tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57562148308968104522024-03-13T05:48:56.056+01:00thaumaturgist"The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it."
— J.M. Barrie (Peter Pan)Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-20383830135798831022019-06-15T00:38:00.003+02:002019-06-15T00:38:28.834+02:00Dinner Parties<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I remember many moons ago, my parents would throw semi formal dinner parties; colleagues and bosses would be invited, there'd be a frenzy in the kitchen preparing multiple course dinners. <div>
A fews days previous to the party there would be discussions about the menu, and the day itself would be marked partly by excitement and partly by panic. </div>
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We'd help clean the house, mostly by shoving all the junk under the bed or in the cupboards unreachable to any young children accompanying the adult.</div>
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Adorned in our best clothes we would spritz on some mom's imported perfumes, ready to greet our guests at the door when the bell rang. </div>
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I distinctly remember looking forward to these parties, especially as the prized China would come out of the vitrine, the choicest matching cutlery too, the "special occasions only" stuff. And there would be a feast.</div>
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One famous appetizer, a 'go to', was my mom's Pot kebabs, an Anglicised version of the original turkish kebabs made in a clay pot. I didn't enjoy them as such, I wasn't a mutton fan you see, but I knew the guests loved them so I silently tolerated them. These pot kebabs would go around, and Bengali Fish Fries with the "drinks" - I am talking about the early 90s here, so the alcohols consisted of whisky for the gentlemen and Blue Riband Gin for the ladies, with lime juice cordial of course.</div>
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I remember occasionally slipping into the female guests' shoes, the shiny ones to be precise.</div>
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Family parties used to be lunch parties slipping into afternoon tea - dinner parties were more intimate and boozy; I'd be sent to bed while the party would be in full swing, I remember lying down in bed, mom giving me a kiss reminding of school the next day or a leftover feast from that night, all the time having the feeling of me missing out on something exciting, something forbidden and exciting.</div>
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Many years later, when I got married, I thought I would inherit the adult life of my parents. I would have my husband's colleagues and their partners to dinner - I would cook up a storm, bring out the best China. </div>
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Took me a while to realise that things don't quite work the same way in Germany, there aren't many fancy dinners. I realised the mysteries of dinner parties for children is the view of what being grown up means, much of it is aspirational and emulating our parents.</div>
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I have, despite very different practices in this country, had some cracking dinner and cocktail parties. I have had many get-togethers with my college friends, especially when my husband was out of town for work and I'd be desperate for some company.</div>
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Today, after more than 10 years of marriage and 3 years of professional life, my husband is away at work and I have not written to a single friend to even meet for a cup of coffee - so comfortable am I am in my own laziness.</div>
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Today, as I lay in my bed with my bedroom window slightly ajar, leaving room for some cool breeze to flow in, floating in with the breeze came voices of friends laughing over the chink of cutlery on china, the clinking of wine glasses, the chit-chat of dinner parties and along with it came memories of an era gone by, an era when it was a wife's duty to entertain her husband's guests, an era when bosses and colleagues had to be pleased to maintain a good rapport for future benefits.</div>
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To an extent, these roles have melted away, but I wouldn't mind some multi course dinner served on high quality China, that aspirational bit I am still nurturing - a party where I still keep my fancy shoes on while nursing a glass of aperitif, my head thrown back in laughter as someone cracks a joke.</div>
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Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-49927648193771610822019-04-06T17:32:00.001+02:002019-04-07T09:11:23.767+02:00"Carpe Diem, because next diem there'll be nothing to carpe."<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have arrived late to the party, it is not my usual style, most of the time I am too early, but this one time do forgive me.<br />
I (and by extension my husband) started watching Game of Thrones last month, March to be precise. Many factors contributed to my shaking off this inaction regarding the widely watched and wildly loved series, namely: boredom with Netflix, knowing that the series was coming to an end and feeling left out from the frenzy, wanting to know what all the hoopla about Jon Snow was about ... etc. etc. And unlike many of the people I know, we are actually spending the money and watching the show legally on Amazon Prime Video. In the meanwhile, we also started watching another series called Mozart in the Jungle, a story about a whimsical music conductor and the musicians of the fictional New York Symphony.<br />
We were casually watching MITJ in between episodes of GoT to take a break from the intensity of that show, till one day I realised that it was just the other way round, we were actually watching GoT in between episodes of MITJ. So utterly delicious, enjoyable and life affirming Mozart in the Jungle was that it completely overshadowed the experience of watching Game of Thrones for us. The half hour episodes packed so much in it, from music to life lessons, that we would devour episode after episode without realising that we were finishing each season in one go.<br />
One of those days when we were watching an episode of GoT, perhaps one where there was a lot of chopping of heads and betrayal of trusts going on, my husband commented (a comment wish I had had the presence of mind to make) that in contrast to MITJ , in which the characters were so inherently good despite their flaws, GoT had characters that were what we would consider inherently bad despite some of their good deeds (the only character I am invested in, till now, is Tyrion Lannister). This comment made me wonder about what makes Game of Thrones so popular and Mozart in the Jungle so anonymous and niche. If anything, I would have expected Game of Thrones to have a niche audience as high fantasy is not everyone's cup of tea, I know exactly of 2 friends who started reading the books before the TV show was in the horizon because it's not a mass market genre like a detective or romance novel; Mozart in the Jungle on the other hand, albeit based on a nonfiction book, was a shorter format "comedy" usually slated for a much bigger audience, despite that the new management of Amazon Video decided to cancel the show after 4 seasons, disappointing its cast and audience, proving once more that money matters more than quality shows that spread joy and music.<br />
I am not dissing Game of Thrones, it is a brilliantly made show, I have only reached the end of Season 3 and I can appreciate the tight plot, brilliant actors & technicians together with its high production values creating something magical, we all know creating anything is hard work and not to be dismissed lightly. But the joy and passion that Mozart in the Jungle brought into our living room are unparalleled.<br />
Watching "Maestro" and "Hai Lai" travel the world with their music and pursue their lives and art with such passion filled our hearts with joy and fulfilment. The show transcended borders of culture and nationality, because such is the power of music and good people, and above all, the visions of Mozart, Bach, Beethoven and Nannerl had us tickled pink.<br />
We finished watching the 4 seasons so quickly that we are now left with a void, so I am planning a rewatch. In a world where money runs nations it was a breath of fresh air to watch a show that was so far from greed, looks like the Amazon management missed this great lesson from its own show. Like Mozart's Requiem the show is incomplete yet a masterpiece.</div>
Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-5633195083040915082018-02-07T19:31:00.001+01:002018-03-09T09:10:56.670+01:00An Irrevocable Condition<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For some time I have been feeling the presence of time more acutely. I am witnessing my niece and nephew growing up too quickly and my mother growing older. I sense one of those old fashioned alarm clocks running after me ticking away, intimating that time is running out. But what is time running out for? So many unrealised dreams and unfulfilled expectations of oneself and others, buried under mundane life suddenly surface out of some bizarre happening and all of a sudden life seems like a ticking time bomb.<br />
It is quite difficult to reconcile the dichotomous mind, when you want to travel the world and go home at the same time, the two so separate yet entangled like lovers. I think most people who look to go to the furthest corners of the world are looking to go home.<br />
As I am getting older in a country that's at it's core only different because the people speak a different language from me, I find myself constantly veering towards my mother tongue, Bangla. I find myself constantly responding in Bangla with my friends even when they write to me in english, I find that my vocabulary has somehow improved from my school days and I have been listening to a lot more Bangla songs and appreciating them more than ever.<br />
The pull to go back home is stronger than ever, I realise this wanting is a run after an elusive "chhelebela" (childhood). The people who made childhood special do not exist anymore or are not the same anymore, neither is the town, it isn't even home anymore, it exists only in my memories, and this is where I come to the irrevocable condition, a description borrowed from the writer James Baldwin who called home an irrevocable condition. It's perhaps the reason why some of us wander.<br />
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I leave you with the lyrics of this song by Moheener Ghoraguli<br />
