Hey everyone, this is definitely one of my dear diary moments. It is my first blog post from my Blogger app on my mobile, so three cheers to that. Well, the reason for my doing this is because I am on the Sex and the City marathon on my laptop and did not want to open a different window to type this one out and multitasking is the modern equivalent of efficient, right?
I have always claimed to be a city girl, as you all know, I have flourishingly managed to stay afloat 5 glorious years of my adulthood in the Indian Capital and I do hail from the former Indian capital but since my move to Dresden I have slowly and unknowingly got detached from big cities. Don't get me wrong, half a million inhabitants is not small by any means (in Europe) but when your public transport is rarely 5 mins late, it loses its big city status. Unless you are sweating with worry, looking at your watch every 2 seconds, running across streets in a frenzy to reach your appointment in time (not because you took to long to get dressed but you are always stuck in traffic) and you are able to hail a cab from wherever you are, it is not a big city.
Okay, all this is coming from the fact that we are visiting Kolkata after a colossal 1.5 years and I am wondering if I will be able to tackle it. On one of my recent trips to Berlin I found myself slightly out of my depth and little weary of seeing so many people at one place and while I say that I should also mention that Berlin has only 3 million inhabitants which is just about a quarter of the number of people living in Kolkata. I know it is all about getting used to something but I want to land and takeover, I want to paint the town red (not the commie way) and I want to feel like I had never left.
It will also be my first winter in India after three years. I have fond memories of my friends mother getting me my proper, thick, Delhi-winter blanket which I treasured and curled under on those chilling January nights, the heater-blower whirring away in some little corner, and of the late foggy night strolls at the S-block park with cups of spiced ginger teas. I am guessing I will not be feeling the same chill this time around but I am sure to get a cup of one of those overbrewed teas the Firangs call Chai Tea Latte.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The City and I
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The Domestic Goddess in Me
It is 11 a.m. on a dark, rainy, cold 'autumn' morning in October. The husband is well on his way to yet another office trip and I have managed to a steal a day from my German-ridden week. Not that it is a first but today feels slightly ceremonious. My breakfast sits on the bedside table- a soft mauve yoghurt bursting with flavour, lightly specked with crushed blueberries, and on the bed I have the latest acquisition of a book that actually is signed by the author herself, a very dear friend. I feel rather guilty for beginning to read it so 'late in the day', but to be honest it is this book that has made me break my spell of inactivity on the blogosphere.
It has nothing to do with the book per se although it is the use of adjectives and the detailed descriptions in the book that made me want to describe something as well, something I have been feeling so strongly about the last couple of weeks.
Today I am writing about one of the simple joys of life that for some turn into one of life's banes- cooking. In my family the women are, as Nigella Lawson says, "Domestic Goddesses" in the kitchen. Where my mother never ceases to amaze me with her enthusiasm to cook , my sister impresses me with her culinary range. I think it is my Grandmother to who we owe the development of our taste buds and our inability to tolerate uninspired cooking (there is no denying that we are food snobs). What I really want to say is that I wish I could combine my mother's fearlessness in the kitchen with my sister's versatility. I do consider myself to have a knack for cooking but the joy soon turns into a never-ending dread when it comes to the regular everyday cooking for the fuelling of the body. It has to be agreed upon that it really is hard to keep the recipes fresh and nutritious without making it too boring. It is this insipid feeling of chore that ultimately makes me feel too lazy to cook, hence the presence of used Chinese take out or pizza boxes in my kitchen.
The recent health-consciousness has made us cut back on eating out without giving too much thought to the alternative i.e. 'eating in'.
A couple of weekends back we had invited a family over for dinner, and while preparing the menu I decided to make a Tiramisu for dessert. I soon realized I had no Brandy/Marsala/ Rum at home, so in the process of looking for alternatives I chanced upon a Bailey's Irish Cream Tiramisu recipe on Nigella Lawson's website, now the irish cream I did have. Very tentatively I went about the process and after making it sit in the refrigerator for a day when I finally tasted it I had pleasantly surprised myself.
What I realised from this experience was that special, interesting food are not necessarily a result of a Herculean task. The normal chicken curry needs more ingredients and patience than the Tiramisu. The weekend after, I baked an orange marmalade pudding cake from Nigella Lawson again to take to a party.I felt inspired and I was bursting with energy. I think, baking gives me an adrenaline rush. Today I am going to roast some chicken with thyme for dinner. It looks like Nigella Lawson is turning out to be a saviour, she has made me want to go back to the kitchen and experience the feeling of accomplishment. I just wish I had more pots, pans and various other kitchen appliances- not to forget the kitchen of dreams. And maybe some sunshine to light up the kitchen.
It has nothing to do with the book per se although it is the use of adjectives and the detailed descriptions in the book that made me want to describe something as well, something I have been feeling so strongly about the last couple of weeks.
Today I am writing about one of the simple joys of life that for some turn into one of life's banes- cooking. In my family the women are, as Nigella Lawson says, "Domestic Goddesses" in the kitchen. Where my mother never ceases to amaze me with her enthusiasm to cook , my sister impresses me with her culinary range. I think it is my Grandmother to who we owe the development of our taste buds and our inability to tolerate uninspired cooking (there is no denying that we are food snobs). What I really want to say is that I wish I could combine my mother's fearlessness in the kitchen with my sister's versatility. I do consider myself to have a knack for cooking but the joy soon turns into a never-ending dread when it comes to the regular everyday cooking for the fuelling of the body. It has to be agreed upon that it really is hard to keep the recipes fresh and nutritious without making it too boring. It is this insipid feeling of chore that ultimately makes me feel too lazy to cook, hence the presence of used Chinese take out or pizza boxes in my kitchen.
The recent health-consciousness has made us cut back on eating out without giving too much thought to the alternative i.e. 'eating in'.
A couple of weekends back we had invited a family over for dinner, and while preparing the menu I decided to make a Tiramisu for dessert. I soon realized I had no Brandy/Marsala/ Rum at home, so in the process of looking for alternatives I chanced upon a Bailey's Irish Cream Tiramisu recipe on Nigella Lawson's website, now the irish cream I did have. Very tentatively I went about the process and after making it sit in the refrigerator for a day when I finally tasted it I had pleasantly surprised myself.
What I realised from this experience was that special, interesting food are not necessarily a result of a Herculean task. The normal chicken curry needs more ingredients and patience than the Tiramisu. The weekend after, I baked an orange marmalade pudding cake from Nigella Lawson again to take to a party.I felt inspired and I was bursting with energy. I think, baking gives me an adrenaline rush. Today I am going to roast some chicken with thyme for dinner. It looks like Nigella Lawson is turning out to be a saviour, she has made me want to go back to the kitchen and experience the feeling of accomplishment. I just wish I had more pots, pans and various other kitchen appliances- not to forget the kitchen of dreams. And maybe some sunshine to light up the kitchen.Tuesday, July 5, 2011
The Summer That Was
Once again I found myself walking the wondrous streets of Paris. As if in a haze, I walked by the grandeur of the buildings and their gorgeous french windows. It seemed to me as though they were longing to be opened by someone coming to smoke the last cigarette in his pack while watching the world go by beneath the wrought iron railings or perhaps yearning to have new lovers murmuring sweet nothings, sharing a coquettish grin with martinis in hand.
The french, the say, are arrogant sons of bitches, rude and ridiculously proud and I say why not? They can, after all, put together clothes that look fresh out of the latest Spring collection. They have what it takes to look cool and detached in suits worn in that summer haze while using public transport. They do own the word grandiose and all that the word describes.
