Religion. Maggi.

Disclaimer: This post is not for those who are “calorie conscious”, or hate cheese, butter and other such foods. To be worthy of reading this post, you must swear by that glorious fast, and I mean lightning fast, food – Maggi noodles.

I swear by Maggi. Almost no other snack has given me so much pleasure as a hot, steaming bowl of Maggi on a rainy day. It was a daily ritual for me once. I’d come home from college, drenched to the bone. Aaji (grandma) would kick into action. She’d give me a dry towel and start chopping veggies for my special Maggi recipe, which I’m gonna share with you now (yeah! Like it or not! ).

For best results and utmost satisfaction, follow the instructions to the letter.

Ingredients: Chopped Onion, tomato, capsicum and green chilies are a must. Apart from these, you can have cabbage, carrots, green peas, and whatever else you may like, 1 packet Maggi Aata noodles, 2 cubes cheese, 2 tablespoons butter.

So here we go. First, take a suitable utensil and put the butter in it and keep it on medium flame. As the butter gets hot, put the green chilies and onion and sauté nicely, till the onion turns a shade golden. Then you can just put the rest of the veggies you’ve chopped. Sauté them till they are a bit soft, and then pour in the required amount of water (I mean, you know how to make a simple bowl of Maggi, don’t you????). So as the water begins to boil, you can put the masala and noodles. The rest is simple. You stir it occasionally and when around 60% of the water is gone, grate a cube of cheese into the pan so that it melts. You know when to turn off the flame, don’t you???

Voila! You have your bowl of Maggi ready!!! Now all you have to do is this. Make sure nothing remains in the pan. And I mean not a piece of veggie or an ounce of the gravy. I lick the spoon and the pan clean with my fingers . I know that is gross, but I don’t give a damn if I am. So once you have transferred the noodles from the pan to the bowl, grate the other cube of cheese and garnish the noodles with it. You can also add a bit of ketchup to make it tastier, but that is again, subjective.

The dish is ready, now just snuggle into a quilt on the sofa and turn on you favourite channel or open your favourite novel and enjoy the fruit of your labour. J

One last thing, don’t forget to lick the bowl clean after you’ve finished the noodles. You don’t want to waste anything now, do you?

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

DELTA1

A Sunny Day’s Child

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon. The breeze is as free as it could be, and the Sun is going about its job as always. I’m sitting in front of the Idiot Box, sifting through channels in an effort not to sleep. The breeze is ruffling the curtains and every now and then, the chirp of a bird or a cuckoo’s sweet voice turns my neck for a glimpse of the Outside. Between this and trying to stay awake, my mind takes me back to my childhood summer days.

There is something about the human mind. We desperately hold on to what is good, what was in the past. Like a kid who clings on to his mother’s hand in a crowded market, fearing of losing her if he lets go. Little does he know that it’s his mother who’s holding him tight. It amuses me that as we grow up from an infant to a toddler to a kid to a teenager to an adolescent to a financially free person, we keep looking over our shoulders and sigh over what we’ve lost in the process. I bet Newton and Einstein never knew that human progress would come at a loss of the simplicity of life. At the end of the day, we come home from a decent paying job and wonder if we would be better off living in the Stone Age.

I continue looking outside. It reminds me more and more of my Aaji’s (grandma’s) home where I spent the ten most beautiful summers of my life. School used to break for summer and every day baba (dad) used to drop me off in the morning at her place. There were two big mango trees in her yard, just outside her door. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the mango flowers have a very mellow and subtly intoxicating smell that just makes you breathe it in as much as possible, as if that fragrance was going out of fashion. My friends answer my call and we all wreak havoc the entire day, disturbing Aajoba’s (grandpa’s) sleep and inviting his wrath. Our play always resumes at this time, when the breeze starts getting cooler and the Sun a bit friendly. We start our matches again and continue long into the twilight hours, till baba comes and takes me back home.

These were my summers. From ‘88 to ‘99, this was all I could think of doing every summer vacation. Time dragged me along and I played along, only to grow up into responsibilities and delivering to the expectations around me. Our only link to the past is our memories, triggered by rouge glimpses on such afternoons, opening floodgates of all that was good, and all that is gone.