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Ghore Pherar Gaan<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ami gai.. ghorer ferar gaan<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Utola keno e pran<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Sudhu je daake<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Fire amake<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Bidesh bibhuiye pore achi<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />tobu charena keno charena pichu taan<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Ami tai.. ekhono klantiheen<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />cholechi raatri din<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />shuni chomke.. jai thomke<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />kotha hote jeno veshe ashe<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />shudhu chena khub chena <br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />mono majhe omoleen<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Firbo bolley fera jay naki<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />periyecho desh kaal jano naki eshomoy<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Ekhono shamne poth haata baki<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />chaileo dite parbena faaki nischoy <br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Ami chai fire jete shei gaay<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />badhano boter chayay<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Sei noditir.. hawa jhir jhir<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Moner gobhire pore thaka joto<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />smiriti bismiriti kokhono ki bhola jaea<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Ami pray ekhono khuji se desh<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />jaani nei obosesh<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Morichika hay swapno dekhay<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Soishobe ar fera jabe na to<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />nei poth nei hariye geche se desh<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Firbo bolley fera jay naki<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />periyecho desh kaal jano naki eshomoy<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Ekhono shamne poth haata baki<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />chaileo dite parbena faaki nischoy </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ami chai fire jete shei gaay...</span></div>
Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-85154123257591051032016-07-11T02:23:00.000+02:002016-07-11T02:23:00.044+02:00Disappointment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today I will not care about the accuracy of my grammar and tenses and my political correctness, today is about my disappointment in mankind.<br />
I turn 31 today. It is a birthday filled with sadness, regret, hopelessness, and above all, disappointment.<br />
For quite a few months I have been contemplating closing my Facebook account, but the thought of shutting the door on my batch-mates, teachers and acquaintances kept me from taking the step. What had triggered the thought in the first place were the amounts of intolerance and thoughtless comments, pieces of news in form of video and blogs that exemplify inhuman behaviour against women, children, animals.. basically the vulnerable section of the society. I had had enough.<br />
Recently, an incident concerning my alma mater, Delhi School of Economics, Department of Geography, was in the news. A student of the final semester propagated some fake news of her having broken the record of the highest scores ever achieved. It's appalling, it's a betrayal of trust for the student's classmates and professors, not to forget her immediate family. I do not support this act, obviously. I also do not support the public shaming, that has happened over the course of this incident.<br />
Everything playing out on Facebook, on such a public forum is quite a scandal. When a student has made a mistake, it is the responsibility of the department to take action. If there is any condemnation to happen, it has to come directly from the department and its spokespersons directly at the culprit. I did not like it when a professor revealed the real marks on the public forum, I did not like it when questions of values and responsibilities were brought to the forefront with such judgemental attitude.<br />
I question the maturity and values of the student as much as the members of the faculty. I ask, was it necessary to humiliate the student on such a public forum. The girl has now deleted her Facebook profile. I am forced to fear for he life, I fear she will contemplate taking her own life. And I believe my fears are not baseless.<br />
I do not know this girl, my values also tell me that what she did was wrong, but mistakes are a part of life. Mistakes demand punishment, but what punishment is this where I, who doesn't even know her, pass judgement on her actions from a few Facebook comments?<br />
When I said that understanding and support is also important in this situation, I was told that our society is very supportive, but values are equally important. I am sorry to say that I do not believe that our society is very supportive. Which society are you talking about? The society that still thinks depression is an excuse? The society that kills her own daughter in the name of honor? The society that calls my friend 'kasai' in the name of caste? The society where you publish the marks of a student on Facebook comments?<br />
From a small lie, we go on to bigger lies to cover the initial small lie, and that happens out of fear and vulnerability. I am asking as a recently turned 31 year old, is your maturity level commensurate with your age? How do you measure maturity and responsibility? Let's bask in someone else's mistake and feel good about how YOU never got caught!<br />
The other news that has completely caught me off guard is the recent release of the Hindi Movie Sultan. The misogynistic message of the movie ( I confess I haven't watched it, but read several reviews and the plotline) hardly made my educated friends' and family's eyebrows twitch and that brings me to the subject of how ingrained misogyny is in our society. How we expect the woman to give up her olympic dreams to settle down with a man who thinks "no means yes" , and I do not even want to go into the subject of SALMAN KHAN! Thanks, but no thanks.<br />
I am disappointed in you, in me, in all of us!<br />
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Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-69012754181733675722016-05-24T11:49:00.001+02:002016-05-24T11:49:47.940+02:00Stories of my Coming Back<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have often heard that one should not take anyone for granted. But, it is often the case that we do, especially the ones closest to us. We feel that our loved ones understand us and that they would wait for us to return to them. Such a fate has befallen me and my blogging space.</div>
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Do not think for a moment that I do not care, I have enquired of it's health and well-being from time to time; I fell into a lazy routine where stopping for a longer conversation was too much work. </div>
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I will not lie, I wouldn't say that the thought of severing all ties hadn't occurred to me, but I stopped myself the moment I thought about all the memories I had collected, my myriad states of mind etched onto this space, the thought of losing it all with a click of a button jolted me out of those dark thoughts. I realized that this blog is like my Pensieve. </div>
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So, I am back to my virtual witter space, thought I will dust it, remove the cobwebs and gather it up like a baby close to my heart and have a little cry.</div>
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Now, to some actual updates. Master's Degree has been received and enough driving classes have been taken that I would easily get an Indian license right away - but not enough for Germany. At almost 31 years of age, I am searching for a real job for the first time in my life. Life is not as miserable as I want it to be - oh how one craves the romance of a miserable life!</div>
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There were times in my life, including my childhood, when I found a lot of joy in cooking. I have always been very fond of eating well, but the joy of cooking had left me in recent times. I am glad to say that I have found it again. </div>
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To say that I find the grocery stores here uninspiring is an understatement. Finding ingredients to try new recipes, to not get simple things like boneless chicken thighs just depress me. However, a month back I discovered a website called Marley Spoon, who deliver ingredients and recipes to your doorstep. Exotic recipes that you would be afraid to try on your own trying to gather all the ingredients, buying a whole bottle of something that will never be used again, the idea of waste looming large - all these things have been solved by Marley Spoon and other start ups around the world providing similar services. You will not have any excuse to not try cooking something unknown anymore. Over the last three weeks I have made Italian, Middle Eastern, Asian and Mexican dishes, which turned out delicious and you are cooking with fresh produce, locally sourced meat and fish, some of the things organically grown and produced, spices that you have never cooked with before like Sumac, Bahrat, and take this Panch Phoron was also included in one of the recipes involving Masoor Dal (Red lentils)</div>
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I go back to the kitchen now, excited to see what the outcome will be, whether I will enjoy eating it and be able to replicate the dish as close to the finished product on the recipe cards. I take numerous photos and send them to my family every other evening to show off a little. So, I thought I might as well document my kitchen escapades on my forever neglected blog space. </div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-96djCpzJI9M/V0QgvE2ECCI/AAAAAAAAG30/h5zhHr7TrWMATu2ZOOc5nxUVA9VnF19IACK4B/s1600/BeFunky%2BCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-96djCpzJI9M/V0QgvE2ECCI/AAAAAAAAG30/h5zhHr7TrWMATu2ZOOc5nxUVA9VnF19IACK4B/s400/BeFunky%2BCollage.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-38094936394528486352015-04-28T00:48:00.000+02:002015-04-28T00:48:03.294+02:00Nabokov's Questionnaire<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I came across this questionnaire on a fellow blogger's site <a href="http://abantor-prolaap.blogspot.de/2015/04/a-questionnaire-for-immodest-and-curious.html?showComment=1430173858221#c8284011482688714312">Abantor</a> & here are my answers. I have tried to answer them as truthfully as of this moment, a different mood and a different situation could warrant a different set of answers... but for now here it is<br />