Unlike my last time , there were no festivities in the air, people were going about doing their usual business. As opposed to the chilling cold of the last time, this time it felt like the last happy scorching everlasting summer in Paris.
When I left Paris with a heavy heart in the January of 2010 I took with me memories of lifeless skeleton of trees, frozen soils, the stillness of holidays ending, wintry fogs and grey skies. When I returned, it was to unending summer days, to blooming trees, the then dead soils presently bearing green blades of grass. Never was there a stillness in the air; the skies were cloudless and blue, and blinding were the rays of the sun that scorched my skin but brightened my soul.
A walk through the Champs de Mars rejuvenated life like nothing could ever make it meaningless again. The green stretches of Park serving its purpose of existence to the fullest. Familes, young couples and old spreading a picnic on the cool of the grass, tourists finding an empty bench under the shade of large trees, finding respite from the heat, swigging down water. The hawkers approaching resting travellers trying to sell miniature Eiffel Towers for a Euro but never being too persistent, as if they were in need of a break as well.
A little further down the way one could hear the roaring laughter of children sounding joyous, the obliviousness of adulthood all too stark. Just across from this piece of heaven were a family lunching under the shades, wine poured into plastic cups, a private joke going around that made them throw back their heads in quiet laughter.
It felt like being witness to life all the while stealing glances at the tall tower now behind me.
Paris on one's own seems like a very lonely idea but I quickly gathered that it wasn't as scary as one obviously thinks- unless of course you count the strange Italian trying to chat you up while you're running to catch your metro.
Champs Elysees without the lights on is a little dull but that does not deter the serious shoppers, the romantics should stick to the parks- so utterly delicious they were if you wanted to just take out your book and shut the world except for the lovely view of the Louvre stretched in front of you or to just take a quick nap.
The debilitating hot days plastering my hair to the nape of my neck one moment and the shocking chill of the wind in the next- how it does have the ability to make you suffer and enjoy at the same time.
I had been planning a day trip to Versailles but I couldn't bring myself to leave the streets of Paris behind.
Now I am back in the cool, dark underground cellar that is called Dresden. Much cleaner, quieter, damper and comatose!
I wasn't melancholic this time while coming back home, I have a feeling that it wasn't goodbye after all!
The french, the say, are arrogant sons of bitches, rude and ridiculously proud and I say why not? They can, after all, put together clothes that look fresh out of the latest Spring collection. They have what it takes to look cool and detached in suits worn in that summer haze while using public transport. They do own the word grandiose and all that the word describes.
Unlike my last time , there were no festivities in the air, people were going about doing their usual business. As opposed to the chilling cold of the last time, this time it felt like the last happy scorching everlasting summer in Paris.
When I left Paris with a heavy heart in the January of 2010 I took with me memories of lifeless skeleton of trees, frozen soils, the stillness of holidays ending, wintry fogs and grey skies. When I returned, it was to unending summer days, to blooming trees, the then dead soils presently bearing green blades of grass. Never was there a stillness in the air; the skies were cloudless and blue, and blinding were the rays of the sun that scorched my skin but brightened my soul.
A walk through the Champs de Mars rejuvenated life like nothing could ever make it meaningless again. The green stretches of Park serving its purpose of existence to the fullest. Familes, young couples and old spreading a picnic on the cool of the grass, tourists finding an empty bench under the shade of large trees, finding respite from the heat, swigging down water. The hawkers approaching resting travellers trying to sell miniature Eiffel Towers for a Euro but never being too persistent, as if they were in need of a break as well.
A little further down the way one could hear the roaring laughter of children sounding joyous, the obliviousness of adulthood all too stark. Just across from this piece of heaven were a family lunching under the shades, wine poured into plastic cups, a private joke going around that made them throw back their heads in quiet laughter.
It felt like being witness to life all the while stealing glances at the tall tower now behind me.
Paris on one's own seems like a very lonely idea but I quickly gathered that it wasn't as scary as one obviously thinks- unless of course you count the strange Italian trying to chat you up while you're running to catch your metro.
Champs Elysees without the lights on is a little dull but that does not deter the serious shoppers, the romantics should stick to the parks- so utterly delicious they were if you wanted to just take out your book and shut the world except for the lovely view of the Louvre stretched in front of you or to just take a quick nap.
The debilitating hot days plastering my hair to the nape of my neck one moment and the shocking chill of the wind in the next- how it does have the ability to make you suffer and enjoy at the same time.
I had been planning a day trip to Versailles but I couldn't bring myself to leave the streets of Paris behind.
Now I am back in the cool, dark underground cellar that is called Dresden. Much cleaner, quieter, damper and comatose!
I wasn't melancholic this time while coming back home, I have a feeling that it wasn't goodbye after all!
Friday, February 4, 2011
Tête-à-Tête
Intelligent Conversation- Something that is very close to my heart; something if you are only able to have once in the entire year you can consider yourself lucky, very lucky; something that is as rare as hen's teeth. You know why? Because the art of conversation is lost, because we don't converse anymore- we are too bloody busy to have a chat.
But, if I were to have an intelligent conversation, I would have all the ingredients ready at hand only to realize that I don't have the oven. Okay agreed, very bad metaphor-- but I mean the 'conversationalist', your partner in crime, your adversary, your best friend and your worst enemy all at once.
These days I only dare to bask in conversational glory through books that use the literary means of irony, sarcasm, hyperbole, rhetorical questions, jocularity and double entendre. It is best achieved with the intelligent reactions of the listener. It is fun, invigorating and discursive. It is what keeps human beings alive, it is the mainspring of ideas and inventions. Nothing gives more of an adrenaline rush than a good piece of conversation.
When your jokes go over people's heads, when someone tries to answer your rhetorical questions, when a gloomy silence succeeds an ironic remark- how discouraged do you feel? Discouraged enough to play dumb for the rest of the evening? Discouraged enough to not waste your quick retorts in that crowd? Discouraged enough to write obscure lines on your Facebook status? You are not alone!
Well, it is during these times that I miss my cultural milieu, where one can say something without fear of being disagreed with, we embrace disagreements, debates and political incorrectness. We don't dumb down, we don't run away, we don't numb ourselves with diplomacy; we converse in the true sense of the word!
My friends (you know who you are), over the years our conversations have inspired, exhilarated, infuriated and enlivened me. Take this post as my testament of how much you are missed, loved and treasured!
But, if I were to have an intelligent conversation, I would have all the ingredients ready at hand only to realize that I don't have the oven. Okay agreed, very bad metaphor-- but I mean the 'conversationalist', your partner in crime, your adversary, your best friend and your worst enemy all at once.
These days I only dare to bask in conversational glory through books that use the literary means of irony, sarcasm, hyperbole, rhetorical questions, jocularity and double entendre. It is best achieved with the intelligent reactions of the listener. It is fun, invigorating and discursive. It is what keeps human beings alive, it is the mainspring of ideas and inventions. Nothing gives more of an adrenaline rush than a good piece of conversation.
When your jokes go over people's heads, when someone tries to answer your rhetorical questions, when a gloomy silence succeeds an ironic remark- how discouraged do you feel? Discouraged enough to play dumb for the rest of the evening? Discouraged enough to not waste your quick retorts in that crowd? Discouraged enough to write obscure lines on your Facebook status? You are not alone!
