Sinful delight

It's a fact that V & I have always been complete foodies with utter disregard to calories and bulging waistlines. The only thing that was a saving grace so far was our combined dislike for anything sugary and sweet. Now that stands changed.

When and how we discovered our sweet teeth, we don't know. But we suspect it's some time between our wedding vows and those innumerable lunch/dinner sessions right after them. It has lingered since then, and two and half years since May 2005, our outlines have seen radical changes.

So on yet another aimless Saturday morning wanderings yesterday, we ran into this at Tottenham Court Road - Traditional Belgian Waffles steaming hot, topped with loads of fresh whipped cream. This post is a tribute to that wonderful waffle that went down faster than a wink, and will always remain one of the best street-food ever tasted. Amen!

The London Diary - 1

Posts wrote and saved. Published much later.

Well, we moved. Again. And this time, to an entirely different continent.

It's pretty cold in London, I was told. On september 26th, 2007, at 7 pm, as I walked out into Level 10 of the Heathrow Airport Parking Lot, my face hit the crisp autumn air with a defiance. It was 12 degrees, and an unusually cold day, but Edis, our friend from Cyprus, thought it was just another unpredictable London weather day. With him at the wheel, the drive from Heathrow to Basildon took 2 and half hours amidst a blocked M25, but in those hours, I learnt all about Cyprus.

Earlier, standing in the long queue at the Immigration, I noticed several pairs of blood-red eyes. Hyderabad, from where we took off, had had a nasty bout of conjunctivitis. And some thought taking a flight out of the country with blood-red eyes would not necessarily put others at risk of infection. "Don't rub your eyes if you've touched the railing," hubby warned. But I've always been a leaner, and railings are for leaning...and I caught the infection. On the way from the airport, I could feel my eyes burn. But I guess I was just too excited to be in a new country to sulk about an infection, so it eventually subsided within a day with a little bit of help from a mighty dose of eye drops.

We stayed in the hotel for a month, apartment hunting in the meanwhile, and also looking for good ol' south-Indian restaurants. And so it happened that East Ham became our weekend town, with Saravana Bhavan being a second home. The first time we had a south-Indian meal there after a 4-week staple diet of fish&chips and rissotto, my hubby and I refused to even look up from our thalis. The food disappeared down our throats in minutes, and promises were made to treat ourselves to this atleast once a week.

It's November now, and we've found an apartment. The first day, we moved in, boiled milk, had chocolates for sweets, and found a place for our Ganapati. The second day, we went to an Indian store, bought groceries and a wok, came back and settled for our first home-made meal. We are settling in.
Gloucester Park's just a few mins walk from home. Here we had a feel of Diwali on Guy Fawkes Day. Here, I saw the best Fireworks display ever, sitting on wet grass, on a small hillock, cotton candy in hand.
Another day, I decide to walk along the quaint bylanes and discover a library. Overjoyed, I enter and ask about the registration charges. The lady at the counter is so so so kind, and tells me to just have a look around. I do, and without realising it, I sit for an hour at the reading table with a guide book on Essex. I return to the counter and tell her I love the setting and the book collection, and ask her again for the registration fee. She smiles, and tells me that this is just one of the many council libraries, and the services are completely free. "Now would you like to join?" And so I joined a library.

I have been blissfully out-of-work for 4 months now, and I am running out of patience. Being employed means having a routine, and I cannot function when I don't have a routine. X-mas and New Year is just around the corner, and England's having a holiday season. It's just not the recruitment season, I am being told. So now my days are filled with exploring Gloucester Park and London, going on random bus rides across London city, enjoying the double-decker view, sitting through gut-wrenching documentary on Crime Against Humanity at the Imperial War Museum, trying out Carribbean cuisine, hosting friends, catching up with lost friends, and writing out-of-mind blog posts. With no apt endings.

one world, one voice

Memories from childhood pop into your head when you least expect it. They stay there for a while, make you smile, ponder, relive, and then disappear...while you pine to have them back.

I was in the balcony when I heard the koel cry...a mellifluous, silvery koo-hooo. I stood rooted, as something flashed through my mind. Childhood holidays in my native place, far away from urban chaos, where apartments had not taken away tree space, where birds were not relegated to the suburbs. When the koel cried out, my mother imitated it. And then, my little brother and me followed.
A pause, almost as if the koel was testing us. But there it was again, another koo-hooo, and we followed,... back and forth, till either we tired or the koel...