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<b>A Questionnaire for the Immodest and Curious - Vladimir Nabokov</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Name, patronymic, last name: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Deepanjana Majumdar </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Pen-name, or a preferred pen-name: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Raka</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Age and preferred age: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">29 and 27</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Attitude to marriage:</b> </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">so far so good</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Attitude to children: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">My attitude to them depends on the parents of the said children</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Profession and preferred profession: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Professionally being trained to be a geomatics expert (whatever that means) In another life would love to be a writer or involved in performing arts!</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>What century would you like to live in? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Would have loved to live my youth in the 1960’s, seems that the world was much more liberal back then or too involved in sex, drugs and rock’n’roll to go to war! mid 20th century onwards, better sanitation, improvement in life expectancy etc. etc.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>What city would you like to live in? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">New York/Paris/san Francisco</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>From what age do you remember yourself and your first memory?</b> </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Don't know if I really remember it or it’s an effect of the story being repeated to me multiple times, I don't trust my memories, I believe most of it is made up. But my maternal grandparents’ house features in a lot of them.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Which of the existing religions is closest to your world-view? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">None</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>What kind of literature do you like the most? What literary genre? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Since one of my favourite books is a Roman á clef I would name that, I also like Bildungsroman and crime fiction. I believe our preferences change with our experiences in life.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your favorite books: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The Fountainhead, The Bell Jar, Gone with the Wind, We the Living, P.G. Wodehouse</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<b><span class="s1"></span><br /></b></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your favorite art: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Photography and Indian classical dance forms</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<b><span class="s1"></span><br /></b></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your favorite artwork: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The Swing- Renoir and Water Lilies -Monet </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your attitude to technology: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Necessary evil</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Do you appreciate philosophy? As a form of scholarship, as a pastime:</b> </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Yes I do, I like to discuss Ideology, philosophy gives a structure to thought.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Do you believe in progress?</b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I believe in evolution, if that encompasses progress, then yes.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your favorite aphorism:</b> </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">You made your bed, now lie in it</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<b><span class="s1"></span><br /></b></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your favorite language: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">That would have to be Bengali and English - Urdu comes a close 2nd.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>On what foundations does the world stand? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Big Bang</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>What miracle would you perform if you had a chance? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Eradicate hunger</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>What would you do if you suddenly got a lot of money? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">After giving some away to cure diseases and provide food to the hungry I would travel the world with the rest of it.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your attitude to modern woman: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Good on you mate!</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your attitude to modern man: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">About time!</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>What virtue and vice do you prefer and disapprove of in a woman? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">multitasker and fickle</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>What virtue and vice do you prefer and disapprove of in a man? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">their ability to chill out and their cluelessness.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I think I should mention here that I wrote the above answers in all seriousness but I don't think men and women are that different and it is hard to generalise.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>What gives you the keenest pleasure?</b> </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">travelling</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>What gives you the keenest suffering? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">children suffering</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Are you a jealous person? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">No</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your attitude to lies:</b> </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I sometimes prefer to hear a lie than the true.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Do you believe in love? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Yes- all kinds of love</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your attitude to drugs: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We wouldn't have any groundbreaking music and art without them. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your most memorable dream:</b> </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Being lost and cant find my way back home.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Do you believe in fate and predestination? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In the loosest possible sense.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your next reincarnation? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Inanimate object</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Are you afraid of death? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Je ne sais pas</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Would you like man to become immortal?</b> </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">No</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your attitude to suicide:</b> </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">More painful for those who live on.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Are you an anti-Semite? Yes. No. Why? </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">No, if I were an anti semite I would be anti a lot of other ethnic groups and communities too… I am anti nothing. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Do you like cheese?</b> </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">No</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your favorite mode of transportation: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Train</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Your attitude to solitude: </b></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">solitude is an absolute necessity for personal growth and creativity. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Man should be comfortable in his own company. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>Favorite menu: </b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Bengali food, like mom makes and grandma made</span></div>
</div>
Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-50652073152208052722014-10-22T12:48:00.000+02:002014-10-22T12:51:15.287+02:00Winter is Coming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoTitle">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 125%;">No, this is
not an episode of the Game of Thrones, I am merely stating a fact. As I sit at
my dining table looking out the window I can sense the doom and gloom. The sky
is a pallid grey, the young trees that had been planted in the winter of 2012
on our street are quivering and shaking before the wind that threatens to cut
short their spring, the young man braves the chill with a cup of vending
machine coffee in hand, donning the hood of his red jacket as he walks away</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">My late
breakfast of blueberry yogurt and müsli now seems inadequate, the heart desires
warm pancakes, but I still have some coffee in the thermos left to take the
edge off. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 125%;">Generally, I should not be
complaining, it has been pretty mild here till today, it has rained
everyday for the last 2 weeks, yes, but the temperatures had been warm enough. This
city gets very little to no snow in winters, but it is not a very inspiring
winter. If it is going to get cold, I may as well have some snow, no wait, what
the hell am I talking about ? With the entire city dug up and under
construction snow is going to be a terrible idea- mixed with dust and mud and
construction material, no, let’s scrap snow from the
agenda.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">I shall
brave out this winter like every other winter, basking in the glow of a summer
well spent, loving and being loved by the crown jewels of our <s>royal </s>family,
my 2 year old niece and a brand new 4 month old nephew. The nephew who loves
being sung and talked to and the niece who has a particular disposition of
being goofy and naughty in the most charming way possible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">I realized
that I have to keep this last summer well chronicled for I do not want to
forget the times spent with the kids, who happen to grow up so fast that
already the timeline of funny incidents and moments are starting to blur. And don’t
get me wrong, the babies are great but the times my sister and I spent sans
babies were hilarious… checking out chic restaurants, drinking <s>before</s>
noon, pretending to have sex and the city moments with outdoor seating, olive
branches and bougainvillea blooming around us and Mercedes convertibles parked
at the street corners, realizing that it is so overrated when the wasps/bees
will not hesitate to paralyze you for the entire duration of your meal.
