Staying Connected

Have been rather busy... with what you'd ask! - cannot translate coherently into anything that makes sense. A jamboree really :

N finally met up with his cousin, he viisted The Nest for dinner. The food (that I served! ) was not much to my liking, am not sure hence if the guest went back much sated!! Was good to listen to some anecdotal teasings & nostalgia between the cousins. And some dark family secrets (as they termed it). Net net - it's proven: it's always fun catching up with cousins, despite lengthy periods of no 'connect' over the width of seas, STD/ ISD lines, hundreds of kms, family functions, family group Ids, birthday wishes and the rest.

The surprise on my Birthday saved more than a few bad hours (N?)... what with Chaya and gang conspiring with my husband to gift me a surprise-gatecrash with cake, love, hugs, et all. Some photo moments will be posted soon. Secret well kept N! and a great one at the dusk of a day when i'd silently wondered ' why has none of them remembered?!' 'Is this all there is to my 'connectedness' with them?' For dinner, the choice of the cuisine and venue was mine and the Mohan's and us polished off a lovely spread at Thai Ban. A day replete with long lost voices, apologies for mistaken birth dates, catching up and incessant wishes from friends who i'd lost 'connect' with, or so I thought. All 'picked up from where we left it'... I think I'm going to be in touch again!

My Mom's birthday was quieter... she said!! But all us kids were connected, i promise!

The book shelf arrived (in parts) and was 'nailed and screwed' up in the corner of our TV room... big, slim, majestic and I love it! Next day spent in meticulosly arranging our long-ignored library according to the genre & geography of authors. One more wish solemnised.

Met the other N... celebrating life!! I had to meet him that day, no matter what! Never seen him so shaken & relieved {oxymoronically}, a 'first' realisation, perhaps, of human vulnerability to disease, destiny and despair; the despair & dread he says he experienced, every moment, while awaiting the biopsy report. Is he going to change( however subtly) hereon... only time will tell. I felt mommy-like again... and was glad to give him my warmest reassuring celebratory hug (my first bear-hug to my mentor). I'm going to be his mentor i think, maybe for a while... only to assure and confirm that it's ok to express & emote, it's natural to feel fear, it's logical to worry and panic and that there are always people who will stay 'connected' with you, however distant, intuitively, instinctively, in your worst times.

This is why we continue to live, hope, pray & believe.

Forbidden Berries

Seductive Simplicities

Britania Co. Ltd., located at Ballard Estate, Mumbai will ring a ‘nostalgic’ bell for many a Mumbaikar, but for yours truly – still not fully initiated into Mumbai’s very best & very basic – it was the very first encounter. I’d not heard of its existence till this day (April 6)

Clearly a day which was more meticulously planned out than many others, we managed to pack in quite a bit, actually a lot – slept in, aggressive cardio at the gym, light breakfast to be compensated later at lunch and departure by the stipulated time.

South Mumbai on holidays continues to be a breeze, though on this ‘Good Friday’ we had to navigate through a bit of traffic en route. Britania is nestled in the heart of the statuesque Ballard Estate, still one of the most influential business districts in the country’s commercial capital. The buildings, said to be designed by George Wittet - the architect for Gateway and the Museum- bear the familiar similarity of high ceilings and big windows, the architectural left- over from the British Raj. And lanes beautifully lined with the green and balminess of tress rooted there for 100 years or more.

Britania, now in its 90s & one of Mumbai’s oldest Irani (Persian) restaurants, is simply puritanical – no nonsense, no frills, perhaps one of the last of a dying breed of Irani establishments once teeming in many a nook and corner of South Mumbai.

‘There is no Love greater than the Love of Eating’ written bold in highlighted font welcomed our attention as we entered and settled into a corner seating of four.