Today, as I stood in the balcony, I didn't want to imitate. A relatively new neighbourhood, what if I embarassed myself? What if it didn't koo-hooo back, and I stood there, sheepish, with people from other balconies giving me the 'look'?

Nevertheless, it did cry out again, perched lightly on a high branch of the ashvattha in the park; I wondered, was it teasing me? Before I knew it, I heard a few more cries, and this time from the the ground. Children, cricket bats on the ground, stood looking up, waiting for the koel to open its mouth again. The moment it did, they followed, and then the bird shot back...this koo-hooo exchange was gaining momentum!
Vanity could take a walk, I gave in and koo-hooed along. And very soon, it looked like the entire neighbourhood had nothing better to do than play games with a lonely bird!

I couldn't make up my mind. Was the bird having a good time, or the humans? Maybe both. And for a brief while, they spoke one beautiful language. Koo-hooo...

autumn

what was...

(left to right): Long way home; the temple entrance, the temple interiors; the nadumittam; pennamma chechi and me

...home.

now, memories remain. and occassional visits.

brahmamangalam. vaikom district. kerala.

the ancestral home is taking new shape. brand new tiles form the roof. new red oxide on the floor. the nadumittam (central courtyard inside the home) stays. and so does achamma's secret room under the pssst.

pennamma chechi is still there. i hug her tight. she used to be my lifeguard everytime i jumped into the pond, and many moons ago, she even looked over my dad's swimming experiments in the pond. she is not a blood-relative, but she is family.

"your teeth has no hope, why can't you ditch that tobacco?" i cajole her. "after all these years? podi," she laughs. "where's your better-half? i couldn't meet him the last time," she whispers to me. she meets him and blushes. "malayalam arriyio?" she asks me, not him. "korrachu...he does understand though," i tell her. "ahh...that's enough. it's your duty to learn his speech." i give her a pursed-lip look, and she grins back.

many summers ago, school holidays in in my native kerala. there was no television, no video games, and certainly not even the idea of something called the internet. what made those days so memorable then? red ripe mulberry, squeezy mangoes, baskets of jackfruit, boat rides to vaikom, morning-afternoon-and evening swims in the pond in front of the home and behind it, and how-to-make-handicrafts-from-different-types-of-leaves lessons from appappan (= my grandfather). achamma was always the strict one. she had 12 grandchildren of all ages and moods, all sizes and varying taste buds. how she managed to keep us all satiated, i still don't know.

now, all that remains just a pretty memory, not just for me, but for them too. i wonder how many pennamma chechis and achammas are sitting by the verandahs in their homes, talking about that one's tantrum days, and this one's dysentery days. go hug them if you know them.
it won't just soothe your souls, but even theirs. :)

roots

liquid sunshine

6.00 am. Wake up to the sound of drizzle and blissful earth scent. Put on shoes, run to the park for a wet jog. Splash puddles. Watch that tiny drop from the leaf hitting the ground. Remove footwear, feel my feet on moist grass. Walk to the ashvatha, settle under it, and wait for the rain gods to unravel. They relent.

Smile on my lips...my love affair with the rains continue...

on a lost trail...

I have been waiting for the pictures of this trip for the last seven years! When they finally arrived recently, I relived those four adventurous days...

It's the trip that got me christened smallix. That's what happens when you travel with a bunch of Asterix fans-turned-drifters, and you happen to be the youngest amongst them! Aimless we were, with a one-way ticket to Coorg, and in the overnight journey from Bangalore, excitement took over the blood in our veins. Misty morning. We get off the bus, and rush towards a chaya-kada. We even downed some hot crispy dosas, and then ventured forth... to nowhere in particular! There were nine of us...of all shapes and sizes, of all moods and characters. M - the ecology freak, Re - the corporate whizkid, Ani - the art guru, Shis - creativity is his second name, Sum - the globe trekker, Shas - the saint, Hafe - the laughter-spreading ayurvedic doc, Laksh - the long-haired, dead-grandma-hunting dude, and Me - the smallix!