Watching 2 hour movies stretched over a few days, eating amazing fresh pasta
every evening for dinner and countless ice cream outings to cover for the
entire year; wildberry lavender has spoilt me for any other ice cream/gelato in
Germany, perhaps, I need a trip to Rome to renew my faith in gelato. The account
of the summer shall not be complete without mentioning the absolutely heavenly
shopping spree we went on avec babies, while one held the baby the other tried
on clothes, beautiful, shimmering, life assuring apparel. The shoes and bags
have been reserved for another summer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">An overnight
trip with the babies that was incredible, challenging and love inducing all at
the same time. A particularly memorable moment was when my sister went to meet
her advisor and my niece was with me on the stroller fast asleep, I sat in the
rest area of a museum a little apprehensive about how she would react if she
woke up in a strange place with mummy not around, but when she did eventually
wake up and I unstrapped her from the stroller to pick her up there was no sign
of worry on her face, we sat together cuddling and indulging in #selfies till
mummy was back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 125%;">The farmers’
market, local coffee bars, fresh made mini donuts, my niece’s equally edible
face coated with sugar from the donuts, late American brunches and fried
chicken, express wine tasting at Whole Foods Market rendering us (mostly my
brother in law and I) completely drunk and giggly and not to forget the
birthday party of the year for the diva aka my niece entailing the kids having
a great time, the adults getting some much needed alcohol and the most delicious and
beautiful cake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 125%;">It was a
summer one </span></span><span style="line-height: 20px;">wouldn't</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 125%;"> want to forget, reliving it over and over in one’s mind to stoke
the fire, to surpass the winter, to get over the gloom, to love life as it is. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-14053042769560773042014-04-24T14:21:00.000+02:002014-04-24T14:21:39.546+02:00Je ne sais quoi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There are times when dark clouds loom over one's head and the world seems like a big bad place to be in, one might even wish that it would be all over, the world would come to an end as he/she knows it. There are emotions one can feel that have no name. Moments of great joy and prospect of something may transform into feelings of bitter disappointment and hopelessness.<div>
Sometimes, when one is too deep into it,there are moments when one can feel trapped and liberated all at once followed by numbness and stillness. Things can sometimes seem to move so fast that it gets hard to breath, and at other times in slow motion when you just want the moment to pass by in stead of dragging on. </div>
<div>
Talking about it never translates the gravity of the situation, but it will make one wiser when one hears the words tumbling out of his/her mouth with no restraint, or one can hope to be.</div>
<div>
Human capacity to feel and over-feel, think and over-think is immense, it is what gives shape to language and to literature. The thinking and feeling and imagining of writers have given a lot of us a lot of pleasure and pain. We stepped out of our comfort zones through these pages of greatness, we cried into the pages staining them, kissed some and left lipstick stains, we have even torn out some of them (I know you have) to have it always on your person. Sometimes we have carried a book around for ages without reading them but received some sort of satisfaction just having it around.</div>
<div>
I think and over-think, I feel and over-feel, that is the reason I sometimes write and sometimes do not write. But I will not give it up for anything, even when they sometimes pull me by my hair and drag me through the roads of shame, guilt and pleasure. I have daydreamed about writing one day, perhaps I never will in this life but I will continue to read and dream, play around with the ideas, explore and imagine and feel them taking shape before they sublimate in my mind's eye.</div>
<div>
There will be a love story, there will be a song, lines of magical poetry- there will be sensual pleasures of smell and taste and rhythm- I will see bright and radiant colours of this ephemeral existence, I will feel the elements on my skin- the burn of the sun and the grit of the sand. I will remember the days that gave me love and freedom. I will celebrate. </div>
</div>
Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-60913204906653437472014-03-10T16:10:00.001+01:002014-03-10T16:10:49.130+01:00In a Soup<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After a few weeks of non-stop indulgence and gluttony I thought it would be good to start cutting back on all the rich and potentially harmful diet I am so fond of. I had been sifting through a cookbook bought around Christmas after having a version of Lasagna at a friend's place for dinner. She later revealed it was from a book called the complete low-fat cookbook; she is diabetic and this particular lasagna omits the heavy bechamel sauce I don't like, and replaces it with some semolina cooked in milk to coat the top, giving it a structure and texture after the baking. It was after this meal that I took a look at her cookbook and decided it order it on Amazon.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Don't be deterred by the Low-fat bit, I have never come across a low-fat cookbook that features such deliciousness. It has a number of Asian recipes, including Indian that appeals to most palates, they are mild and innovative, uses different kinds of proteins and vegetable, and has an entire section on desserts, yes, you heard right!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, after the general skim through I zeroed in on this Broccoli-potato-coriander soup because I had the ingredients at home, looked simple enough to make and it had potatoes in it, we know potato makes everything right in the world. Yesterday, after household chores I set out to making this promising soup. We were watching a movie at 19:15 at a theatre close to home so I wanted dinner to be ready when we got back. </div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rfkYE7td918/Ux3STRKg4vI/AAAAAAAAGW4/ITin_GhQxCM/s1600/soup2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rfkYE7td918/Ux3STRKg4vI/AAAAAAAAGW4/ITin_GhQxCM/s1600/soup2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After the cutting, chopping, seasoning I put the lid on of the saucepan and waited for it to cook; in the meanwhile, I got the food processor ready and made myself a beautiful cup of tea, the tea set a Christmas gift from the friend who made the Lasagna.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once the vegetables were cooked I poured it into the bowl of the processor, put the lid on, pressed the 'on' button and nothing. I unlocked the bowl from the main unit, opened the lid, poured the soup back into the saucepan thinking the blade may not have been correctly placed, so did it again, poured the veggies back in, closed the lid and switched it on again, once again nothing happened, only the light was on so I knew there was nothing wrong with the power source. By this time, I was deeply disturbed, the expensive food processor, a gift from my sister, was only half a year old and I attempted to make the soup because I had the food processor and now it was betraying me. I was emotional and upset. I abandoned the whole thing, switched off the lights in my kitchen and went away to watch the movie... by the way it was Philomena in case you are interested to know.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
While walking back home we stopped at a turkish food joint and got ourselves some dinner. Soup was not going to happen.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once back home I tried to go though forums online to see if there was something that could be done to the food processor, everyone on those forums said to make sure that it was placed correctly, all the parts were locked into their positions and there were 'click' sounds etc. and I couldn't find a fault with my arranging of the bowls, it wasn't the first time I was using it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Around 12 a.m. when I was lying in bed trying to sleep a thought came to my mind... was it because I had not closed the feed chute? I hadn't done it because the vegetables were right off the stove, it was piping hot and closing it off would've created pressure so I had decided to leave it open only covering it with a tea towel. Eureka! I knew I had the solution and smiling to myself drifted off to sleep.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today morning I went into the kitchen and the first thing I did was to go to the food processor, pour the soup stuff into the bowl again, close the lid and close off the feed chute and switch it on, et voila! It worked! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I took some of the mixture out into a small saucepan and put the rest in the refrigerator, something more had to be done to it before it was ready to be eaten. Oh and was it yummy. I am not a soup person, except chicken hot and sour or sweet corn soups at Chinese joints in India, read Kolkata, but, I absolutely loved this one, it is heavy enough to be had as a meal in itself and one could serve it as an appetizer in smaller portions with some crunchy fried bacon on top for some punch.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Here's the Recipe:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ingredients:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">500 gm
broccoli<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">cooking
spray<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2 onions,
finely chopped<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2
tsp. Ground cumin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1
tsp ground coriander<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">750 gm
Potatoes, diced<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2 chicken
stock cubes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1.5 cups
skim milk<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1.Cut
broccoli into small pieces. Spray the base of a large saucepan with cooking
oil, the place over medium heat and add the onion and garlic. Add 1 Tbsp.
water. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, over low heat for 5 minutes, or
until the onion has softened and is lightly golden. Add the ground cumin and
coriander and cook for 2 minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2.Add the
potato and broccoli to pan, stir and add stock cubes, and 4 cups of water.