Well, it is during these times that I miss my cultural milieu, where one can say something without fear of being disagreed with, we embrace disagreements, debates and political incorrectness. We don't dumb down, we don't run away, we don't numb ourselves with diplomacy; we converse in the true sense of the word!
My friends (you know who you are), over the years our conversations have inspired, exhilarated, infuriated and enlivened me. Take this post as my testament of how much you are missed, loved and treasured!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
The Customary Ramblings of Me!
It is just another day of the week. It's 9:20 in the morning and I am cozily perched on my bed, a hot cup of coffee is resting on my bedside table the grey steam of which is filling my room with aromas that awake the senses.
Morning is the best time to quietly sit and open oneself to the possibilities of the approaching day. But the beginning of the day is normally so rushed that one hardly has the time to to be philosophical about it. My mornings aren't rushed but even I can't be bothered to extrospect on a daily basis.
The last few months have been busy with regular classes leaving me only the weekends to sloth about.
We did manage to go on our vacation during the Christmas and New Years despite flight disruptions and it was a vacation in the true sense of the word. We relaxed and breathed fresh air by the caldera. The tranquility and solitude of Santorini was rejuvenating.
I also managed to complete an 800 page book that filled me up with a great sense of achievement!
Apart from the sheer beauty of nature, the food won my heart as well. The love with which food was served was a novel experience in itself. Gently coaxing us to finish the dessert that was served on the house to taking the time to know one's preferences and delivering the perfect meal. Do not mistake this for a Michelin starred restaurant- it did not have the impersonality of a corporation but warmth of hearth and home!
It is these little experiences that make vacations a success, something that we shall remember for years to come.
However being back in Dresden and to the realities of life are important as well. Everyday challenges of completing a task and planning the next, to find the drive to go through each day as well as to find a purpose all of which make life what it is- fun, unpredictable, disappointing, brilliant and hopeful.
Having completed 3 months of regular German classes I have come to realize that intellectualism and artistry are born out of leisure, mental if not temporal. The little I have, I have put to use. No, not in useful work but in self- improvement, to increase self worth and self love ( to the point of narcissism perhaps) and therefore have indulged in the learning of the Piano-forte! I feel positively Elizabethan writing this.
I must say, I am chugging along with learning a language and now an instrument without making too much of a mess, which has me truly believing that there really is no age limit to learning or gaining knowledge.
I am also starting to discover that I don't like a set routine of having to go to class everyday at the same time and wasting one of those beautiful, rare, gorgeous sunny days sitting in a room! Today is one of those days that fools you into believing that it's 10 in stead of -10 degrees C. But now I do not have the time to go out wandering into the wilderness of Dresden, now is the time to make some music while hoping the Deciduous trees outside my window will bear new leaves quite soon, that the sun will spirit away winter fleetly!
Morning is the best time to quietly sit and open oneself to the possibilities of the approaching day. But the beginning of the day is normally so rushed that one hardly has the time to to be philosophical about it. My mornings aren't rushed but even I can't be bothered to extrospect on a daily basis.
The last few months have been busy with regular classes leaving me only the weekends to sloth about.
We did manage to go on our vacation during the Christmas and New Years despite flight disruptions and it was a vacation in the true sense of the word. We relaxed and breathed fresh air by the caldera. The tranquility and solitude of Santorini was rejuvenating.
I also managed to complete an 800 page book that filled me up with a great sense of achievement!
Apart from the sheer beauty of nature, the food won my heart as well. The love with which food was served was a novel experience in itself. Gently coaxing us to finish the dessert that was served on the house to taking the time to know one's preferences and delivering the perfect meal. Do not mistake this for a Michelin starred restaurant- it did not have the impersonality of a corporation but warmth of hearth and home!
It is these little experiences that make vacations a success, something that we shall remember for years to come.
However being back in Dresden and to the realities of life are important as well. Everyday challenges of completing a task and planning the next, to find the drive to go through each day as well as to find a purpose all of which make life what it is- fun, unpredictable, disappointing, brilliant and hopeful.
Having completed 3 months of regular German classes I have come to realize that intellectualism and artistry are born out of leisure, mental if not temporal. The little I have, I have put to use. No, not in useful work but in self- improvement, to increase self worth and self love ( to the point of narcissism perhaps) and therefore have indulged in the learning of the Piano-forte! I feel positively Elizabethan writing this.
I must say, I am chugging along with learning a language and now an instrument without making too much of a mess, which has me truly believing that there really is no age limit to learning or gaining knowledge.
I am also starting to discover that I don't like a set routine of having to go to class everyday at the same time and wasting one of those beautiful, rare, gorgeous sunny days sitting in a room! Today is one of those days that fools you into believing that it's 10 in stead of -10 degrees C. But now I do not have the time to go out wandering into the wilderness of Dresden, now is the time to make some music while hoping the Deciduous trees outside my window will bear new leaves quite soon, that the sun will spirit away winter fleetly!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Battle of the Senses!!
With daily German classes for the last one month my frequency of blogging has gone down drastically. Everyday I must forget the magic of one language to learn the tricks of another. Yes, it is very difficult to stop myself from thinking in English which in turn is limiting my imagination.
My German class is like a giant experiment with Mundane Realism, the goal of course is to figure out how much we end up learning.
I actually have the perfect analogy of the process of learning a language. It's like losing weight. When you start you lose some weight drastically and then you reach the plateau where you have to go a long way if you want to progress further, you need patience and perseverance, you will get frustrated but you have to keep at it. Learning a language is very similar, initially you learn a bunch of words and grammar that you fling around every now and then in markets and coffee shops then you reach that same plateau when you realise you have stopped learning anything meaningful, you will frustrate yourself over the fact that you still can't participate in a conversation, you may somehow figure out the topic but will not be able to convey your opinion or inputs- you will want to say something important but you will come across hindrances at every stage- first by article, then by the form of article, then usually comes the verb and its form and by the time you figure out how to put a sentence together you suddenly realise you have forgotten what it was you wanted to say.
Now here is where I have to stop writing because my class starts in an hour. I leave you with the difference between losing weight and learning a language- one never really does lose the weight but you surely do end up learning something of the language!
My German class is like a giant experiment with Mundane Realism, the goal of course is to figure out how much we end up learning.
I actually have the perfect analogy of the process of learning a language. It's like losing weight. When you start you lose some weight drastically and then you reach the plateau where you have to go a long way if you want to progress further, you need patience and perseverance, you will get frustrated but you have to keep at it. Learning a language is very similar, initially you learn a bunch of words and grammar that you fling around every now and then in markets and coffee shops then you reach that same plateau when you realise you have stopped learning anything meaningful, you will frustrate yourself over the fact that you still can't participate in a conversation, you may somehow figure out the topic but will not be able to convey your opinion or inputs- you will want to say something important but you will come across hindrances at every stage- first by article, then by the form of article, then usually comes the verb and its form and by the time you figure out how to put a sentence together you suddenly realise you have forgotten what it was you wanted to say.
Now here is where I have to stop writing because my class starts in an hour. I leave you with the difference between losing weight and learning a language- one never really does lose the weight but you surely do end up learning something of the language!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
New York, New York
People have different things they find cool, live-in relationships, computer hackers, fight club, catch 22, Playstation 3--- to me the very definition of cool is New York city
I have spent exactly 3 days of my 25 years in New York city. Once when I was 15 and once when I was 24.
I remember one of our Value Education classes in 10th std. where our teacher told us to talk about our five dream destinations. I remember jotting down NYC as one of the places. I don't remember what had me started in the first place, I only remember my writing it down on a piece of paper completely oblivious of the fact that my dream was about to be realized in a few months.