At the local bus station, we have a huddled meeting. Where to next? There's an unused forest bunglaw right behind the hill next to Talacauvery, informs our source. With a little bit of pull, we could be the first inhabitants there in a decade. That piece of news brings cheer, so M and Hafe rush to the nearest PCO to make that most important call. Ten minutes, and they return, the mirth on their faces revealing all. How do we get there? We take the first local bus to Bhagamandala, located about 33 km from Madikeri. Government and private buses are available on all of these routes frequently, and we take the first private bus we get. There are only a handful of localites on this early morning bus, and since Laksh is not happy with the bus driver's choice of music, he treats them to an earfull of Iron Maiden. The peace and quite of the countryside comes crashing down, people in the bus have no clue what hit them!

Bhagamandala is situated at the confluence of two rivers, the Kaveri and the Kanika. A third river, the Sujyothi is said to join from underground. The temple here, built in Kerala style, has smaller shrines dedicated to various gods. We take the trekker's route up to Talacauvery. It's 8kms up the hill, and at the end of it, we find the abandoned forest bungalow. There's a watchman residing nearby, in a small tiled home. He, his wife, their little son, and their brat of a dog live there. The bunglow is far from decrepit, but quite a ramshackle. The taps in the toilets has run dry, and the mattresses on the cots seem to have had rats as guests all this while. Tiles way above my head, red-oxide under my feet, and dense forest all around. The watchman's wife comes in, points to the well outside and a bucket nearby. "This should suffice for your early morning rituals." There's silence in the group, and finally, someone says, "welcome to the lost world." We don't sleep that night. We soak in the silence, and the rustling of the trees. Laksh sits staring out of the window, a beedi in one hand. "What are you thinking," someone asks. "I'm looking for my grandmother's ghost."

We spend the next day trekking up another hill, stop at the Talacauvery temple, and have simple rice, rasam and cabbage palya at a shed hotel nearby. Was it the hunger? Nah! The food really did taste divine! We head back to Bhagamandala the next day and decide to go to Kushalnagar, home to the Tibetans, Nisargadhama, and plenty of other surprises...Instead of getting off at the bus stop, we get off much ahead in the highway. Walking aimlessly, we bump into Bhojanna, sloshed beyond his wits, in a drunken stupor. "Where are you kids off to?" We are looking for a river, we reply. "Come, I'll take you there." I can't imagine what made us follow him, but follow we did, for the next 3 kms. Enroute, we see the ruins of a temple, replete with carvings and pillars, green meadows, and children floating tiny paper boats on flowing streams on the sideways. We realised it may not really be a bad idea to follow a drunkard afterall. But nothing prepared us for the sight that lay ahead.

Around 6 elephants, 2 baby elephants, and a bunch of boys bathing them on the banks of the river Kaveri. It took us but a few minutes to hop, skip and ruuuun to them. We get talking to the boys, and we realise we are in Dubare, the elephant forest camp. Seven years back, this camp was still a hidden spot, untapped by commercialism and no tourists. Playing with the elephants, and bathing in the river was joy unparalleled, and a dream come true! Meeting Prajna Chowta was interesting. This lady had given up a glorious career and life in France, and had settled down in this Indian countryside to care for elephants! Yes, inspiration did come knocking! From naturalism to orientalism. The radiant gold of the pointed Buddhist temples are visible from a distance. The warmth and camaraderie of the Tibetans is endearing as we go in. The colors, the patterns, the monasteries, and the little monks, their smiles and even the dragons on the walls are all enchanting. I miss snow-capped mountains, but as I close my eyes, sitting cross-legged inside the monastery, listening to the chants - it doesn't matter. I am in Tibet. Later in the evening, we walk back to the highway and stop at a small restaurant. Hot akki-rotis with red chutney fill our stomachs. There's nothing much to talk now. We have had our four days of riot, and it will be a long while before we can even think of something better to come. It's time to take that bus back...

P for Pondi

At 10 am on a Friday morning, the weekend mood is just about setting in. During my autoride to office, I tell the driver to slow down and get a grip on his steering. I am not in a hurry, I yell at him.

The cell phone beeps, and it's K. "You want to go to Pondi today? I just thought we should make this impromptu plan and show our onsite husbands that we can loaf around too," she quipped.