Bring to boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer over low heat for 20 minutes, or
until vegetables are tender. Allow to cool.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3.Blend
the soup in batches in a blender until smooth. Return to the pan and stir in
milk. Slowly reheat, without boiling. Stir in chopped coriander and season well
before serving.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hNl2yS1WLg8/Ux3SP2BsLFI/AAAAAAAAGWw/TIdvfUATqjE/s1600/soup1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hNl2yS1WLg8/Ux3SP2BsLFI/AAAAAAAAGWw/TIdvfUATqjE/s1600/soup1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My own twists: I don't have cooking spray so I added a tbsp of olive oil. Added some whole cumin and dried thyme in the hot oil before I put the onions in. I did not have milk at home so I added some natural yogurt at the end. I also like some heat so added some chili flakes and a generous amount of crushed black pepper. The addition of yogurt at the end gave it a lightness and a well rounded flavour.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dinner tonight is a whole roast chicken, it's the first time I am going to cook one, so be prepared to read about it.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-31752012847338952442014-03-08T01:50:00.003+01:002014-03-08T01:57:48.193+01:00Powerful and Godlike<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A couple of days back a friend, who also happens to be my
namesake, said that I should write more about drinking. I literally laughed out loud at her suggestion, the reasons being
that there really is quite a lot that I can write about alcohol and what goes
around it but also because I think I have developed notoriety in relation to
alcohol.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It's not because I have a drinking problem (I know, everyone
with a drinking problem says that) but because I can talk about it freely. I can
say "let's meet for a drink" any time of the day not meaning
"let's get drunk". I can hold my drink quite well, except the hindi
filmy hiccups once in a while and I am usually game- if someone wants to share
a pitcher of Guinness I will take it, if someone wants company for a tequila
shot, I will do it- what I mean is that I am not finicky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That does not mean that I don't have my preferences- on a
normal day I usually prefer a beer, like a lager (pilsner). In a pub atmosphere
or in large groups of people when I need to make a drink last a while, when
it's warm or there is greasy pub food, beer is my mate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">As I live in a country that hasn't heard of air
conditioning, heavy and dark beers that have a higher sugar content can get
uncomfortable to drink in hot summer months, although that sort of weather only
lasts a very brief moment, pilsners are the only sort of alcohol that one can
drink if they don't want to pass out. In the cooler months you can bring out
the large varieties ranging from the hefeweizens to the smoky malt beers, from
the stouts to the Ales.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In cool cafes, with low lights, smooth jazz and a hum of
conversation, when I feel sophisticated, I crave a glass of Merlot in winter
and Chardonnay in summer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">There is something about wines that transport me in time- I
feel a Downton Abbeyesque charm around me. Talk of red wine always makes me
envisage the sommelier going down to the cellar to collect a 15 year old bottle
of Cabernet Sauvignon that has now mellowed with age, him blowing out the dust
off the bottle, carefully uncorking and decanting it to get some air into it
and pouring it from an heirloom crystal decanter to our glasses. Alas, we can
only afford Cabernets that are usually only a couple of years old, the tannins
still strong in them and too dry for my taste so I stick to the smoother and
fruitier Merlots that wine snobs may look down upon. Although, there are times
when I enjoy Pinot Noirs too, known commonly as Spaetburgunder in these parts
of the world, they are made of grapes that are difficult to grow, so only a
limited amount of Pinot Noirs are produced each year making them a little
expensive, but they too are light and fruity and easy to drink, they can be
very versatile, and pair well with varieties of food.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Now, I leave the cocktails for very special occasions, such
as, when I am meeting girlfriends after a long long time or when the meeting is
set for after-dinner in a bar, that's when the cosmopolitans or the martinis go
around, I love a Bombay Sapphire(gin) martini extra dirty- meaning a splash
more of the brine in which the olives sit, but it's a risky drink to order if
you don't know how good the bartender is and where the cosmos can come out as
cranberry juice with the essence of vodka. When in doubt order a Gin/Vermouth and
Tonic- simple and easy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Alcoholic drinks most often do their duty as a social
lubricant, they help me have conversation with people that I am still not that
close to, they happen to bring everyone's guards down and be more spontaneous.
Sometimes I enjoy music more when I am slightly intoxicated, but it has never
been anything more or anything less. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The culture in Italy and France of having a pre-dinner
aperitif that can consist of an Aperol Spritz in the former and light white
wine with cheese in latter is followed by a pairing of wine with the dinner
makes drinking alcohol as natural as going to sleep at night. I have very
rarely encountered a drunk Italian, though I don't doubt there are a few. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On the other hand, in Germany, when you walk by the parked
cars, if you look carefully there is always at least one crate full of beer
bottles stacked away in the boot. When I meet German or European friends
anywhere outside they are usually carrying a backpack that has a bottle or two
of beer in them, just in case!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I would like to leave you with this quote from The Bell Jar
by Sylvia Plath<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">“I began to think vodka was my drink at last. It didn’t
taste like anything, but it went straight down into my stomach like a sword
swallowers’ sword and made me feel powerful and godlike.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Goodnight!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">P.S. As I am writing about a substance that is often abused
by the young as well as the old, I need to indicate that it is only fun while
it is in moderation, excess or binge drinking can be embarrassing and harmful
for the one who is drinking and also for their close friends and families.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-24617890162869062522014-02-04T15:35:00.000+01:002014-02-04T15:36:59.175+01:00Quaintrelle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The absolutely fascinating period of exams are on. This time at a foreign university (my first), making it slightly more mesmerising. People can rediscover themselves at a time like this, these times can bring with them a revelation. We come to know exactly how much the classes preceding these exams have been meaningful, how much the students paid attention and how effectively the teachers imparted their knowledge.<br />
Just like there are two sides to a coin, this situation also has two sides to it, we (the students) think the teachers had been ineffective and they(the professors- they like to call themselves that ridiculously old fashioned way) believe we failed them by not working hard enough or not being smart enough.<br />
I have never been very academic, never been much of anything really, but more about that later... so the idea to get a second master's degree was to give myself some credibility and a kick start to a career I never had. But being back in school makes me question my decision. I like being busy, I like to get work done, I feel good after I have successfully completed a task but being a student is a role I could never embrace successfully- I always felt out of place, trying to follow, trying to conform and trying to run in a race.<br />
Most of us never end up doing/being what we really enjoy like to do/be, I blame it mostly on the lack of courage.<br />
The learning by osmosis is the knowledge that is retained, an information delivered in an atmosphere of fun is willingly assimilated. Sometimes the Umgebung where information is shared matters more than the nature of the information.<br />
I believe I was born to be, what Baudelaire called, a flaneur, the person immersed in life yet detached, the person of leisure, the urban explorer making unintentional contributions to psychogeography.<br />
There probably comes a time in everyone's life when they ask themselves the deepest question of all- what the hell am I doing with my life?<br />
I have asked myself this question a thousand times over, I haven't found an answer yet. May be, someday when I reach that place 'where the mind is without fear' I shall stroll the streets of the city, free and exuberant... what I should be doing with my life.<br />
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p.s. historically, there is debate about the existence of female flaneurs, because of how the city space is conceived by genders differently... but this is not a research paper and if the idea exists there is someone out there who has been able to conquer gender issues.<br />
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Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-16227028153415012422013-10-21T23:53:00.001+02:002013-10-22T00:05:02.807+02:00There She goes Again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For a while the weather hadn't been something to write home about, it had been dull and dismal, the cold, damp air doing nothing to one's mood. My booted feet squelched on the wet and muddy leaves gathering on the steps in front of the university building as I walked into my department to attend early morning classes, clinging onto my thermos of coffee, the only source of warmth. This had been going on for almost 3 weeks, the same bleakness in the air when a brief flurry of wind blew away the remaining weak, yellow leave still clinging on to dear life..</div>