What hurts most is that perhaps, somewhere down the way, I think we all lose that innocence of a sunny day’s child.

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Chaos

‘Something as small as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings can cause a hurricane halfway around the world.’ – Chaos Theory.

Sounds beautiful, doesn’t it? But what is serves to say is that an action which might be inconsequential if viewed in itself, might be the precursor of much bigger things to come. Isn’t it the same with all of us? Without exception, we all say and do things that we don’t imagine can float in the air for a lifetime. And one fine day, they just boomerang and hit us in the face, and it is only then that we realise the full impact of a simple sarcastic remark, a gesture, a small act of rebellion a decade ago.

If only we could see the big picture, if we could project the consequence of a single action in multiple ways and leading to multiple situations and then select the best possible action, I guess we’d have heaven on Earth. But we can’t do that, and hence the complication called Life. All of us, when looking back, always think that if given a chance, we’d do things differently, for better or for worse.

So? what is the point behind writing all this? Everyone knows this. The point is this… nothing. I just thought it would be better for all of us if we could just think about the consequences of our actions, perhaps the ‘I-wish-I-could-do-things-differently’ scenario would become a rarity. As Thomasina says in the play Arcadia -

‘ If you could stop every atom in its position and direction, and if your mind could comprehend all the actions thus suspended, then if you were really really good at algebra you could write the formula for all the future.’

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Tears of Shame

It’s more than 2 months now since terror found a new form in India. We were still ignorant of that form in other nations, and we (as always) chose to rest assured that terror will always strike in the  ”conventional” ways of bomb blasts and attacks on Indian Armed Forces in the valley.

So when the terrorists struck, we were royally unprepared for their welcome. And what followed is etched in everyone’s mind with innocent blood lost in those 60 hours. The repercussions in the Indian corridors of power and their echoes from across the border are just coded messages that keep telling each other to continue fooling the people and carry on the blame game.

I feel ashamed when I realise that the Mumbai Police, the first forces to respond, were armed with rifles from the second world war era. I feel ashamed when Arnab Goswami failed to realise the big picture behind the media black-out, and instead of co-operating with the authorities, began shouting on his news channel ‘Times Now’. I feel more ashamed when I saw all the news channels were more prompt and eager to flash the words ‘EXCLUSIVE’ and ‘BREAKING NEWS’, than finding ways of helping the forces. I feel ashamed when Arnab Goswami kept repeating the words ‘Times Now’ at the end of every 2nd sentence. I feel ashamed that Chief Ministers “visited” the Oberoi and the Taj and pompously announced money for the martyr’s families, under heavy security cover, thinking that the people really cared if someone killed them. But most of all, I really feel ashamed of my government’s inability to take any concrete steps, while Pakistan Air Force did sorties over their cities as a threat to us.

There was a terrific sms doing the rounds, stating that the commandos who protected the people and killed the terrorists were non-marathis, as were the two martyred commandos, Major Unnikrishnan and Hawaldar Gajendra Singh.

Uhh… just wanted to make a small point in that reference…

The remaining 12 were marathis, and one of them took a spray of bullets from an AK-56 rifle in the chest while fighting armed with the ancient 303s and simple lathis, but held on to it so that his partner on the scene could nab Ajmal Amir Kasab.

I believe we would have done better without that sms, because, by sending out this sms we ultimately fell to the level of the politicians.

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Cool Breezes, Sunny Mornings

It’s December 21st. Last day of school before we break for Christmas and new year. We have an inter-house dramatics competition. Our play is a ghost thriller and the best part is, it is slated to be the last of the four. It revolves around a woman who suddenly appears at the home of a colonel who is having a quiet drink with his friend, and it later turns out that she was murdered an hour ago and is actually a ghost. The audience gets the chills after our play, and we end up on top of the podium. It’s time to celebrate.

