What's cooking?

Of late, I am noticing that the number of cooking blogs being posted on Facebook is growing by leaps and bounds each day. There are days (which happen to be almost everyday) when the news feed overflows with pictures and recipes of food, food, food and more food. Breakfast food- check, lunch and dinner food- check, mid office snack- check, desserts- check, Indian- check, Asian- check, Continental- check, Mexican- check, and the list goes on. No, I am not at all against cooking blogs or posting food pictures on social networking sites. On the contrary, the amount of effort, patience and creativity put into cooking fascinate me to no extent. And ofcourse, it leaves me salivating, putting 'Pavlov's dog' to shame. 

I, perhaps, am the worst cook in the whole world. No, not even the worst cook. Far below the worst. In the last two years that I have lived alone, friends and colleagues have made futile attempts to make me cook. They have made fun of me, threatened me, forced me, tried to teach me. But nothing has worked. I have nonchalantly ignored them and continued eating salad and bread for breakfast, lunch, snacks and dinner. To be honest, I am quite okay with it. More than okay for that matter. People have often wondered how I never crave for home cooked Indian food, given that I always claim that eating is a part of my soul. Agreed, I love to eat. Eating IS a part of my soul. But then there's something else that defines me. Lyadh! Lyadh (which when translated means the highest degree of laziness), is, according to me, THE path to Moksha. Hence, the effort needed to keep the other part of the soul happy has got lost somewhere. 

Having said all that, I can as-a-matter-of-fact make four things. No, not CAN (as it might mean that I am good at making these). I have managed to MAKE four things in the past. Chocolate/Vanilla cake (blindly following the easiest-recipe-on-earth from Ma),  pasta (after being spoon-fed by the guy), Chili Paneer (with cottage cheese, that took me three hours instead of the usual 30 mins) and Aloo Dum (again from Ma, and super-simplified given the Lyadh). I am not proud of any of my achievements. Infact I feel nothing but sorry for the person who has been on the receiving end of my cooking expedition. But then, isn't love all about pushing tasteless food down the throat and making the 'wow-it-was-so-good' face? :D

Enough self-loathing done, this post needs a face-lift now. And what better than to end it with a proper food picture from my stock! Two months ago, I made Luchi for the then-room-mate. It is a traditional Bengali flatbread made of flour, to be had with curry on a Sunday morning. In the beginning, I was all excited at the prospect of making my first ever Luchi. However, by a cruel twist of fate, just before starting I figured that the rolling-pin essential to make the dough was missing. When all attempts to acquire/borrow/buy/.. a rolling-pin ended in disaster, we decided to invent our own method. The end-result: A hilarious looking Luchi, prepared, using a bottle of red wine instead! :D 

Narcissism

Being a strong believer of "Stressed when spelled backwards is Desserts", nothing in the world makes me happier than indulging in chocolates and cakes and anything that has either of these two words. As a result, people who know me well enough (or otherwise) invariably end up gifting me variations of these on birthdays, anniversaries and other special occasions. However, while the love for desserts enjoys an undivided attention, personalized gifts come a close second on my happiness-index. Personalized anything- be it a hand-written letter, note or a diary, a self-made card, sketch or a cake, home-made liquor or a pair of gloves- takes away the pain of a not-so-great day/week/month and fills the heart with immense joy. 

The reason for this unabashed proclamation of preferences is the fact that the week happens to be the week of adding another feather to the 'i-am-getting-old' cap! While friends and family haven't left a stone unturned in reminding me that I am fast approaching the very wrong side of twenty, the customized gifts accompanying such nasty remarks have made me wonder if I am the most loved (and not to mention the most materialistic) person in the world! :D

Indeed, presents make me happy. Very happy. Dancing-in-the-clouds kind of happy. And when they happen to be someone's DIY's (Do It Yourself), the happiness knows no bounds. So, while a tiny hand-painted birthday card with scribbling all over moistens the eyes, a three-page letter about bad-handwriting pulls the cheeks apart. While a collage of 'over the years' pictures becomes the reason of a big lump in the throat , a filled-in diary becomes the reason for many sleepless nights. While a digital testimonial makes the heart fall in love all over again, a hand-made cake with a single candle and a chorus of cheerful voices adds the icing on top. 

Celebrating a special day away from home is never easy. Celebrating a special day attending seminars all day and feeling suicidal afterwards on account of a horrible discussion with the supervisor is perhaps the worst. But then there are certain ingredients that recipes of contentment are made of. Thankfully, I have some.

On another similar note, I came across this phrase today on Facebook (originally by Audrey Hepburn): "I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls". A few sadnesses here and there, no wonder I looked the prettiest when I looked at myself in the mirror tonight. Also, no wonder I have named the post Narcissism :D

Pencil on paper

Last month while visiting home, I came across a wooden sailing ship, casually displayed on the window of an interior decoration showroom. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and all I could do was stand outside and ogle the 'magnum opus' with lustful eyes. And then, as all my dreams came crashing down with a single look at the price tag, I decided to own it nevertheless, by hook or by crook! :D

Reviving the old habit. Pencil-shade, after ages. Happy feelings.

Memories in March

They say, home is where the heart is. I say, heart is where the home is. The last one month has been all about that.

I visited Calcutta after a year and a half. Amidst the usual pampering and spoon-feeding, night-outs, weekend trips, sudden plans and the nostalgia, writing took a back-seat (as did work, the PhD, conference deadlines, Skype discussions with supervisor). But then, as an angry child desperate to regain the lost attention, it fought its way back into my priority-list and forced me to serve its demands in these wee hours :D

Home, as always, was great. However, the highlight of the trip apart from the usual madness, was the three-days trip to the land of Rabindranath Tagore, with the best friends, during the festival of colors. That *life-is-beautiful* kind of feeling, experienced.