Sometimes good things come of bad deeds-- My mom and I were flown to my uncle's after the final exams. He took us on a trip from Niagara to DC to Orlando. On the way we stopped at my mom's close friend's house in Princeton, NJ. I was feeling awful for being so close to New york and yet not having the chance to see it. My uncle had said that the traffic was awful there and he would not be able to take us.
My mom's friend to whom I had mentioned my disappointment managed to convince my uncle to take us there. Traffic was horrible, my uncle didn't get a place to park the car so he dropped us in front of Battery park to take the ferry to the Statue of Liberty while he just drove around waiting for us. After that we stopped at a Subway grabbed some sandwiches, looked at the empire state building from inside the car and went back to Princeton. I was happy. I loved what I saw and to think that dreams could come true was a big thing for a 15 year old.
The second visit to New York came 9 years later. When my sister and I planned a trip with our parents. As this trip was under our control we saw whatever we could in the short time possible. We walked to Bloomingdales- through 5th avenue. I tried to find Serendipity 3 but missed that one. Went to the top of Rockefeller center, walked through Central Park, saw Park Avenue and visited the MET.
Almost did everything that someone in New york is supposed to do, including facing the bumper to bumper traffic as my bro-in-law drove.
I have always claimed that I was a city girl. I come from one of the most populous cities in the world and I am happiest when I am thrown into the chaos of a city. Call it romanticizing but no matter how distressed I get waiting for the traffic to get moving I much prefer it to the quietude of town/suburban life.
Yellow cabs, sounds of sirens, street food, crazy traffic, sidewalks filled with people, sidewalks filled with people of all colours and creeds, oh! the thought itself is so comforting. How you just get into Central park and it seems like you are far away from the hustle and bustle. Then there are the sounds of horse carriages clacking down, children playing, nannies gossiping, lovers whispering.
The buildings are so tall that even when it's sunny the by-lanes are always shadowed and Times Square is never, and I mean it, NEVER devoid of tourists. Yes it is dirty and sometimes there is a stench from the sewers but you look up to a building and you see the typical fire-escapes of Manhattan and you are reminded of the hundreds of movies you have seen that has neighbours climbing down to knock on the girl's window, or someone escaping from the bad guys - or you are reminded of Joey hanging on to Ross holding on to one of the stairs for a reason I don't remember now.
Being in a big city can be scary, the fear of the unknown and the dangers lurking behind dark corners have always been there for me when I was in Delhi, although I have lived there for 5 years it's still an unknown place for me. But New York city, in a foreign land, with many a dark corners and alleys felt like I had seen it all and know exactly what to expect.
Just like one can have a deep connection with other people, one can also have connections with places. I connected with New york even before I had stepped foot onto its lands. May be I love it because I don't live it. May be I love it because it's one of the few places I have read and heard so much about yet it had not ended up disappointing me Yes it was exhilarating being there, it was like caffeine in my soul!
I once sat in a taxi in Calcutta some 3 years ago, from Southern Avenue to home around 7 p.m.. The radio station was playing smooth jazz sax- probably Coltrane. I am eternally grateful to the taxi-driver for not changing the station- in those 15 minutes I was transported to the Village and back. It is probably why I love Calcutta, because it is like New york or is it the other way round? I'll never know.
I have spent exactly 3 days of my 25 years in New York city. Once when I was 15 and once when I was 24.
I remember one of our Value Education classes in 10th std. where our teacher told us to talk about our five dream destinations. I remember jotting down NYC as one of the places. I don't remember what had me started in the first place, I only remember my writing it down on a piece of paper completely oblivious of the fact that my dream was about to be realized in a few months.
Sometimes good things come of bad deeds-- My mom and I were flown to my uncle's after the final exams. He took us on a trip from Niagara to DC to Orlando. On the way we stopped at my mom's close friend's house in Princeton, NJ. I was feeling awful for being so close to New york and yet not having the chance to see it. My uncle had said that the traffic was awful there and he would not be able to take us.
My mom's friend to whom I had mentioned my disappointment managed to convince my uncle to take us there. Traffic was horrible, my uncle didn't get a place to park the car so he dropped us in front of Battery park to take the ferry to the Statue of Liberty while he just drove around waiting for us. After that we stopped at a Subway grabbed some sandwiches, looked at the empire state building from inside the car and went back to Princeton. I was happy. I loved what I saw and to think that dreams could come true was a big thing for a 15 year old.
The second visit to New York came 9 years later. When my sister and I planned a trip with our parents. As this trip was under our control we saw whatever we could in the short time possible. We walked to Bloomingdales- through 5th avenue. I tried to find Serendipity 3 but missed that one. Went to the top of Rockefeller center, walked through Central Park, saw Park Avenue and visited the MET.
Almost did everything that someone in New york is supposed to do, including facing the bumper to bumper traffic as my bro-in-law drove.
I have always claimed that I was a city girl. I come from one of the most populous cities in the world and I am happiest when I am thrown into the chaos of a city. Call it romanticizing but no matter how distressed I get waiting for the traffic to get moving I much prefer it to the quietude of town/suburban life.
Yellow cabs, sounds of sirens, street food, crazy traffic, sidewalks filled with people, sidewalks filled with people of all colours and creeds, oh! the thought itself is so comforting. How you just get into Central park and it seems like you are far away from the hustle and bustle. Then there are the sounds of horse carriages clacking down, children playing, nannies gossiping, lovers whispering.
The buildings are so tall that even when it's sunny the by-lanes are always shadowed and Times Square is never, and I mean it, NEVER devoid of tourists. Yes it is dirty and sometimes there is a stench from the sewers but you look up to a building and you see the typical fire-escapes of Manhattan and you are reminded of the hundreds of movies you have seen that has neighbours climbing down to knock on the girl's window, or someone escaping from the bad guys - or you are reminded of Joey hanging on to Ross holding on to one of the stairs for a reason I don't remember now.
Being in a big city can be scary, the fear of the unknown and the dangers lurking behind dark corners have always been there for me when I was in Delhi, although I have lived there for 5 years it's still an unknown place for me. But New York city, in a foreign land, with many a dark corners and alleys felt like I had seen it all and know exactly what to expect.
Just like one can have a deep connection with other people, one can also have connections with places. I connected with New york even before I had stepped foot onto its lands. May be I love it because I don't live it. May be I love it because it's one of the few places I have read and heard so much about yet it had not ended up disappointing me Yes it was exhilarating being there, it was like caffeine in my soul!
I once sat in a taxi in Calcutta some 3 years ago, from Southern Avenue to home around 7 p.m.. The radio station was playing smooth jazz sax- probably Coltrane. I am eternally grateful to the taxi-driver for not changing the station- in those 15 minutes I was transported to the Village and back. It is probably why I love Calcutta, because it is like New york or is it the other way round? I'll never know.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Durga Pujo and I
I liked pujo because I like getting gifts, especially nice clothes. I remember a couple of pandal hopping experiences as a kid, that were all-night affairs. I don’t remember particularly enjoying them because pandal decoration and lightworks were elusive topics, I never liked crowded places and used to get very sleepy.