I wake up early next morning, but Aai (mom) pats my cheek and ruffles my already messed up hair. ” Go to sleep bachchu (kiddo). It’s holiday time remember?”. I sleepily smile and cuddle up in the blanket again. Aai tucks me in and starts getting ready for office. After a while Baba (dad) wakes me up, and while I’m still rubbing my eyes, picks me up and takes me to the bathroom. I brush, clean-up and have my breakfast and Baba drops me off to my grand parents’ place on his way to the office.

As their house comes into view, I can see Aajoba (grandpa) sitting in the warm morning sun bathing the courtyard, soaking up the warmth in his bones. It’s still just 9.30 am, and there is a chill in the air, so this sunbath is all the more welcome for his health. Aaji (grandma) is slowly getting about her daily chores. I yell and wave at Aajoba as soon as he’s within earshot, and Baba really has to balance the scooter due to all my frantic moving. I jump down and race to hug Aajoba. Baba flashes his big smile, greets Aaji and Aajoba, warns me to behave myself, and drives away to the office. I just lie down on Aajoba’s lap and take in the warm sunlight.

Mercury rises and we move to the cooler shade of a mango tree in our courtyard. Aajoba enchants me with his childhood stories, how he wrestled a local goon, how his father was the head of his village and how people feared and respected him, and how he has seen the world transform around him. Aaji calls us inside for lunch, and keeps aside my favourite godhadi (home made blanket). After she tucks me in, it’s time for her to take me to her childhood days, when her cow called Kapila would wreak havoc and could be controlled only by her father, and how they taught the peanut seller a lesson when he charged them way too much for a cone full of roasted peanuts. I doze off to a warm and dreamy nap.

It’s 4 pm, and Aaji wakes me up. My friends have been calling, and she has kept tea ready. I quickly get ready, find the bat and ball, and rush off to play. We play frenetically, as if there is no tomorrow and today is the last holiday we’ll ever get. Piling on runs and taking wickets is the order of the hour, and we are oblivous to everything. The cows return home from the pasture, people come back from work, the street lights light up and Aai and Baba come back from office to pick me up. My friends and I decide on the match format and teams for the next day, and I hop onto Baba’s scooter.

Night falls and Aai makes a delicious dinner, followed by a hot cup of masala milk. Baba builds up a small fire in a big pan like container used for gardening, and we all gather around it. Taai (elder sister) tells everyone her day at school, and we play antakshari for a while. The fire is gone but has left glowing embers. Baba takes the pan to a corner of the bedroom and keeps it safely, out of reach of everyone. I’m half asleep by the time he tucks me in and kisses me on the forehead.

All I know is someone ruffling my hair as Aaji and Aajoba hold my hands and take me to a land where holidays are full of cool breezes and warm sunny mornings.

25 Seasons Weathered

It’s November 25th, and it’s 5 days after I turned 25. The feeling has not sunk in, because there was none to begin with. For me, there was nothing special or great or depressing or sad or ecstatic turning 25. But yes, there is a satisfaction that I’m earning, I’m financially free, and people think that I’m mature ( God alone knows the truth ). But all said and done, it was a special day.

It is said that every man should have a check list of things to do and own. And before he dies, this checklist should be completed, all the items in it done and checked. I too have such a list, and I managed to check off one item, meeting all the required conditions. I always wanted to own a 1:12 scale model of a Ferrari F1 car, and wanted to buy it from my own salary. I redeemed that pledge on this 20th, and now I am the proud owner of a Ferrari (OK..so what if its a scale model? It’s still an official licensed product from Ferrari Spa!!!).

My flatmates and friends presented a cool fastrack watch to me. I always thought that a fastrack watch was too good for me to wear, since they come in thick and broad straps, and my forearms and wrists are exceptionally thin. But my friends managed to find one that actually looks good on me. This doubled my joy of finally wearing a fastrack.

I’m not a philosopher or a thinker to jot down what I’ve learned on completing this milestone. but looking back at the road I’ve travelled, I think it was an exceptional road. The travel so far was fun, and more often than not, hard. I’ve had a lot of fellow travelers pushing me on, helping me get up to my feet when I staggered or stumbled or slipped, giving me second chances, but not waiting even for a simple ‘Thank You’ from me. I’ve lost some of them, and it was like the cogs in my wheels broke, and there is no replacement available. Some decided to take different routes, and the decisions were mutual or tearful, but they had to be taken. Some were the obstacles in my way, but God was generous enough to send me more guardian angels than devils. And for this, I’m forever in debt.

