Of culinary blunders and evolvement

A major chunk of my single life saw me feeding on my home-made instant noodles, pasta in white sauce, pizzas, ham sandwiches or an occassional whole meal when I felt that craving for rice (which all rice-eaters do, once in a while). Verbally, I knew how to cook whole Indian meals, but had never had the need to practically cook them. Whenever I used to visit home, ma used to pamper me with all my favourite things and I never used to show any interest to cook. Ma was there. Maybe I took cooking too much for granted then.
When I quit my job 2 months before marriage, the prime aim was to go home and learn some cooking from my mother (who cooks heavenly meals, btw). My husband-to-be was quite picky about food, I discovered, and he had a great taste in the things that he chose to eat. The brilliant cooks at the officer's mess had literally spoilt them with an overdose of 5-star rated food. But then, things never work out exactly like we plan... well, not always. The time just before one gets married is usually a time when everyone is busy pampering the bride-to-be. So, not to mention my ma not letting me enter the kitchen (lest I should burn my hands or cut my fingers just before the d-day), practically each day, there was an invitation from our neighbours, friends or relatives, right upto a week before the wedding day. So, my plan to learn cooking from my mother went kaput.
After our wedding, the in-law's kitchen was actually not a good place to experiment my culinary skills. My chinese turned out more like indo-chinese and my italian like mexican. So, just like a good daughter-in-law should, I decided to stand there, assisting the ma-in-law with chopping the vegetables or making tea, or helping her open a certain jar...in short just watch and learn. in-law, I did that and nothing else.
After we reached Jammu (where my husband and I are based right now), both of us started eating at the officers' mess until we set our kitchen. But when I first started cooking, the first meal I cooked turned out to be horrible. The rice was overcooked, the dal was still hard and settled at the bottom while water gathering on the top and very less salt and too much of turmeric, the vegetable had lots of salt and got slightly burnt...the only saviour was the zero-oil chicken (learnt from mother-in-law). I just didn't know if it was the result of trying so hard to cook a very good meal for my husband or the fact that everything looked so new and unfamiliar in the kitchen. But the fact remained that when I lay that horrible food on the dining table that fateful noon for lunch, tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt so sorry that the first meal I had cooked for my husband at home had to turn out this way. Nonetheless, hubby ate the food without a word...just enough to satisfy his hunger. I knew the food was bad... even I couldn't eat it. But he just didn't utter a word. The next meal was no better either. Hubby still didn't complain....just ate lesser and lesser. He would just make an excuse that he wasn't so fond of that vegetable or that particular dal just didn't suit his stomach. Slowly after two days, I started getting a hang of things. I began concentrating more on what I was cooking and how I was cooking them. The permutation and combination and my feminine instincts made the taste of things improve. I noticed husband going in for second helpings. That was such a relief. I knew I was on the right track now. Slowly I started reading and following recipes from magazines (thank you FEMINA and GOOD HOUSEKEEPING) and from the internet. Today after 2 months of tried and tested experiments, I can proudly say that I can cook nice whole meals for 10 people with ease besides rustling up hubby's favourites in a jiffy.
And then ofcourse, I can always pick up the phone and ask my ma & ma-in-law for those special tips. Those two numbers are now on my speed-dial list.

Hey, I'm back...

Here I appear again. Seems like ages...it has been quite a while, actually. Now blogging would be more regular. I finally have access to internet. Catch u soon...

The SUNSCREEN Song

Everybody's Free
(to wear sunscreen)

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of '97... wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be IT.

The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience.

I will dispense this advice... now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.

You are NOT as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts, don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't, maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't, maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary.

Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself, either. Your choices are half chance, so are everybody else's. Enjoy your body, use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance. Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you never know when they'll be gone for good.

Be nice to your siblings; they are your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography in lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard;
live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you'll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

I can never fail to get inspired by this song... time and again...

This Valentine's...

I was so so happy just after being back on terra firma from my Goa trip... really refreshed and energetic. And then something snapped again... I don't know what! No, its not because I'm back at work again.. I can live with my work, without squirming, for atleast another couple of months. Its that sinking feeling again... the blues...(and no, I'm not pms-ing, either).
I feel I just couldn't care less about dressing up... about how I look... I don't feel like talking to people around... When someone comes to me to chit-chat I find it so intruding, I can hardly stop myself from snarling at them. I find all the funny jokes really annoying and silly... I don't feel hungry more than once in 24hrs... I have problems sleeping at night and I can only manage to catch on some sleep by the wee hours of the morning. I am restless almost all the time... I feel like smoking but when I do, my throat feels like its rotting inside... All the hype about the Valentine's Day isn't helping too much either. Suddenly I feel so old that it almost seems I belong to a different century... like I've been around forever. And yes, those men... they all seem so wrong... Will somebody please tell me where the right ones are? if they were there at all?? or have they just vanished into thin air when I wasn't looking??? Forget about men, but what is it that I'm looking for? I know I'm longing for something thats really close to my heart... something that I'd go to any extent to get hold of and then hold onto, but I don't know what it is... My heart longs and hurts and I can feel sensations which I never knew, existed.
Maybe I'm suffering from schizophrenia... maybe I'm just Goa-sick... maybe I'm in love... Maybe I'll never know the difference before this dangerous feeling goes away and I become my happy, carefree self again...
Happy Valentine's to all, anyway...