The romance of the place does not hit you at first sight, but slowly softens all your five senses as you absorb it. The names of the partners written boldly in white on a black board, the specialty of the day announced in big bold on another board, the matured efficiency of waiters commanding silent respect from every table because of their meticulous professional waiting upon tables, and so on. And what struck me the most were the 2 old bespectacled Parsee gentlemen (looked like the owners themselves) personally taking orders at tables. Can get anyone guilt-struck about being waited upon by such age & pedigree.

And one of the old gentlemen did exactly that! Hunched with age, thick rimmed glasses on, holding a small pad (made of loose pieces of paper) to take down our order, monotonous expression. I spied his shaky fingers taking down the order in convenient code - 2 Berry Pulaos as BP 2, 2 Chicken Salli Boti as C SB 2, and so on- and I silently wished for the food connoisseurs at our table to be quick & decisive and not make him wait.

Gladly our ordering was swift, considering some parts of the menu had been frozen (and perhaps dreamt about the previous night) right when the plot was hatched. ‘Patraani Machchi’, ‘Salli Boti’ and the famed Berry-pulao were the highlights complimented by magnanimously buttered toasts, fish fries and topped off by caramel custard, chocolate mousse and the famous colored raspberry drinks. Of course the protagonist was the Berry pulao (a version of the Iranian zereshk polow) , an outstanding signature dish, made with succulent spiced boneless mutton (or chicken), fragrant long-grain basmati rice, and tart barberries imported from Iran.

Enchantingly flavored, peppered with succulent pieces of chicken, colorfully spread out in layers it is like a feast for kings.

Do you remember those familiar heart-beats when the exam invigilator stopped at your desk peering from above at your hurried writing, and your fingers froze and the pen slowed down, conscious of time running by but rooted because the teacher might spot some wrongly written answer, earnestly wishing he would take his walking vigil to another desk. I experienced ditto when the Parsee old man stopped at our table & singled me out for having stopped eating. Amply chastised, poor me. Thereafter, I would have food in my plate and my spoon actively servicing my mouth, every time he came near our table. And I must add, the superlative food even made the shamming delectable.

Immensely gratifying and I can anytime shut my eyes and feel the wispy taste of the berries in my mouth. I’d read somewhere about ‘mindful eating’ (as opposed to devouring) that is akin to savoring every morsel that you intake and this place truly revived this experience of eating with all senses on alert, for me. I’m raring for a second visit very soon, the Love of Eating having indeed become my greatest Love, for the moment!

The liberating English

Now they say that about wordsmith(ing), weaving magic with words, or however else one expresses this ‘thrill’ that you feel chancing upon some deft, audacious threading of two words or an expression that shouldn’t have been there (or joined) in the first place. The thrill down the spine is not so much respect for the ‘puritan’ language but for the sheer devilry of the person who maneuvers the language, but does not mutilate it…

Also there’s something magical that is exchanged in that moment between the ‘author of the maneuver’ to the (one-out-of-ten) listener, who understands, smiles & revels in the magic of it.

Honestly, this is the thrill that keeps my reading alive, in figuring out the numerous impudent ways of expressing a single idea, or thought.

Just like the Compulsive Confessor’s http://www.thecompulsiveconfessor.blogspot.com/ manic reaction to a friend’s matter-of-factness, I quote from the blog:

Like, recently? We were chatting about men, more specifically the men in my life, and he said, "Well, you're lovely till you have your first meltdown, so you should avoid that." And I was just so struck by that. My meltdown! How awesome! It had a word then, the drunk calling at three am, the weepy smoke breaks at work, the need to ask why why why don't you feel the same way about me. And such a succint word too.

I too just loved the expression ‘meltdown’ – so summarizing of the state(s) we all have been in, meltdowns after meltdowns till you know the order, the smell, the ‘what’s next’ of it and till they dwindle to a watershed and you revive and pick up the pieces; till the next meltdown hits you.