What remains now? To walk. With patience, endurance, gratitude, humility, strength, and a smile. To recognise. Threats, opportunities, friends, foes, goodness, evil. To remember. Blessings, blunders, successes, teachings, the past.

To be. Myself.

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Vacations, Abhyanga Snaan, Happiness

I’m 10 years old. It’s the last paper of the 1st term exam, and holidays are just 45 mins away. It’s a stupid subject and I desperately try to write as fast as I can, but somehow it seems that fast is not fast enough. Finally, the bell rings and I pack up my things and cut through the benches to get out of that classroom as fast as I can. I flash a biiggg ( and I mean BIIGGG) smile when I see that baba  (dad) has surprised me by coming to pick me up. He’s happier than I am, and I run towards him. I remember that he has taken a half day leave and will go to office after dropping me home. I’m thinking about the cricket pitch that my friends and I decided to make today, and I anxiously ask him whether the work has started. He has anticipated this question and replies that they cleared the grass and stones, but the watering and rolling will begin at 4 in the afternoon, so I have enough time to have a quick lunch and a nap.

The routine is set for the next 20 days. I get up at 8, and reach the ground at 8.45. then it’s a couple of matches, till maybe 11 and then I head back home for some late breakfast. Taai (my didi), serves lunch at around 1.30 pm, but we thrash the hell out of each other before that. Then a quick nap, and cricket again from 4 to 6.30 ( or till it becomes too dark to see the ball properly). Then some fun with Aai(mom), Baba and Taai, and then cricket again from around 10.30 to 11.30. Dad too joins the gang, which by the way, also consists of all the other dads of the colony.

Diwali’s just a week from today now, and we all set out for shopping. Aai buys a decent saree, and leaves me puzzled by always stating a range first. She and Baba buy clothes for Taai and me without looking at the tags. Baba’s innovative reason for not buying anything for himself notwithstanding, Aai buys him a terrific shirt. We have dinner at a fabulous restaurant and head back home. Next day its the firecrackers, and we literally empty Baba’s pockets, but for him our happiness is the best Diwali bonus in the whole world.

It’s Naraka Chaturdashi today. Baba wakes us up at 4 am, the darkest hour before dawn. It’s time for Abhyanga Snaan. Baba puts on an audio cassette by ustad Bismillah Khan’s shehnai or Sudhir Phadke’s Geet Ramayan . Aai and Taai massage my head, arms and legs with scented oil and Aai bathes me with utane ( a natural scrub made by grinding some herbs). I’m the first one to bathe. As soon as I enter the bathroom, Baba starts bursting crackers outside. He stands in front of the door and shouts at me through the din, asking me whether I heard the sound of the crackers. I’m ecstatic and yell back. After I’m done, Baba and the rest follow, and now it’s my turn to burst crackers and yell at a closed bathroom door, asking for confirmation.

By the time I’m finished with my last cracker, the sun has risen. And the Festival of Lights begins.

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ASNF

There’s this bank’s ad being aired on TV. The son is leaving home early morning the next day, and his dad is going over the check list over dinner the night before. He’s worried when his son says the flight is at 5 am the next morning. He’s worried that his son won’t make it to the airport in time. His son assures him that everything is gonna be fine and the dad reluctantly drops the case.  Early next morning the son is standing on the street with not a soul awake around him, save his mom with a worried face. He sees a taxi and desperately waves at it. The taxi stops and his dad gets out. He just explains in broken words that he thought it’d be hard to find a taxi so early in the morning. The son is just grateful he has his dad by his side and thanks him.