We used to make a customary trip to an old neighbourhood, where my grandmother was staying at the time, every Ashtami. We stood in long queues for bhog lunches, which I remember enjoying- not the wait but the lunch :)
Slowly that was also cancelled out as my grandmother had started living with us or it was too much of a trouble driving all the way to north
I also remember one year we drove to Puri. That was a very enjoyable trip and the Oriya protimas were amusingly cute to look at, not half as ostentatious as
We moved to Tollygunge which marked an end of a phase. We didn’t have a ‘parar pujo’,
My dad refused to go out into the crowd, so did I. So one night my mom and sister decided they would go pandal hopping in the area. This was a time when we used to go to 66 palli pujo beside my mamabari(kalighat) to give anjali. It used to be a coveted journey because my granny would cook awesome food for later. It used to be a ‘ekchala’ traditional simple pandal, now it’s an award winning designer one-- one year the protima was bought by an NRI. My grandma now lives with us. We have no reason to go there anymore.
For the last few years we’ve been having a ‘parar pujo’, it is simple but reassuring. I have gone back to give anjali and eat bhog and have a chit chat with the people. To hear the announcements and the priests’ chants from inside of our home is welcoming.
Last year I didn’t let myself feel bad, although I had come back from
Even if I am sitting inside my house doing nothing, not even particularly enjoying it, I want to see the pujo-chaos and prettily clothed people when I look out my window, because it means that everything is alright, just the way it is supposed to be.
Sharodiya priti o shubhechha to all my readers. Hoping that your pujo is slightly more exciting than mine :)
Monday, October 4, 2010
Hira-da
We were very young almost 13 years ago when Hira-da joined as our driver. He was assigned to dad by Hyderabad Industries ltd. when he joined that company. Soon he became the best driver we had had. He knew roads and by-lanes and gullies in every part of calcutta. We discovered that he even had a photographic memory. He remembered someone's house we went to months ago and we only had to tell him ,"hirada, do you remember that place we went to the other day? you know in so and so area?... yes yes she is my aunt, yes, please take us there."
We could sit in the car looking out the window, not worried about giving direction because we knew we didn't have to.
With time he became more than our driver, he was trusted to help our grandparents in case we went on vacation. When ma left for the US, he had to take over a lot of her duties, like paying bills, helping the grannies with their bank work or taking them to relative's places. When dad was away at work he even had to take one of my grandmothers to the hospital because she had fallen ill. When my dad couldn't come out of a meeting Hirada would go and visit her at the hospital.
I used to go back home on vacations and try to steal hira-da away from dad, so I could go visit my friends.
Hira-da had been a soul of discretion, in cars we have fought and screamed and joked and laughed and talked about things that always stayed in the car.
Hira-da was in his early 40's when on the 30th of september 2010 he passed away in a tragic accident. He fell off a crowded train while going back home from work. My parents were called by the police at midnight and they had to go and identify him at the hospital because they couldn't get in touch with his family.
All of us who knew him, loved him. Everyone knew that life without Hira-da is unimaginable, I do not think anyone is as indispensible as him in our family. He was not a driver, he was a part of our family. And all we hope is that he knew how much he meant to all of us. We hope he did not suffer too much pain. We hope he was happy that day. Because he did not deserve to go that way.
Hira-da will always be in our hearts and will be missed everyday.
Rest in peace Hira-da.
We could sit in the car looking out the window, not worried about giving direction because we knew we didn't have to.
With time he became more than our driver, he was trusted to help our grandparents in case we went on vacation. When ma left for the US, he had to take over a lot of her duties, like paying bills, helping the grannies with their bank work or taking them to relative's places. When dad was away at work he even had to take one of my grandmothers to the hospital because she had fallen ill. When my dad couldn't come out of a meeting Hirada would go and visit her at the hospital.
I used to go back home on vacations and try to steal hira-da away from dad, so I could go visit my friends.
Hira-da had been a soul of discretion, in cars we have fought and screamed and joked and laughed and talked about things that always stayed in the car.
Hira-da was in his early 40's when on the 30th of september 2010 he passed away in a tragic accident. He fell off a crowded train while going back home from work. My parents were called by the police at midnight and they had to go and identify him at the hospital because they couldn't get in touch with his family.
All of us who knew him, loved him. Everyone knew that life without Hira-da is unimaginable, I do not think anyone is as indispensible as him in our family. He was not a driver, he was a part of our family. And all we hope is that he knew how much he meant to all of us. We hope he did not suffer too much pain. We hope he was happy that day. Because he did not deserve to go that way.
Hira-da will always be in our hearts and will be missed everyday.
Rest in peace Hira-da.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
"Wake me up when September ends"
It has been raining since Saturday here, in Dresden. It's cold and shivery and very windy. Sitting by the window I can only think of one thing. The Dementors. The cold, grey and dismal atmosphere makes me think of dementors who have devoured the happiness out of the city. I am sure that J.K.Rowling 'conjured' up the character on one such dismal rainy period in London. It does get you rather depressed .
But then another thought flashed across my mind. On such a rainy day if I saw a girl in a Canary Yellow rain-coat wearing a bright pink lipstick walking down the sidewalk next to my house with a click-clack of her heels it would look rather cheery, wouldn't it? But no, people here wear only blacks and browns and beige and more blacks and hardly any lipstick.
When the Sahibs say that they found India extremely colourful I cannot agree more. People wear all sorts of colours in India, not just in the form of clothes but hoardings and buildings and cars. The Apartment building next to ours, in Calcutta is painted a royal blue with red borders. Now where else would you find a house looking like a 'naalambari saree'? I considered it quite ridiculous but on a day like today I would have loved to look at that house outside my window.
My favourite colours are Red and Purple, not necessarily in a combination. I would love to have a wall in my living room painted red, where I would put up framed black and white photos of the different cities I have been to, and then on these rainy spells I could just look at that wall and feel bright and sunny inside.
Of course the other thing one can do to make one's self feel better is to simply remember your favourite things, and if you do not have too many of those just listen to the song- "Raindrops on roses..."- even if you didn't know what crisp apple strudels were just the name will make you smile. When we went to Innsbruck, Austria nothing cheered me up as much as the sight of Apple Strudels at the bakeries because in a foreign land where everything was so new and 'foreign' I had found familiarity- something that had broken barriers and reached the homes of middle class Bengalis.
Of course, if the only song that buzzes in your head is 'Rainy days and Mondays always make me sad.." then there is only one thing that might help you, Xanax. Or you could wait and twiddle your thumbs till the clouds lift.
Don't you think, when the sun-rays find a crack in the grey clouds and rushes through to form a glittering pool on the wet streets- the infiltrated clouds look rather like the overcooked grey egg-yolks? Food for thought? No?
There is certainly one thing I envy in some people, their innate ability to look fashionable in extreme weather conditions. How one ends up looking absolutely ravishing on 3 feet snow or in body melting heat is beyond me- so cheers to them who wear yellow raincoats and knee length boots with 6 inch heels in flooding cities! Does a Burberry umbrella help?
But then another thought flashed across my mind. On such a rainy day if I saw a girl in a Canary Yellow rain-coat wearing a bright pink lipstick walking down the sidewalk next to my house with a click-clack of her heels it would look rather cheery, wouldn't it? But no, people here wear only blacks and browns and beige and more blacks and hardly any lipstick.
When the Sahibs say that they found India extremely colourful I cannot agree more. People wear all sorts of colours in India, not just in the form of clothes but hoardings and buildings and cars. The Apartment building next to ours, in Calcutta is painted a royal blue with red borders. Now where else would you find a house looking like a 'naalambari saree'? I considered it quite ridiculous but on a day like today I would have loved to look at that house outside my window.