I have this friend Senjam Rajsekhar who’s recently joined the ranks of us married folks. He stayed with us this New Year’s Eve at this bungalow in Lonavla, that we spent that weekend in. Raj was freshly courting, so he had his girlfriend in toe (the same girl he’s married this month), in fact on his first week of physical time spent together. It was marvelous to watch him in action, amusing resemblance to a squirrel on the ‘brink’, perky, eager and subtly attentive to all her fancies. The closest I could express my amusement is when I remarked 'you look at the ‘Precipice of Happiness’'. Such disjointed words, almost balanced at the two ends of a match-stick, but making absolute sense only in the context that it was born. Am glad Raj got the import of it, no wonder he kept referring to his state as that for the rest of our stay!!

Really the magical alignment of seemingly disjointed words, in a certain context, gives me this sense of the marvelous. If the author is dexterous, fluid and most unexpected, that then is ‘Sone Pe Suhaga’.

I’ll keep adding to this list.

An Economy of Agents & Genders

I visited the RTO yesterday for the momentous ‘cancellation of hypothecation’ of my car … In English, my car’s EMI cycle is complete and the bank has expressed its no objection for the car to become completely mine… blah blah!!.

So I set off, pretty clearly with a bit of trepidation, just like all us private sector types when we are about to visit a Govt. run department that has the power to allow or disallow your candidacy for citizenship or some such critical ‘proof of existence’.

A smattering of rows of buildings, mostly dilapidated, sprawling & unkempt vacant spaces being used for parking vehicles of all sizes. As usual Govt. owned premises being the most privileged and inundated with length(s) of acres. I was hit by the teeming nos., and immediately a wave of helplessness. First, the sea of men - I was the only woman in the visible vicinity (and perhaps the only human with a trace of a deodorant on me!!), amidst the sea of Agents teeming around to push papers for various ‘vehicle-owners’.

Second, the visual chaos of RTO officials spread across building blocks A, B, C, D; accessible to lesser mortals across dusty windows - discernible only by imaginary nos. ‘How am I ever going to get across to anyone?’- was the dominant panic reflex to this sight.

But the day had something else in store for me. I went to approx. 15 different officials, twice or thrice to the same guy in some instances. Each time to my wonderment politely guided, almost pedantically directed to the right window, at times papers voluntarily put in order, rearranged and stapled for processing, average waiting time of maximum 2 mins. at each official’s desk. Every time aided, guided, treated with fair dignity, at times even the several Agents pointing out to the right window, of their own volition.

I was done in little over an hour which, I believe, is a fairly reasonable duration considering I had to access at least 10 different attestations from the Head Clerk to the Section Officer to the Deputy RTO.

Then it hit me!

At a place where the educated vehicle buyers find it commonly convenient to get all papers processed through Agents, a woman’s presence is a thing of the ‘uncommon’. What is more unique is that the woman hasn’t taken recourse to an Agent and hasn’t tried to escape this rigmarole of a visit to the RTO, and hence, I reckon might be a matter of sympathy for all concerned. That’s about my pleasantly surprising experience.

As for the economy bit, I realized this existence of a parallel economy of Agents who’ve come to stay - thriving, efficient, almost professional and businesslike triggered by our more familiar world of vehicle buyers & aspiring car owners (who need their driver’s license) who’re mostly too busy or unwilling to go through this experience, as long as they can pay the odd 100- 200 bucks to the Agent to get it done. For the Agent, it’s a child’s game – being on first-name basis with most of the officials, getting 8 to 10 papers processed at one time across several batches, and all this in a full day’s work. A livelihood for most of them. No wonder there was a huge method despite the visible madness.

No wonder then that Raju kept telling me tales about how (even) he hires an agent every time he needs a renewal of his license, indicating his puzzlement over why someone like me would not do the same. ‘Agent ko sau - dosau rupaiah dedo to karva deta hai’. Not able to overcome his dilemma, he has offered to go pick up the new RC book thinking why a person like me should go back there just to pick it up. And I’ll let him do that, content having done it once, happy in this new awareness and amused that my madness keeps me bumping into new insights and gender awakenings!!