I love that ad. Because it brings out fully the one person that lives in the shadows but is as important to us as the air we breathe. DAD. He’s the one person who’s supposed to be practical, tough, the one person children are expected to obey, no questions asked. Every time his voice becomes stern, his children find the solace of their mom’s hug. And yet all that man is thinking of is the welfare of his child. Dads are expected to teach the children to survive in the world, to be ready for the challenges that it throws at them, to be steel. But then steel has to survive a furnace before anything else. We don’t expect a dad to cry (even though dads are sometimes the most emotional person in the family), because when the chips are down and the world is falling apart, there is just one face in the world that is calm and focused on making things better. Looking at that face has a tremendous calming effect that even God cannot produce with his infinite miracles. But then again, a dad is nothing but God’s disguised miracle.

Literature has praised heaps on the virtues and the godliness of mothers ( and believe me, it’s still way off from describing what a mother means to us). But with my limited exposure and knowledge of literature, I fail to find substance that honours a father with the soft glow of a limelight, or just 15 seconds of centre stage and fame. People are scared of shadows, and hence to try to find out what lies in them. So a dad just keeps content doing what he does best.

In the movie ‘Men of Honour’, Cuba Gooding Jr.’s dad makes a wooden radio for him, when he’s leaving for the diving school. He scratches the acronym ‘ASNF’ on it. Later in the film, Cuba Gooding Jr.’s instructor, Robert De Niro, who’s very trying and discriminate, reads that acronym and scribbles its full meaning, ‘A Son Never Forgets.’

A son never forgets what his dad does for him, without ever being asked, or told. A son never forgets that his dad doesn’t expect anything in return, neither a dime, nor a hand to support him when finally his knees cannot. A son never forgets that there is a Superman in every home, and he’s called ‘dad’. A son never forgets that behind the stern mask of practicality, behind the deliberate stupid jokes that don’t make him laugh, behind the harsh stare and the unmoving eyes, is a heart and a mind devoted to just one cause – caring and protecting his family, even if that means taking on the whole world and massacring it.

A son never forgets that if a mom is the hand that rocks the cradle, then a dad is its hinge that creaks and sways, but never breaks.

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Night Falls, Knight Reigns.

Dear Christopher, Christian, Heath ( rest in peace man),

My memories of watching Batman on TV or in the movies prior to ‘Batman Begins’ were mainly of Batman saying something witty, fluorescent lights and bright scenes, a dramatic and theatrical ‘Two Face’. But the more i read Batman comics, the more I hated those movies, because they failed so miserably to capture who Batman truly was. All they knew was that Batman was just another superhero fighting on the side of good and winning against evil. But the essence of being Batman, being a hero who stood steadfast in the face of the greatest challenge and defeat, of being the world’s greatest detective, was still nowhere to be seen in those movies.

Had Batman been real, he’d probably watch this movie sitting in a lofty corner of a dark multiplex, unnoticed and would study every scene as it unfolded. He’d definitely study the games the joker plays and would be prepared for them. This movie, for the Batman, would be like looking in a mirror and coming to terms with what is. I daresay he’d have learnt a few tricks from this movie.

Had the Joker been real, he’d probably get a complex watching Heath Ledger play a joker so convincingly it makes the real one look like a fake. Being a sadist, and yet the will to find humour in others’ suffering, is something only a villain like the Joker can enjoy enjoy doing. Heath perhaps set the records straight by creating the best ( or worst) villain ever to play on a movie screen. (I’ve watched some movies, but have never come across a villain so intense…).

So thank you. Thank you for finally placing Batman where he belongs, as the greatest superhero ever created. Thank you for treating him with the intensity only Batman can have. Thank you for creating his arch nemesis, and locking them into an eternal battle. Thank you for creating a Joker that truly is a “clown” “prince” of crime, and making people shiver with the working of his convoluted mind. Thank you for showing Two Face the way his creators did, and not a Tommy-Lee-Jones lunatic and crazy wannabe.

Thank you for a wonderful movie experience and the satisfaction of watching my favourite superhero the way I like him to be.

Batman forever,

DELTA1

 

I won I won!!!

I won a red cap and a bottle green T-shirt of ‘Cathay Pacific’ Airlines. There is a travel week being organized in our office and these guys had put up their stalls there.