And that's it! K and me found ourselves on a train to Chennai at 6 that same evening. Tickets? Well, God Bless the agent in K's office and those who created the Tatkal scheme. Saturday morning, 8 AM saw two hungry and famished souls digging into irresistible idly sambar at Saravana's in Chennai Railway Station. At 9, we were on a green bus that had its driver, conductor and front glass scream - ECR Express.

The ECR Express highway is touted to be one of the most scenic highways in the country. With the sea on one side, and meadows on the other, the route truly is a sight to behold. There are plenty of attractions enroute - DakshinChitra, Mahabaleshwar, Crocodile country - but all that would have taken us time, and K and me had just one destination - Auroville.

7 kms ahead of Pondicherry city, the bus came to a screeching halt, and the driver barked at us to get out. We hopped out to find the little gali ( = lane) that takes one to Auroville. We took an autoride straight into the heart of the village, 2 mnts away from the mesmerizing Matrimandir. The Center Guest House is one of the oldest guest houses in Auroville, and it has what every other guest house in Auroville has - friendly dogs! My weekend was made!!!

We hired a moped, and spent the next 24 hours roaming around the village. Dug into the authentic french-style chocolate mousse like we were seeing food for the first time in life! Late in the evening, the Australian lady called us over for meditation and a silent walk around the village. Silent Walk? Well, at 8 PM, Auroville resembles the dead of the night...and a silent walk is no mean task! K and me sat on the stone benches under the Banyan. Little diyas kept at the root of the tree shone like fireflies in the night. The silence was deafening.

On the bench nearby sat the Japanese lady. Next to her were the Italians, the Austrians, and so on... Perhaps, that's what makes Auroville - auroville! So many countries under one Banyan!

A walk by the sea next morning, and shopping on Mission Street brought us to the end of our impromptu Pondi visit. We headed back to Chennai in yet another rickety Green Bus, just about made it on time at the station, and plonked ourselves on our berths.

A 36-hour journey for a 24-hour stay? Well worth it!

guess who dropped in!

Pleasant morning, cool breeze, I simply had to open all the four balcony doors at home to let in the fresh air, much against the wise warnings from the better-half. It was also one of those rare mornings when I had the urge to cook, so off I went to the kitchen to whip up some breakfast, while the hubby went in for a shower.

I'm standing by the stove, breaking eggs over the pan, when I get that strange feeling that someone's staring at me from up close. I turn around, unsuspecting, and then freeze.

In my kitchen, right behind me, very close to the fruit basket, was a nice little monkey family! The father, the mother, and the child (hum do, hamare ek!), all three happily lolling around, as if they'd just landed in wonderland!

I knew not what happened next, but there was someone screaming, and it took a while for me to realise that the voice came from deep within me. Hubby pops his head out of the bathroom, and sees me running out of the kitchen, foolishly unarmed, in hot pursuit of a little monkey who flaunted an apple in one hand, and a potato in another! Before I knew it, the tide turned, and that little monkey started chasing me!

By now, the parent-monkeys had decided to ransack the kitchen, while the little monkey kept me at bay. Hubby decides this is a job for a man, and walked out of the bathroom, dripping wet, but towel in place, and my wonderful old antique wooden chair in hand. But, tch tch...the monkeys refused to accept that on this day, the chair was meant to chase them away. They accepted the chair for what it was - and took the seat. "This is why I've told you a thousand times that we need a broom stick in every room at home! And the fresh air can come through the windows from now on," bellowed the hubby.

The neighbors woke up to the commotion. Our 70-year old owner aunty knew all this chaos could'nt have been the mere handiwork of homo sapiens. The 70 years had definitely rendered her wiser than us, and she marched into the house, a 7-ft bamboo stick in hand, and a pluckiness that only grandmothers can boast of!

Very soon, we got to see the pink round bottoms scoot out of the nearest exit, but not without taking my fruit basket as a souvenir of their chaotic trip to the human house.

I can see them from my window now, sitting on the tamarind tree, scratching their bums, and pricking lice out of each other. Every once in a while, they chase the dogs away from the garbage bins, in the hope of finding some food there. What else can they do when their homes in the forests have been grabbed away by us careless human beings...

Ahem, on a lighter note though, I get my fresh air through the windows now. Sigh ~

???

I almost let the first six months of this year go by without a single post!

Not happening!