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But today is what an Autumn day should be like in my mind, clear blue skies, sunshine, sparkling golden leaves and a nip in the air.</div>
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I have friends who adore rain, who are inspired and rejuvenated by it, but I believe that the damp and constant drizzle that go on for days would fail to evoke any inspiration even in the most ardent of rain lovers. The monsoons and the torrential rains are very different kinds of rainfall, the kind that romances and trysts are made of.</div>
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I, on the other hand, am a sunshine lover. On balmy, hot days when a floating cloud provides respite from the scorching sun , the relief felt for those few moments is incomparable and without the sunshine I wouldn't have known that there's solace to be found in the shadows.</div>
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I love shadows that the sun casts, as a kid I would try to walk over my shadow, I had walked a little quicker hoping it would help me beat my shadow to wherever I was going.</div>
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On winter days blankets toasted under the sun can thaw the coldest of hearts.</div>
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Mornings that do not start with a blush against the horizon never feels like a new day with nothing separating the day from the night. A start of a new day has too much significance, metaphorical as well as literal, and when the heavy clouds darken the day I feel like I carry the previous day's onus.</div>
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A warm and sunny day makes reading a delight on cool grass, it makes wearing wide brimmed hats fun and loose flowing dresses fashionable whereas a cool and sunny day makes picnics and outdoor activities bearable.</div>
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As life imitates nature I have had a partly sunny with chances of thundershowers kind of a year, it's been mostly fun and some tight spots I have been able to wriggle out of, I am back in University, still paying off the installments for the not-so-new-anymore-kitchen and finally made loads of friends. </div>
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Alot of travel/in-laws visit/adjusting to a new city/missing old city had kept me from assimilating all that was going on around me, finally the beginning of classes and a rigorous routine is actually starting to feel like it is having a normalizing effect, feels like what life should be, a little bit of order in the everyday chaos. </div>
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I know winter's not faraway and I am gathering whatever sunny bits I can to keep warm and give me enough enthusiasm so I can wake up in darkness to attend 8 a.m. classes.</div>
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In the meanwhile, I hope you guys are enjoying the new seasons of Homeland and Downton Abbey and perhaps going a little nuts waiting for the new season of Sherlock, believe me when I say that I am ready to write a letter to Mark Gatiss asking him what's taking him so bloody long!</div>
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Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-85655863521026297642013-01-08T19:30:00.001+01:002013-01-08T19:30:37.364+01:00Keep Calm and Carry on<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Waking up in a strange bed, in an unfamiliar room- sleep last night was elusive, interjected by restlessness.The streets this morning look dull and the sky is a flinty grey. I can hear the pitter patter of constant rain, a drizzle, but never pouring down unabashedly, as if it is waiting eternally for someone's arrival.</div>
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We drink our coffees, bite into something sweet purely as a complement to the strong, black brew. Ready to go on our exploration, we quietly close the door behind us as we leave the strange dwelling for the day. The drizzle not being a deterrent, I let it lash on my face, I had abandoned my glasses for the much disliked contact lenses so that the water droplets wouldn't come in the way of my eyes and the sights that lie before me. </div>
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We are walking down Potter Street, ironic, I think, as it could've been Privet Drive. In the tube we count the number of stations we would need to pass to reach our destination. A little girl beside me is playing around holding the handrail and in her playing she lightly kicks the bag lying between my feet. She apologizes in a voice as sweet as honey, I am not used to such polite manners, I smile and mumble that it's alright clearly impressed by the little girl's etiquette. Gradually it dawns on us that the low hum of conversation is not in a foreign language, so used to drowning out conversation around us we had done the same here and suddenly we find out that we understand the words, it makes me want to eavesdrop, sure that I won't be hearing any ill about myself.</div>
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We are eager to reach our stop where we have to change trains to our final destination. We have to get off at Baker Street to change trains. Baker Street, Baker street, I wonder... isn't that where Sherlock Holmes lived? I am as thrilled as a child, lost in my thoughts of a Victorian London. The cobbled stone streets, the horse drawn carriages, the defiant, genius and petulant man who is Sherlock, all just becoming floating images in my head. We finally reach and I see red and green profiles of the man himself with his signature pipe all over the tiled walls, how exciting it all is. We clamber down the escalator to the platform all the while stealing glances at the tiles that are swiftly disappearing behind me. Oh! it is such a rush!</div>
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We finally reached in front of the Palace gates where the changing of guards will begin in about an hour, throngs of people have gathered, the street in front us is cordoned off. We wait at the gates, people have started to push, I panic, crowded places have never been my scene, I get away from the gates towards a fairly open area. I know I can't see much of the happenings in account of my height, or the lack thereof. But I soon realize the guards are not holding my attention at all, it is the building in front of me that is of much more significance to me. It is surreal being there, knowing that previous occupants of that palace were our Colonisers. The relationship is rather complex. There is a true love-hate relationship in my mind. There is an obvious attraction, far more complex than the attraction for other tourist destinations, yet there is a latent dislike. It truly is a baffling feeling. I mean, I am thinking all of this in, what originally is their language, English, but it is mine too, and yet I do not belong.</div>
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I wonder, is the hate because I do not belong? They were in the city I grew up in, I haven't seen them there, they have left what to my eyes are vast opulent (and ignored) colonial buildings covered in years of dust,that look wholly out of place in the bustle and poverty of central Calcutta (and I call the city by the name they gave it ) and we carry some pride about them in us, we proudly tell people that Calcutta was the first capital of India under the Empire. We have walk down streets named Curzon, Russel, Middleton, Elgin; we have been taught by Anglo-Indian school teachers, we've worn dresses tailored by them, we know 'Our Father..' by heart and sang Christmas Carols and after all of this shared history we still do not belong. </div>
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With these thoughts in my mind we walk along lanes looking at the sights, I feel distant yet something entices me to go on. </div>
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I think of the realities I have experienced through the world of Literature, all the journeys I have been on, of human emotions and life in another world. Though universal in appeal the descriptions were most definitely of the cultures, geographies and lives of this land and so familiar did I get with them, that, unknowingly, I have had an identity crisis all my life. </div>
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The Indian immigrants are an inevitability, they are a part of the country, they have been embraced by society, nowhere is the curry as popular as it is here. Yes, I think they belong here. We argue, we debate, we discuss- we theorise our relationship but we cannot deny the relationship, we have unquestionably influenced each other. We say they stole our Koh-i-noor but in turn they gave us chicken tikka masala, which is more of a personal favourite.</div>
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While thinking of such complicated thoughts we have walked past many a famous landmarks and we find ourselves inside Harrods. I get the hint, it is time for me to indulge a little in the luxuries of life, except it is too crowded to even get a place to stand. The smell of food inside makes our stomach rumble with hunger but there is no place to be found here to perch ourselves and get a bite or two. I suggest a pub should be the place to be. We haul ourselves out on the street and take a ride in a black cab to reach Covent Garden. We are lucky to find a place at a pub and we plonk ourselves down faint with hunger. The man at the counter is chatty and polite, he asks us how our day has been and I am thrilled to have understood everything that he said and that I can answer his question without so much as a thought. We pick fish and chips and chicken tikka masala with our preferred choice of Ales, life is good. I calculate in my mind how far the second hand book shop would be from the pub and decide not more than 10 minutes. Stomach filled and mind refreshed I am ready to go shopping. As we reach the shop recommended to me by someone, I see that it is quaint and packed full of books of all subjects. At the back they stack rare books, 1st editions and signed copies, a little beyond my budget, so I happily scour the general section and pick out 6. Joyful is the word I am feeling, with my exploits in hand we head back to our dwelling which could be No. 4, you know where!</div>