The SUN and the SEA beckons

The cold-waves doing their rounds in making Delhi winters chillier than ever; the lazy sleepy sun who seems to peep out of the sky not out of willingness but as an obligation to mark its daily attendance; loading yourself with layers of thick woollens making your 'to-die-for' figure and 'sense of style' sink rapidly below zero-level (no, those hot micro-minis with leggings and pointy-boots don't keep you warm enough); the zest to go out and do so many things that could have been done during the whole day only if you could've managed to drag yourself out of that cozy mink blanket in the morning; the same old boring job; the same ol' faces that you see day in and day out; the urgency to invest your hard-earned money into all kinds of tax-saving plans and policies; the oh-so-irresistable 'end-of-winter-sale' all over the city when you feel like buying everything but cannot (remember? those bonds, insurance policies and provident-funds to secure your future); all your dearest friends either on a long vacation or just caught up with their share of mundane jobs... just name it and believe me, just about anything can be reason enough for me to hate the winters. I am anything but a winter person. The winters depress me to no end and I'm at my gloomiest, moodiest and crankiest best (read worst). I generally try to retain my saneness by escaping to the seaside and soaking in some sun to rejuvenate myself in the winters. But unfortunately, I could not manage to escape to Goa (my favourite destination) for this last Christmas and New Year's. So you can imagine, I have been at my snappiest best at the slightest of provocation, to anyone who had dared to try any of their wisecracks anywhere around my close proximity.
After shouting at the office-transporters for their consistent inefficiency, snapping at about 50% of my colleagues from the team and then profusely apologising for being rude to them for no reasonable reason, first trying to convince my boss then confusing him to the extent of him approving 10 days of paid leaves for me (of-course with sufficient amount of emotional drama and also managing to shed a few crocodile tears... a la Bollywood ishtyle), giving the office tax-consultant a piece of mind for wrong tax-deduction from my salary, and being enquired by a third guy-friend if I am about to have my periods for such foul mood-swings, I am finally leaving for my favourite destination tomorrow early morning to get myself plenty of fresh coastal air, to catch on a lovely tan and to devour my favourite sea-food-cusines and to get sloshed with all those intoxicating port-wines. A week of carefree hippie-life with no connectivity with the rest of the world... a time when I can paint myself all over with the exquisite colours of the carnival... to be with people who are complete strangers but ones who make me feel I belong. For only by doing so, I know, I will be at peace with myself. My beloved beckons and I have to go... for old times' sake... for heavens' sake... and for everybody elses' sake. Amen!

My new-found Passion

I am a hard-core foodie. I confess I like eating everything edible, except for 'kardhi-chawal' and a few oil-and-spice-laced Indian dishes on a regular basis. But given no alternatives, I can manage to eat that too. My strongest guess says its a genetic trait passed on from my dad. Anyone who sees me eating unashamedly is usually shocked and amused by the quantity I can consume at a go and the amount of satisfaction that reflects on my face and eyes after I relish a meal. But to everyone's surprise and mine, my appetite and consumption capacity does not reflect on my physical frame at all... thank God! So I was saying, being fond of eating, I obviously like cooking and experimenting with various recipes. But there would be conditions attached... like I need a sparkling clean kitchen with enough moving space, fully equipped with all the right utensils and ingredients.. sharp knives, et al... a nicely stocked refrigerator and a never-ending supply of water. Oh, did I mention my (culinary) mood and the comfort-level of whose kitchen I'm using?!
So, the first place which qualifies my basic requirements, is my friend-Jeena's kitchen. Of-course my mom's kitchen would have been my first preferance (only if she was not always in a hurry to rustle up meals for the family and the ever-welcomed guests), but that's almost like a far-from-real fantasy, I have realised over the years. And my own kitchen? Well, if you really have to know, it is only equipped with the basic requirements of making fast-food... like the baking and grilling kinds and full-course meals only once in a blue moon. Excepting the occassional cooking at Jeena's, naga-cuisines at Naro's (my friend from Nagaland) and home-made food from my colleagues at the work-place, I more-or-less survive on zero-oil, zero-caloried grills, bakes, steams and boils on all the other moons. So, over these years of my stay in Delhi I used to consider 'cooking' as the last or second-last priority in the to-do list of things during my weekends. Takeaways, pastas, pizzas, sandwiches, fruits & salads, steamed vegetables and boiled/poached eggs, though dull, are re-assuringly time-efficient staples of my daily diet. So, the only times I really relish eating my-kind-of homemade food, are the times I visit home and feast on my ma's (mostly dad's) cooking. Oh by the way, my dad is a better cook than my ma and all he needs to take over the kitchen and prepare yummy meals to fill up the dining table, is just a little mention of how much I miss his chicken-curry or duck-roast or any of the sticky-rice dishes that he specialises in.
Anyway, being bored of what I was eating here all this while and being recommended by the doctor to eat proper home-made meals after I fell ill sometime back, I resolved to do some real-time cooking on a daily basis in my very own kitchen. I learnt some easy-to-make recipes from my ma's collection, some naga-delicacies from Naro and a few yummylicious recipes from Manju Malhi's show-Cooking Isn't Rocket Science shown on NDTV Goodtimes. My belief about cooking full meals being a waste of valuable time, was disillusioned as I started to enjoy the process. Rather than being the dull utilitarian practice I imagined, cooking I realise, is the most creative of all art forms. And there is something deeply satisfying about taking separate ingredients and creating something new and unique, which pleases the tastebuds and hence instantly devoured.
The great appeal of cooking lies in the touch-feel-smell therapy. The sensation of chopping, slicing & stirring... the smell of crushed garlic and green chillies as it simmers with the olive oil, finely diced onions and chopped tomatoes... the varied natural colours of different vegetables combining into a multi-coloured dish one main colour of turmeric overpowering them all... and the final touch of fresh coriander leaves garnishing a dish... are all so glorious and demands one to be engaged in that 'cooking moment'.
Fortunately for me, cooking is now a choice rather than a chore or responsibility. And guess who is the happiest with my making this one sensible choice in what seemed to be a lifetime? No prizes for guessing... you are right. Its my ma. She has spent the best part of her life feeding my perfectionist-foodie of a father, the never-ending list of guests and relatives, and ofcourse her three notorious daughters with completely different tastes from each other. So I suspect she would be less persuaded to believe that cooking is as relaxing or liberating as I claim. Nonetheless, cooking is not only creative, it also encourages social interaction. Now that I cook, I sometimes carry meals to the office and share the food with my colleagues who had fed me with their home-made meals at some point of time. So I get a chance to return the favour. I also feel like inviting friends for lunches or dinners. Though its another story whether or not they like the taste of what I cook. But the satisfaction derived from others liking and appreciating your preparations is almost at par with the satisfaction derived from someone appreciating any other work of art created by you. When so much of modern life gets onto you, cooking at home demands an active engagement with your inner self and reminds us that life is there to be savoured. And the last tip from my end... always cook with fondness and lots of love. It really comes out in the food.