My favourite colours are Red and Purple, not necessarily in a combination. I would love to have a wall in my living room painted red, where I would put up framed black and white photos of the different cities I have been to, and then on these rainy spells I could just look at that wall and feel bright and sunny inside.
Of course the other thing one can do to make one's self feel better is to simply remember your favourite things, and if you do not have too many of those just listen to the song- "Raindrops on roses..."- even if you didn't know what crisp apple strudels were just the name will make you smile. When we went to Innsbruck, Austria nothing cheered me up as much as the sight of Apple Strudels at the bakeries because in a foreign land where everything was so new and 'foreign' I had found familiarity- something that had broken barriers and reached the homes of middle class Bengalis.
Of course, if the only song that buzzes in your head is 'Rainy days and Mondays always make me sad.." then there is only one thing that might help you, Xanax. Or you could wait and twiddle your thumbs till the clouds lift.
Don't you think, when the sun-rays find a crack in the grey clouds and rushes through to form a glittering pool on the wet streets- the infiltrated clouds look rather like the overcooked grey egg-yolks? Food for thought? No?
There is certainly one thing I envy in some people, their innate ability to look fashionable in extreme weather conditions. How one ends up looking absolutely ravishing on 3 feet snow or in body melting heat is beyond me- so cheers to them who wear yellow raincoats and knee length boots with 6 inch heels in flooding cities! Does a Burberry umbrella help?
Monday, September 27, 2010
Anybody Out There?
Till a few weeks back I had lost faith in the entire species of Books. I was an avid reader. As my close ones know I read hoardings to 'shingarar thonga' but of late I was not coming across a single book that held my attention.
I started reading 'The Lost Flamingos of Bombay' by Siddharth Shanghvi and I gave up on it's fantastic randomness, I had loved his first book. I started reading 'The Time traveler's wife' by Audrey Niffenegger and it just confused me to hell so I had to stop. I even tried reading 'Eclipse' by Stephanie Meyer, needless to say I couldn't cope with it either. I was losing faith, the only ones I could still go on reading were Agatha Christies. My book rack which does not have many books is full of half and some quarter read books and a living proof of my failures in reading- anyone at this point would think me just plain 'slow'. Believe me, I have been debating that for a while now myself.
But wait, let's not jump to conclusions here- I had after all finished the Fountainhead, Atlas Shrugged and Gone with Wind by time I was in college. The problem I am sure lies else where.
The books are just not as good as they used to be. I try the intellectual Pulitzer winning writers and all I really feel is depression, I try the bestsellers and they are literally cringe-worthy, sometimes smirk-worthy. Even Sidney Sheldon's dead.
Then a friend suggested a few authors who are "interesting and non-tearing-my-hair-over-obscurantist stuff"in her own words. I still had my doubts and didn't do much about it.
Last week while roaming the book store , which for me consists of two low racks on the 1st floor of the shop that contain the English books and mostly has the Twilight and Harry Potter series, I did notice among them one of the authors that my friend had mentioned. I picked it up, said a little prayer in hopes that it will renew my faith in the act of reading and got myself a cosy little corner at Starbucks to start the process.
The book gods(or is it Saraswati? heh) answered my prayer; it was unputdownable! It was quirky and fun, smart and hip. It had me laughing then crying and then laughing again.
The book is called Anybody Out There by Marian Keyes, it is about an Irish girl who works in New York . The book opens with her in Ireland, recuperating from some sort of horrible accident and is wondering why her boyfriend hasn't even tried to get in touch with her. The book oscillates between flashbacks and present day and keeps you guessing while laughing till you get to the part where it breaks your heart. You cry and then can't help laughing through your tears again.
This book was like the 'chicken soup for the reader's soul,' it will definitely keep you warm when it's snowing outside and all you want to do is curl up, read and forget the world!
I started reading 'The Lost Flamingos of Bombay' by Siddharth Shanghvi and I gave up on it's fantastic randomness, I had loved his first book. I started reading 'The Time traveler's wife' by Audrey Niffenegger and it just confused me to hell so I had to stop. I even tried reading 'Eclipse' by Stephanie Meyer, needless to say I couldn't cope with it either. I was losing faith, the only ones I could still go on reading were Agatha Christies. My book rack which does not have many books is full of half and some quarter read books and a living proof of my failures in reading- anyone at this point would think me just plain 'slow'. Believe me, I have been debating that for a while now myself.
But wait, let's not jump to conclusions here- I had after all finished the Fountainhead, Atlas Shrugged and Gone with Wind by time I was in college. The problem I am sure lies else where.
The books are just not as good as they used to be. I try the intellectual Pulitzer winning writers and all I really feel is depression, I try the bestsellers and they are literally cringe-worthy, sometimes smirk-worthy. Even Sidney Sheldon's dead.
Then a friend suggested a few authors who are "interesting and non-tearing-my-hair-over-obscurantist stuff"in her own words. I still had my doubts and didn't do much about it.
Last week while roaming the book store , which for me consists of two low racks on the 1st floor of the shop that contain the English books and mostly has the Twilight and Harry Potter series, I did notice among them one of the authors that my friend had mentioned. I picked it up, said a little prayer in hopes that it will renew my faith in the act of reading and got myself a cosy little corner at Starbucks to start the process.
The book gods(or is it Saraswati? heh) answered my prayer; it was unputdownable! It was quirky and fun, smart and hip. It had me laughing then crying and then laughing again.
The book is called Anybody Out There by Marian Keyes, it is about an Irish girl who works in New York . The book opens with her in Ireland, recuperating from some sort of horrible accident and is wondering why her boyfriend hasn't even tried to get in touch with her. The book oscillates between flashbacks and present day and keeps you guessing while laughing till you get to the part where it breaks your heart. You cry and then can't help laughing through your tears again.
This book was like the 'chicken soup for the reader's soul,' it will definitely keep you warm when it's snowing outside and all you want to do is curl up, read and forget the world!
Friday, September 10, 2010
"...paths are made by walking"
Walking has been one of the most fundamental and profound things of my life. As it is, to all who have the great fortune of being able to walk as a means to get from one place to another, I also consider it to be much more than just that, a means of transportation, it's my way of living life.
At the age of 10 when I finally started travelling home from school without an escort, I discovered that the stretch from the metro station to my home could be reached by walking in 35 minutes, even if I ended up spending my bus fare of Rs 2 on the roasted peas! At the time my ability to walk not only took me home but also made it possible for me to enjoy those unhygienic and very spicy roasted peas!
I have risen early to go for morning walks with my dad- I was the only one to accompany him to those at Victoria and later by the Lake. I would chatter away while walking, dad quietly listening while we walked. The sun not having quite risen yet and the mist over the lake would have cast an eeriness if only not so many people had been walking.
Since then I have walked miles with my sister and my to-be-brother-in-law on their dates. Yes, its true- I was the proverbial 'kabab mein haddi' and the dowry she took with her (quite literally)
Then came a time when ICSE was over and my very dear friend and I had to explore our new found independence. She was looking for a particular romance novel by Barbara Cartland, I think. So she had me walking all over central calcutta, from M.G. road to college street to new market to park street, phew!!! Needless to say we didn't find that particular book but picked up others.
The next stretch of walking came when I got my first boyfriend. As money was an issue back in my adolescence the cheapest thing for us to do was to walk. Those walks were usually in silence, mostly because there was nothing to be said and quite glad that those walks didn't go on for too long, it would've been utterly boring to have prolonged them.
As I was becoming an adult and moved out of home the walks became of a different nature. They became more exploratory. The paths treaded were unknown but adventurous, the walks were taken alone but awareness crept in. My thoughts became my companion.