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Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-84291319249726882762012-10-26T12:21:00.001+02:002012-10-26T12:21:36.603+02:00The Love(s) of my Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I was never one to believe in the phrase "absence makes the heart grow fonder," so I decided it's high time I haul myself to the Blog space before the readers move on to greener pastures. </div>
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A lot has happened in the last 4 months as you can well imagine.</div>
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For starters we have a new addition to our family, the cutest bundle of joy, my itty bitty niece who turns 3 months old in 10 days. I spent the first 2 months of her life by her side trying to convince my sister to give her to me, of course it didn't work so now I feel bereft without her! What I did manage to do is insert a middle name of my choice, a way of enforcing my existence in her life. She is Nandana Malini Mukherjee and she has us all wrapped around her tiny little finger. </div>
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Three others who need a mention on my blog are the three kitty boys my sister has, Calvin, Hobbes and Casper, those three own us- they are my sister's crown jewels and bundles of joy. This year was the first time I got to see them and I can confidently say that I now know the meaning of true love.</div>
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Moving on to the next big thing, we are moving from the extreme east of Germany to the Franco-German border in about a month, two chambers of my heart are heavy for having to leave the city I called home for the last four years whereas the other two, that belong to my french alter ego, are fluttering (as opposed to jumping, as I am sure the french don't jump) with joy. Tres bien, I say!</div>
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The other great love in my life right now Homeland.If you haven't watched it yet, do it right now! Apart from a a captivating, multi-faceted story line it has renewed my love for Jazz music. Sometimes I just want Claire Danes to shut up so I can hear the background music a little clearly. They have done a great job with it, the music forming such an integral part of the program giving a layered structure to the story and characters, especially Danes'. It is pure torture waiting for new episodes, it is like waiting for a call from a lover you know you will never get, yes I have got it that bad!</div>
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Ok have to rush now, got Lunch date with a friend, making the most in the time have left in Paradise City.</div>
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Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-1631335647827647612012-06-20T16:20:00.001+02:002012-06-22T12:21:44.032+02:00Untitled<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Virginia Woolf once said that a woman must have money and a room of her own to write fiction, I feel it holds true for blogs as well in my case. I particularly need a room with a view, either a snow capped mountain or a rumbling sea full of waves. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The last month and a half had been intensely busy, to say the least, My in laws were visiting us for the first time in out 4 year marriage and it was an event of sorts. The preparations had been going on for weeks for them as well as for us. We had to get the house in order, the guest bedroom tidied up and the refrigerator stocked. The only thing we couldn't get in order was the weather, this year summer has been playing hide and seek so the in laws has to embrace the cold and wet which certainly needed some getting used to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We had certain trips planned for this period and while all this was going on I had my online course on Literary Theories going full swing. Some days I would catch up on the studies while my mother in law cooked lunch and it is so comforting to know that you are going to have at least a three course lunch that you haven't spent half a day cooking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Finally, they left the Sunday past and the house suddenly drowned in silence and inactivity. No more waking up to voices from the other room full swing in discussion about nothing early in the morning, now the dishes remain piled up in the sink, no one to fight with over the washing and I have my coffee by my bedside table, sipping on without any company except my faithful laptop that still lights up to see.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There is an odd sort of comfort in knowing that life has a way of falling back in its old routine no matter how the last months or even years have been spent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We spend our time planning and looking forward to things like vacations, family visits and birthdays etc. which come and go and leave a certain vacuum as the occasions and festivities end. Early morning around 4 today I was woken up by a strong flash of lightening followed by the crackling of thunder, I instinctively got up to close the window of the bedroom expecting rain. When I got back in bed, there were still flashes until the showers started and the thunders waned, so all I could hear was the constant drumming of the rain on the ground (I live on the ground floor). It made me think of a new dawn, that we would wake up to and start new plans, new journeys and await pleasant surprises and unexpected guests. </span></div>
</div>Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-80360519926635759062012-06-06T23:10:00.001+02:002012-06-06T23:10:57.268+02:00Chocolatey Goodness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
June is supposed to bring with it the joys of Summer, unfortunately it feels like we have been put through a time machine and have landed up a few month ahead into the gloomy and wet coldness of November. The only source of comfort is in the home and the hearth. So, to keep warm I could think of nothing better that cranking up the oven and baking so the house smells warm and sweet and buttery.<br />
I ticked one other Nigella Lawson recipe today, the chocolate and walnut brownies.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IF6aPo19ur8/T8_HDrOmJTI/AAAAAAAAFHM/5ZR6u6XQWoY/s1600/brownies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IF6aPo19ur8/T8_HDrOmJTI/AAAAAAAAFHM/5ZR6u6XQWoY/s320/brownies.jpg" width="320" /></a>Apart from following the recipe to the tee I did a little temperature tweaking advised to me by my friend cum lil-sis who is a pastry chef.<br />
So here's the recipe :<br />
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375 g soft unsalted butter<br />
375 g best quality dark chocolate<br />
6 large eggs<br />
1 tablespoon vanilla extract<br />
500 g caster sugar<br />
225 g plain flour<br />
1 teaspoon salt<br />
300 g chopped walnut<br />
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Instructions:<br />
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Preheat the oven to 180C / gas mark 4. Line your brownie pan - I think it's worth lining the sides as well as the base.<br />
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Melt the butter and chocolate together in a large heavy based pan. In a bowl or wide- mouthed measuring jug, beat the eggs with the sugar and vanilla. Measure the flour into another bowl and add the salt.<br />
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When the chocolate mixture has melted, let it cool a bit before beating in the eggs and sugar, and then the nuts and flour. Beat to combine smoothly and then scrape out of the saucepan into the lined pan.<br />
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Bake for about 25 minutes (I baked mine for slightly longer). When it 's ready, the top should be dried to a paler brown speckle, but the middle is still dark, dense and gooey. Even with such a big batch you need to keep alert, keep checking: the difference between gungy brownies and dry brownies is only a few minutes; remember that they will continue to cook as they cool.<br />
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The little change I made was, I preheated the oven to 370 F and baked it for 5-7 mins then I reduced the temperature to 350F, this ensures the crusty top and gooey middle.<br />
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</div>Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-73486921619013174402011-11-13T15:59:00.004+01:002012-04-23T01:36:01.539+02:00The City and I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Hey everyone, this is definitely one of those dear diary moments. It is my first blog post from the Blogger application on my mobile, so three cheers to that. Well, the reason for my doing so is because I am on a '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?<br />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 too 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.<br />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 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.<br />It will also be my first winter in India after three years. I have fond memories of my friend's 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.</div>