Santiniketan is a small town in the Birbhum district in West Bengal, India. Internationally, the place is known for its association with the famous Bengali Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore, and attracts thousands of tourists each year. Although numerous cultural events are organized throughout the year, the place is best known for its Poush Mela (in December) and Basanta Utsav (in March, during Holi) celebrations. Luckily this year, we were part of one such :)

The train journey from Calcutta to Bolpur, Santiniketan takes approx. 3 hours. So the place serves as a perfect weekend getaway for many. There are also several accommodation options, from cheap hostels to fancy guest-houses, and can be booked at short notice. However, visiting Santiniketan during one of these festivals can be tricky (and annoyingly messy) and therefore it is advisable to plan the itinerary well in advance. Alternatively, if you believe in spontaneity (can also be read as stupidity by some), you can ofcourse do what we did- pay an unplanned visit :D

We stayed at the Bharat Sevasram, located in a small village called Muluk, some 5-6 kilometers from Santiniketan. This required us to travel daily, back-and-forth. But what seemed like an ordeal in the beginning, turned out to be the most enjoyable part of the trip. 

The color festival, with its utter mismanagement, was not overly impressive. Also, the fact that most of Santiniketan, including the entire Visvabharati University campus and the famous deer-park remained closed during this time, left us disappointed. However, the ambiance in and around Santiniketan, the enthusiasm of people, the breathtaking handloom and handicraft collections, the mesmerizing Baul singers, the peaceful sunset on the banks of the Kopai river, the mindless strolls taken along the deserted village roads and the not-always-perfect conversations on the balcony on a full-moon night gave us memories of a lifetime. 

The famous laal-mati (red soil) of Santiniketan. *mentally humming country-roads-take-me-home while writing this* 

Sanibarer Haat- a weekly craft fair organized by the West Bengal Tourism, that presents outrageously beautiful and inexpensive collections of traditional Bengal handicrafts, decorative items, hand-made jewelry, textiles and more. 

Muluk being explored, on foot, on a hot Summer day, and later, rest under the shades of the palm trees. Breather. 

Often, people ask me if I consider myself fortunate to have been given the opportunity to travel to new countries each year. I always answer in the affirmative, given that I consider traveling synonymous to breathing. However, one doesn't need to visit Europe or the US to experience the joys of traveling. Small happinesses of life can also be discovered in a tiny village, from the indecipherable yet serene look on a Grandma's face :)

Catty

I am not a cat person, and would prefer any other pet to cats any day. But when these bundles of joy happen to be the first things you see in the morning, and realize that a random stray cat has chosen the deserted store-room in your garden to be the birth-place for her babies, you can't help but feel proud. And happy. Very very happy :)

Lost in Transit

Amidst marathon packing, distorted luggage, submission deadlines and the sudden realization that so much needed to be done at the last minute, I came home. 

Calcutta, and the new airport. Calcutta, after more than a year. Calcutta, on a month-long vacation. Calcutta, with the entire family and extended family around- I had enough reasons to rejoice. But then I was given a bonus- a minuscule visit to a Middle-east country while in transit. That *walking-on-the-moon* kind of a feeling, in Dubai!

On the day of the travel, our flight got delayed by more than six hours in Munich and we missed our connecting flight from Dubai. As a result, we were offered a place in the next flight to Calcutta and given the treatment only royalty could expect :-)

Dubai airport happens to be the largest in the world, spread over an area of thirty-five kilometers. It's beautiful, immaculate and breathtakingly expensive. Every time I fly home from Germany, I stop in Dubai, browse through the shops and outlets while never looking at the price tags, ogle the casually displayed Porsche's and Ferrari's and Rolex's, gape at the grandeur and then fly to Calcutta. This time around, we were pretty exhausted by the time we reached Dubai after a long and delayed flight from Munich. Added to that, the fact that we had to wait for another seven-eight hours before the next flight to Calcutta. We were almost preparing to blow up, when the airlines offered us a hurricane trip inside the city- with paid meals, accommodation and transport. Oh how quickly the frowns turned into big wide-mouthed U's!

We spent an hour in the airport strolling through the terminals, a starry-eyed me gazing at the magnificence and a pragmatic he complaining about so much being spent on luxury items. Shortly afterwards, we were taken to the hotel, through the city, where WE (to be read as its mirror image!) behaved like never-been-in-a-hotel-or-for-that-matter-inside-a-room type of school children, giggled stupidly, took infinite photographs, checked out every single item with lustful eyes, ate ex(t/p)ensive breakfast and, well-oh-well, slept! Hours later while boarding the flight for home just on time, the guy asked me, "We didn't even manage to see the city, only a few buildings and sights on our way to and from the hotel. How come you are still so happy?" To that, I said, "It was never about seeing the city in the first place", and the guy added, "..which was evident from the look on your face!" and burst out laughing. 

It was, infact, never about seeing the city. It was always about the things we were offered, *free* being the key-word here :P. I had never set foot on a middle-east country outside the premises of the airport before, which had been exciting enough. However, the fact that it was accompanied with an "all-expenses-paid" trip made it even more special. It took away the pain of flights being delayed by more than 12-hours, of dragging the luggage indefinitely and made me realize that the best things in life are indeed free! :-)

Slurp!

“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.” 

As the world celebrates the day of love with sickeningly sweet gestures, I stand outside my favourite cake shop indefinitely and ogle the assortment with lustful eyes.

Fast forward half an hour, love's labour's FOUND, and how! :)