Little things which make you HAPPY

It seems slightly strange to talk about an individual's minimum requirements for being happy, as everyone has different requirements for happiness. Have you ever stopped doing something you really enjoy doing, just because you got too busy and forgot all about it? I think we have all done that once in a while. Remember, what it felt like to do this activity again? If it was a great thrill of the experience itself, coupled with a thought of 'oh yeah, this feels great' then you're on the right track.
A couple of examples from my own life this past weekend, might be helpful for you to connect with what I'm talking about...

Last friday (the 25th of Jan'08), our office had organised a painting competition for the employees on the event of the next day's Republic Day celebration. I had not planned to participate, but at the 11th hour I felt like taking in the plunge and found myself leaving my daily share of work, loitering around from floor to floor in search of the organizers, paper, paints, brushes, et al. Finally I managed all of them on the basis of the begging-borrowing-stealing that I could resort to. And then when I mixed the colours on the pallette and the first stroke of the sable-hair-brush hit the ivory cartridge sheet, mixed with water and the bright colours, all mixed and blended, I wondered why on earth hadn't I done this in ages. The smell of the paints and the view of the mixed colours on the paper, filled my heart and soul with a renewed pleasure I had forgotten behind. The painting turned out to be a beauty in my eye... and hopefully for the others, too. I'd only know it later in the week.

Again on saturday (the 26th of Jan), I gave a miss to my usual movie-watching routine. My almost zero-bank balance and the freezing cold waves doing their rounds in Delhi, were the major contributors for this. But being the outdoor person I am, I couldn't hold myself back in the confines of my room any longer than 6pm. So I went out for an evening walk in the neighbourhood. While coming back, I crossed several vegetable-vendors selling fresh, colourful vegetables. And I had to give in to the temptation of buying those beauties. Though I felt like bringing all of them home, I searched for and could fish out only 80 bucks from all that I had in my pocket and spent it all buying those yummy looking broccolis, celeries, button mushrooms, bitter-gourds, eggplants, spring-onions, beans, tomatoes, carrots and red-cabbages. They were just too irresistible to be spared from bringing back home to the kitchen.

Yesterday was a broody day for me. But thanks to all the vegetables bought in from the previous evening. I spent the whole day cooking. I baked pasta in white-sauce with some of the vegetables, on the other hand prepared a 3-course naga-meal with the other set of vegetables, greens and dried meat. And though I felt quite relaxed (mentally) and tired (physically) by the end of all the cooking, I realised that I wasn't even hungry... either for lunch or for dinner. So, I watched some television, talked on the phone, prepared myself a cocktail-blood on the rooftop-with redwine and apple juice, and drank myself to sleep.

A totally uneventful and boring weekend, you might feel, but it made me re-discover a few things I had totally forgotten doing. A slow weekend which brought some happiness to me. And the cooking came in handy for today's lunch and dinner at work.