I suddenly realized that I was walking in my confusion, in happiness, to clear my head of any webs. I was walking when I was relaxed and when I was in stress. I have walked in mere despair. I have taken decisions and resolved issues while walking.
I have walked miles with friends beside me, sharing their troubles or perplexities and vice-versa, we have laughed and cried. We ate ice-cream as well.
My friends and I have walked miles to buy paan because we had the bloody time to do it, walked across smelly bridges and near fatal road crossings because it was fun.
Even when I am sitting at home I go for walks... I can see myself walking under the shade of trees and playing hide and seek with the rays of the sun that sometimes blind my eyes and sometimes make my hair glisten. And the walk enlivens me everyday.
p.s. my favourite kind of walk is by the beach at night, when the moon is full.
At the age of 10 when I finally started travelling home from school without an escort, I discovered that the stretch from the metro station to my home could be reached by walking in 35 minutes, even if I ended up spending my bus fare of Rs 2 on the roasted peas! At the time my ability to walk not only took me home but also made it possible for me to enjoy those unhygienic and very spicy roasted peas!
I have risen early to go for morning walks with my dad- I was the only one to accompany him to those at Victoria and later by the Lake. I would chatter away while walking, dad quietly listening while we walked. The sun not having quite risen yet and the mist over the lake would have cast an eeriness if only not so many people had been walking.
Since then I have walked miles with my sister and my to-be-brother-in-law on their dates. Yes, its true- I was the proverbial 'kabab mein haddi' and the dowry she took with her (quite literally)
Then came a time when ICSE was over and my very dear friend and I had to explore our new found independence. She was looking for a particular romance novel by Barbara Cartland, I think. So she had me walking all over central calcutta, from M.G. road to college street to new market to park street, phew!!! Needless to say we didn't find that particular book but picked up others.
The next stretch of walking came when I got my first boyfriend. As money was an issue back in my adolescence the cheapest thing for us to do was to walk. Those walks were usually in silence, mostly because there was nothing to be said and quite glad that those walks didn't go on for too long, it would've been utterly boring to have prolonged them.
As I was becoming an adult and moved out of home the walks became of a different nature. They became more exploratory. The paths treaded were unknown but adventurous, the walks were taken alone but awareness crept in. My thoughts became my companion.
I suddenly realized that I was walking in my confusion, in happiness, to clear my head of any webs. I was walking when I was relaxed and when I was in stress. I have walked in mere despair. I have taken decisions and resolved issues while walking.
I have walked miles with friends beside me, sharing their troubles or perplexities and vice-versa, we have laughed and cried. We ate ice-cream as well.
My friends and I have walked miles to buy paan because we had the bloody time to do it, walked across smelly bridges and near fatal road crossings because it was fun.
Even when I am sitting at home I go for walks... I can see myself walking under the shade of trees and playing hide and seek with the rays of the sun that sometimes blind my eyes and sometimes make my hair glisten. And the walk enlivens me everyday.
p.s. my favourite kind of walk is by the beach at night, when the moon is full.
Friday, September 3, 2010
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!!
Often we have heard the above quotation by Mark Twain but seldom have we come across the subject of it... "Age is an issue of mind over matter, if you don't mind, it doesn't matter."
In july I turned 25 and since then I have been slightly abashed about it, my age, that is. I have always been at ease about growing older, in fact, I have always looked forward to it. Being the youngest in the family I have looked forward to being taken seriously so age has never been an issue but suddenly I see there are film-stars, artists and authors who are younger than I am. Asudden, my husband has colleagues who are '85 borns. This had me searching for Kajol's age when she made DDLJ- would you believe it, she was 21? 4 yrs younger than I am right now? OMG! I am ancient- is what is going through my mind- right now there is a particular Shia LaBeouf who is famous and younger- or younger and famous! whatever!.
After these particular nerve wracking thoughts I got on my crosstrainer and decided I had to lose some 10 kilos I had gained since graduation.
Everything comes down to body image, lastly! I started comparing my agility with my 15 yr old self and realized I am not as supple and flexible as I used to be. But as a 15 yr old I'd thought I'd be a wine-taster at Napa Valley- look at me now, I am a full-fledged wine drinker and I have nothing to complain about!
Right when I stop thinking about my 25 yr old self I am reminded of my 54 yr old mother. She wrote her GRE at 46/47 completed her PhD at 53 and now a principal at a renowned school in India. What the hell was I thinking?! Did I not mention she was a teacher for 15 yrs prior to that?
Till I reach my mother's level of conviction I shall continue to work the crosstrainer and the wines (I hope)
I shall leave you guys with this one "Life's tragedy is we get old to soon and wise too late" - benjamin franklin!
In july I turned 25 and since then I have been slightly abashed about it, my age, that is. I have always been at ease about growing older, in fact, I have always looked forward to it. Being the youngest in the family I have looked forward to being taken seriously so age has never been an issue but suddenly I see there are film-stars, artists and authors who are younger than I am. Asudden, my husband has colleagues who are '85 borns. This had me searching for Kajol's age when she made DDLJ- would you believe it, she was 21? 4 yrs younger than I am right now? OMG! I am ancient- is what is going through my mind- right now there is a particular Shia LaBeouf who is famous and younger- or younger and famous! whatever!.
After these particular nerve wracking thoughts I got on my crosstrainer and decided I had to lose some 10 kilos I had gained since graduation.
Everything comes down to body image, lastly! I started comparing my agility with my 15 yr old self and realized I am not as supple and flexible as I used to be. But as a 15 yr old I'd thought I'd be a wine-taster at Napa Valley- look at me now, I am a full-fledged wine drinker and I have nothing to complain about!
Right when I stop thinking about my 25 yr old self I am reminded of my 54 yr old mother. She wrote her GRE at 46/47 completed her PhD at 53 and now a principal at a renowned school in India. What the hell was I thinking?! Did I not mention she was a teacher for 15 yrs prior to that?
Till I reach my mother's level of conviction I shall continue to work the crosstrainer and the wines (I hope)
I shall leave you guys with this one "Life's tragedy is we get old to soon and wise too late" - benjamin franklin!
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
My Very Own Roman Holiday
We all know that Rome wasn't built in a day and therefore it is fair to say that it cannot be seen in one either. The truth is you need many many days to feel Rome. We were there for about 4 days last weekend and we merely skimmed through the city. Every street, every by-lane emanate the history and culture.
Although very crowded with tourists all year round it is easy to get lost in the aura of the city, you can sit in a corner of a piazza and forget that there are teeming millions around you, just absorb the fact that it is the exact same place which was the mainspring of western civilization.
Our hotel was tucked away in a quiet green area. 15 mins away from the bustle of the city. Everyday after filling ourselves up with the amazing coffee and cornettos we would go on our expeditions. Map in hand, camera slung over the shoulder we would be ready to explore. The first view of the Colosseum was awe inspiring, cars whizzing past a monument built when no one knew there could exist something like an automobile. As they say, Rome has one foot in the past and one foot in the present.
Beside a 2000 year old monument you will find an ultra-glam Hard Rock cafe. Which we also went to by the way.
At the Fontana di Trevi, who wouldn't want to relive La Dolce Vita scene by scene- with a 4 Euro worth of Gelato cone in hand we sat by the fountain and had a sense of fulfilment wash over me.