</div>Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-81191383401997354862011-10-12T12:18:00.005+02:002011-10-12T13:29:29.258+02:00The Domestic Goddess in Me<div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />The recent health-consciousness has made us cut back on eating out without giving too much thought to the alternative i.e. 'eating in'.<br />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.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XZWpVJgjT3Q/TpV4jaI5ZPI/AAAAAAAAFGQ/dEnSF61kO9I/s1600/marmalade%2Bpudding%2Bcake.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 302px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XZWpVJgjT3Q/TpV4jaI5ZPI/AAAAAAAAFGQ/dEnSF61kO9I/s320/marmalade%2Bpudding%2Bcake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662564656195658994" border="0" /></a> 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.</div>Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-35558752894830314332011-07-05T18:58:00.004+02:002011-07-05T20:41:55.839+02:00The Summer That Was<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F5YMaq9SCHk/ThNY86FsXPI/AAAAAAAAE_I/0Qpg58TCEyw/s1600/DSC_1808.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F5YMaq9SCHk/ThNY86FsXPI/AAAAAAAAE_I/0Qpg58TCEyw/s320/DSC_1808.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625938162924412146" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />It felt like being witness to life all the while stealing glances at the tall tower now behind me.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />I had been planning a day trip to Versailles but I couldn't bring myself to leave the streets of Paris behind.<br />Now I am back in the cool, dark underground cellar that is called Dresden. Much cleaner, quieter, damper and comatose!<br />I wasn't melancholic this time while coming back home, I have a feeling that it wasn't goodbye after all!<br /></div>Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-69992236243134052602011-02-04T19:21:00.005+01:002011-02-06T02:23:49.573+01:00Tête-à-Tête<div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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!<br />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!<br />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!<br /></div>Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-85014423135809626772011-01-11T09:20:00.006+01:002011-01-30T12:03:41.307+01:00The Customary Ramblings of Me!<div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br />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.<br />The last few months have been busy with regular classes leaving me only the weekends to sloth about.<br />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.<br />I also managed to complete an 800 page book that filled me up with a great sense of achievement!<br />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!<br />It is these little experiences that make vacations a success, something that we shall remember for years to come.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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!<br /></div>Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-66384040318037638282010-11-24T10:36:00.002+01:002010-11-24T11:08:53.288+01:00Battle of the Senses!!<div style="text-align: justify;">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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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!<br /></div>Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-11519935337657497522010-10-26T14:15:00.005+02:002010-10-26T15:55:31.193+02:00New York, New York<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P0qIVW71iLg/TMbaKkL6qlI/AAAAAAAAEmM/CdL1l5Myt3c/s1600/new+york.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 236px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P0qIVW71iLg/TMbaKkL6qlI/AAAAAAAAEmM/CdL1l5Myt3c/s320/new+york.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532349067318438482" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P0qIVW71iLg/TMbaZW1_wtI/AAAAAAAAEmU/7teVabT5hGk/s1600/DSCN0936.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P0qIVW71iLg/TMbaZW1_wtI/AAAAAAAAEmU/7teVabT5hGk/s320/DSCN0936.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532349321434874578" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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!<br />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.<br /></div>Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-67413341856712136012010-10-13T10:39:00.005+02:002010-10-14T09:36:33.575+02:00Durga Pujo and I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P0qIVW71iLg/TLVz8WSbtZI/AAAAAAAAEXY/Zc2cLQhOYM0/s1600/DSCF0559.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P0qIVW71iLg/TLVz8WSbtZI/AAAAAAAAEXY/Zc2cLQhOYM0/s320/DSCF0559.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527451598279390610" border="0" /></a>
<br /><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><link style="font-family: georgia;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CRaka%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype style="font-family: georgia;" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype style="font-family: georgia;" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype style="font-family: georgia;" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:applybreakingrules/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:usefelayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Wingdings; panose-1:5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:2; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 268435456 0 0 -2147483648 0;} @font-face {font-family:SimSun; panose-1:2 1 6 0 3 1 1 1 1 1; mso-font-alt:宋体; mso-font-charset:134; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 680460288 22 0 262145 0;} @font-face {font-family:"\@SimSun"; panose-1:2 1 6 0 3 1 1 1 1 1; mso-font-charset:134; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 680460288 22 0 262145 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I liked <span style="font-style: italic;">pujo</span> 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.</p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal">We used to make a customary trip to an old neighbourhood, where my grandmother was staying at the time, every <span style="font-style: italic;">Ashtami.</span> We stood in long queues for <span style="font-style: italic;">bhog</span> lunches, which I remember enjoying- not the wait but the lunch <span style="">:)</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal">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 <st1:city><st1:place>Calcutta</st1:place></st1:city> on a <span style="font-style: italic;">pujo</span>-day. To be frank, I think we started not identifying with the people living there and a lot of the people we knew had either passed away or moved to a different place.</p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I also remember one year we drove to Puri. That was a very enjoyable trip and the Oriya <span style="font-style: italic;">protimas</span> were amusingly cute to look at, not half as ostentatious as <st1:city><st1:place>Calcutta</st1:place></st1:city> ones.</p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal">We moved to Tollygunge which marked an end of a phase. We didn’t have a ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">parar pujo</span>’,</p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal">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 <span style="font-style: italic;">66 palli pujo</span> beside my <span style="font-style: italic;">mamabari</span>(kalighat) to give <span style="font-style: italic;">anjali</span>. It used to be a coveted journey because my granny would cook awesome food for later. It used to be a ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">ekchala</span>’ traditional simple pandal, now it’s an award winning designer one-- one year the <span style="font-style: italic;">protima</span> was bought by an NRI. My grandma now lives with us. We have no reason to go there anymore.</p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal">For the last few years we’ve been having a ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">parar pujo’</span>, it is simple but reassuring. I have gone back to give <span style="font-style: italic;">anjali</span> and eat <span style="font-style: italic;">bhog</span> and have a chit chat with the people. To hear the announcements and the priests’ chants from inside of our home is welcoming. </p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Last year I didn’t let myself feel bad, although I had come back from <st1:country-region><st1:place>India</st1:place></st1:country-region> one day before Pujo. But this year I have given up on the control over my emotions. I am missing it. I am missing <span style="font-style: italic;">dhaker awaj</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">dhunor gondho</span>, the sweet autumn sun-shine, I am missing my family. I am missing walking with my dad around <span style="font-style: italic;">mudiali, lake place, shib-mondir, samaj sebi </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">ballygunge cultural. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Even if I am sitting inside my house doing nothing, not even particularly enjoying it, I want to see the <span style="font-style: italic;">pujo</span>-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. </p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"> </div><p face="georgia" style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204); font-weight: bold;">Sharodiya priti o shubhechha</span> to all my readers. Hoping that your <span style="font-style: italic;">pujo </span>is slightly more exciting than mine <span style="">:)</span></p> Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5756214830896810452.post-85010579121824624562010-10-04T09:52:00.003+02:002010-10-05T17:29:48.169+02:00Hira-da<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P0qIVW71iLg/TKtEZemxWQI/AAAAAAAAEW8/rzNRBTndenw/s1600/hirada.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 110px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P0qIVW71iLg/TKtEZemxWQI/AAAAAAAAEW8/rzNRBTndenw/s320/hirada.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524584572403144962" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">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."<br />We could sit in the car looking out the window, not worried about giving direction because we knew we didn't have to.<br />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.<br />I used to go back home on vacations and try to steal hira-da away from dad, so I could go visit my friends.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />Hira-da will always be in our hearts and will be missed everyday.<br />Rest in peace Hira-da.<br /></div>Deepanjanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517888421784157306noreply@blogger.com4