had to be patrick from our belgian office with his 'listen to the client, talk to the client, think with the client'... all this with his foot up to his ear, mouth and head, in a standing position!! which lead to a ridiculous challenge of the cereal box - the trick being to bend down and pick up the box with your mouth, no hands involved, and tearing a strip off the box after each successful try. how low can you go???? not low enough without putting your hamstring in a shockingly compromising position as i discovered much to the greeks chagrin as that put an end to any bending over ;-)
Che fatica!
you do get rusty when you haven't written for a while... who'd have thunk it.. practise, practise, practise...!! just no getting away from it.
in case you were wondering....i just got back from dropping my little piece of paper off in the 'repeat prescriptions' box, which will be ready for collection after 5 pm today....
off to chamonix tomorrow, so unlikely to be carrying laptop, but then agian, who knows... think i might change my profile picture to iceland :) now there's a happy thought. except i'm on the wrong machine.... Che fatica!! (watapainwatapain)
in case you were wondering....i just got back from dropping my little piece of paper off in the 'repeat prescriptions' box, which will be ready for collection after 5 pm today....
off to chamonix tomorrow, so unlikely to be carrying laptop, but then agian, who knows... think i might change my profile picture to iceland :) now there's a happy thought. except i'm on the wrong machine.... Che fatica!! (watapainwatapain)
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)