Then again, having watched Angels and Demons quite recently I wanted to follow Langdon on his trail, so the Pantheon, Piazza Del Popolo, Vatican city, Piazza Navona and Castel San't Angelo had to be covered. Yes there is a lane through the Castel leading directly to the Vaticani, and it is no secret unfortunately.
Surprisingly we saw Berlusconi on our way to Navona, he walked past us with bodyguards around him ; he was so close we could touch him but we just took a picture.
In 4 days we covered 4 types of cuisine- Authentic roman pizzas to african fair and biriyani to hamburgers. We had street food consisting of cotoletta di pollo(chicken cutlet) sandwiches and also went to a famous cafe called Cafe San't Eustachio (70 yrs old) where you stand at the bar and have your fill of caffeine. They make the most wonderful espresso, we bought a jar of coffee and a box of espresso filled chocolates as souvenir.
On Friday night we had plans of going to Hard Rock cafe for dinner but it was so crowded we ended up in an Italian trattoria called Gran Caffe Roma which is quite famous (everything in Rome is) and we each had a pizza with some italian beer. The seating was rather interesting on Via Veneto right beside Hotel Majestic, cars whizzing past and cool breeze ruffling our hair.
On saturday night we were to go to an Italian restaurant where they served food made from age old roman recipes on Appia Antica, we took a taxi there after we left the cab and went to the gate of the restaurant we saw that they were closed with no information except a phone number, when we called an answering machine said they were closed for holidays- we felt ,quite literally, stranded as it was a remote location- a cobbled narrow lane with high walls on both sides and only private cars whizzing past us. We started walking towards the city center, feeling dejected and lost. 10 mins of walking found us in front of a bus stop. Here we stood and decided to try out the African restaurant I had come across on the Lonely Planet website. So eventually when the bus came we hopped on and went to the african restaurant (conveniently called Africa) and we were not disappointed at all, there were many locals which is always a very good sign.
On Sunday again we had plans of trying out another famous Pizzeria at Trastevere called Dar Poeta. The Trastevere district is eclectic with a buzzing night-life, it's a network of winding cobblestone alleys each filled with small trattorias and pizzerias- with long queues outside. The food is reasonably priced and is frequented by students and tourists. Since we didn't get a place at any of these places, it was already 9 p.m. and our stomach was growling we went to an Indian Restaurant, the location was super- there was a busker playing the saxophone that drowned the santoor playing in the restaurant and it was bang in the middle of the Trilussa opposite the Ponte Sisto.
You must have understood by now that whatever we ate in this trip happened by chance, although we had addresses and informations on the restaurant we wanted to go to fate had other plans for us!
We did finish off the trip with Hard Rock cafe on Monday afternoon- said our goodbyes to the city of Rome and back in Dresden by night. What a whilrwind trip it was but loved every moment of it. 40 degrees in the sun, clear blue cloudless skies like the deserts and walking kilometers at a stretch. Our feet callused and ached, skin burnt under the sun and I think we would do it again!
Next stop Greece(Athens and Santorini) for christmas and new years. We are up for the real Greco-Roman experience, can hardly wait.
Although very crowded with tourists all year round it is easy to get lost in the aura of the city, you can sit in a corner of a piazza and forget that there are teeming millions around you, just absorb the fact that it is the exact same place which was the mainspring of western civilization.
Our hotel was tucked away in a quiet green area. 15 mins away from the bustle of the city. Everyday after filling ourselves up with the amazing coffee and cornettos we would go on our expeditions. Map in hand, camera slung over the shoulder we would be ready to explore. The first view of the Colosseum was awe inspiring, cars whizzing past a monument built when no one knew there could exist something like an automobile. As they say, Rome has one foot in the past and one foot in the present.
Beside a 2000 year old monument you will find an ultra-glam Hard Rock cafe. Which we also went to by the way.
At the Fontana di Trevi, who wouldn't want to relive La Dolce Vita scene by scene- with a 4 Euro worth of Gelato cone in hand we sat by the fountain and had a sense of fulfilment wash over me.
Then again, having watched Angels and Demons quite recently I wanted to follow Langdon on his trail, so the Pantheon, Piazza Del Popolo, Vatican city, Piazza Navona and Castel San't Angelo had to be covered. Yes there is a lane through the Castel leading directly to the Vaticani, and it is no secret unfortunately.
Surprisingly we saw Berlusconi on our way to Navona, he walked past us with bodyguards around him ; he was so close we could touch him but we just took a picture.
In 4 days we covered 4 types of cuisine- Authentic roman pizzas to african fair and biriyani to hamburgers. We had street food consisting of cotoletta di pollo(chicken cutlet) sandwiches and also went to a famous cafe called Cafe San't Eustachio (70 yrs old) where you stand at the bar and have your fill of caffeine. They make the most wonderful espresso, we bought a jar of coffee and a box of espresso filled chocolates as souvenir.
On Friday night we had plans of going to Hard Rock cafe for dinner but it was so crowded we ended up in an Italian trattoria called Gran Caffe Roma which is quite famous (everything in Rome is) and we each had a pizza with some italian beer. The seating was rather interesting on Via Veneto right beside Hotel Majestic, cars whizzing past and cool breeze ruffling our hair.
On saturday night we were to go to an Italian restaurant where they served food made from age old roman recipes on Appia Antica, we took a taxi there after we left the cab and went to the gate of the restaurant we saw that they were closed with no information except a phone number, when we called an answering machine said they were closed for holidays- we felt ,quite literally, stranded as it was a remote location- a cobbled narrow lane with high walls on both sides and only private cars whizzing past us. We started walking towards the city center, feeling dejected and lost. 10 mins of walking found us in front of a bus stop. Here we stood and decided to try out the African restaurant I had come across on the Lonely Planet website. So eventually when the bus came we hopped on and went to the african restaurant (conveniently called Africa) and we were not disappointed at all, there were many locals which is always a very good sign.
On Sunday again we had plans of trying out another famous Pizzeria at Trastevere called Dar Poeta. The Trastevere district is eclectic with a buzzing night-life, it's a network of winding cobblestone alleys each filled with small trattorias and pizzerias- with long queues outside. The food is reasonably priced and is frequented by students and tourists. Since we didn't get a place at any of these places, it was already 9 p.m. and our stomach was growling we went to an Indian Restaurant, the location was super- there was a busker playing the saxophone that drowned the santoor playing in the restaurant and it was bang in the middle of the Trilussa opposite the Ponte Sisto.
You must have understood by now that whatever we ate in this trip happened by chance, although we had addresses and informations on the restaurant we wanted to go to fate had other plans for us!
We did finish off the trip with Hard Rock cafe on Monday afternoon- said our goodbyes to the city of Rome and back in Dresden by night. What a whilrwind trip it was but loved every moment of it. 40 degrees in the sun, clear blue cloudless skies like the deserts and walking kilometers at a stretch. Our feet callused and ached, skin burnt under the sun and I think we would do it again!
Next stop Greece(Athens and Santorini) for christmas and new years. We are up for the real Greco-Roman experience, can hardly wait.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Atithi Devo Bhava!
This is following my previous blog. This is to confirm that I had loadsa fun with my friend and her bf! They brought a really good Merlot and enjoyed what I had cooked. With a promise of an invitation to their place for some authentic spanish food the evening ended on a positive note. I also requested her to get me some Spanish saffron since she is going home next week.
You know what is better? For two years I have been sharing my husband's friends and I finally have my own friend in Dresden! What a comforting thought that is!
You know what is better? For two years I have been sharing my husband's friends and I finally have my own friend in Dresden! What a comforting thought that is!
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