The Balaji connection in Madhya Pradesh

Just thinking out loud:

I recently got posted to a site 100 km South of Indore, in the Khargone district, bordering Khandwa district. The place I stay is a humble little town by the name Bediya. In India, it is common to find shops and operators named after Gods or natural bodies that are famous in the location. I could see quite a few related to the river Narmada, for example; and a lot of "Omkar" and "Mahakaal", with reference to Omkareshwar and Mahakaleshwar Jyotirling temples that are in the vicinity.

But, something that caught my eye and is picking on my brain is the very popular affinity to "Balaji", "Tirupati", "Tirumala" and other associated names. Yet, I couldn't find a direct link to Lord Balaji of Tirupati and this place. When we visited Omkareshwar, the little island hill has a huge moorti of Lord Shiva at the top of the hill with a little temple stands right at its foot. Inside the temple, by one side of Lord Shiva (accompanied by Goddess Parvati) was Lord Ganesh and on the other side, surprisingly, was Lord Balaji. This was also confusing,

If anybody knows the connection, let us know.

Kitchen - playground, rules & discipline.

Like reading, cooking was something that I started doing only when I started work. Of course, this was also the same time I started to eat out a lot. Like many in the internet age, I would go on to "rate" the food at restaurants, judge the food at my cafeteria, give my 2 cents on what could have been done better, or why it was better. Sure, I was entitled to having an opinion - it was like a customer review. But, I've also come across many situations where I would have thought, "Well, let's see you try it."

Work got me to Baroda, then to Chandigarh and later to Nagpur. During these periods, I got to try out many restaurants with a mix of local and foreign cuisines on the tables. I instantly fell in love with pasta, and I found out it was ridiculously simple to make. I appetite was so deep into the tandoori cuisine, it was a culture shock when I moved out of Punjab. The food fare at Baroda is brilliant. Albeit costlier, Nagpur can keep your taste buds dancing. I had the privilege to be in and around such wonderful places to be exposed to such a variety of cuisines. And because I still had some time to spare, I wanted to try cooking them up myself.

Many don't include it, but cooking is an art. It is an art that feeds you and keeps you going whether or not you acknowledge it as art. It must be an art of science. You can explain all the cooking methods in terms of science. So, you can rave about it or nerd about it too.

For the first time, I picked up that pack of pasta shells and salsa that seemed invisible to me till then. Oh, there is a "red" sauce, a "white" sauce, a "green" sauce... What do I do? (Now, I've gone a little better than the colours to Arrabbiata (Also, Napoletana), Alfredo, Pesto, and the rest.) I loved the "red" one, and started to cook them almost once a week, adding in whatever vegetable I could find that could fit into a bowl of pasta. I tried out myriad types of pasta shells, different makes of ready-made sauces on the market shelves. I also had a sandwich maker which hosted a whole other line of experimenting. Sometimes, I would mix the two, wherein the pasta would go inside the sandwich. Ten points to Gryffindor.

Spaghetti Aglio e olio,
learnt on Laura In The Kitchen

My favourite pasta - Penne Arrabbiata

All this was done simply following instructions on the packs. Boil the pasta and strain them away; fry the vegetables; add the salsa; add the pasta, cheese, seasoning - your pasta is ready! I thought I could start from a level earlier - from the raw materials, cutting down on the processed food. This is when I started watching more of cooking shows on TV. Carnival Eats is one of my favourites. Carvinals are where you would find the wildest and most innovative things to eat. I picked up a few off the show to try them out. I remember watching an episode where a Greek sold fried tomato balls at a fair. "Yaya's Tomato balls". The next day, I walked a mile to the store to get all the ingredients from the store and sat all afternoon in the kitchen preparing the ingredients and hen frying it up and tasting it for myself. Though not an exact replica against what I saw on the show, the taste was very good, and as described! (I am unable to find a video of the episode or the clip online in India)

The levels keep getting tougher. I was in awe when I watched Gordon Ramsay cool-ly make gnocchi. When I tried to replicate, I had burnt one side of a whole batch. I have had a thousand pizzas, but I found making pizzas incredibly hard. There is a fine line between a pizza base and a paratha. I was spellbound when I read what seemed to be an oxymoron on the menu - "fried ice cream". It took 3 whole days to work and prepare the balls of ice cream before we could fry them.

They are all so tough, and that is why cooking, for me, is so much fun. When we made pizzas, I decided to make everything from scratch. We tried this and that and got the base right only the third time we baked it. But the salsa came out so beautifully right, I was happy for myself. The first fried ice cream ball started to leak in the pan and we literally had fried vanilla cream in the fry pan. But the second one was whole and round when it came out. It was beautiful to see a cold ball of ice cream waiting for you inside a crisp, hot cover of fried batter.

From our first batch of pizzas

The first good fried ice-cream

After all this, I came to terms with the fact that it takes a lot of dedication and concentration to get your output right. You have no idea what the food is going to taste like when you are cooking. I think the salt is enough, but the chole bhaat tastes bland and when I try to add a bit I end up over-compensating. When my mother makes sambar, she adds precise amounts of tumeric, masala (not ready-made!!), tamarind, salt, grams without measuring any of them. As long I can remember, it has always tasted wonderful.

At places of work, we stay at hostels and the cooks there are the same. In the one off time something goes wrong, they know where and what went wrong and make sure they avoid the mistake. And when I am cooking, they stand by me and teach me how to do it right. Once, I tried to make aloo tikki and the tikki would stick to the fry pan. In five minutes, the cook taught me what I should have done to the potato mix to prevent this. They also helped solve all my burning onion problems. They also taught me how to cut vegetables, how hot the pans need to be, how much is too much, and what I could do to get a different result. But, you know what I loved the most? When they eat what I made - whatever I made - and tell me I did well. If this gave me something to smile one day in a week, why can't I make their life cheerful, 7 days a week? All I have to tell them is "Thanks, I loved the dinner tonight." with a smile.

Electric Oven made Tandoori vegetables,
because I had a weekend to kill

All this has taught me some discipline.
Cooking is not easy. Maybe, no trade is easy. It is hard work to do anything, let alone create a piece of art.
In retrospect, we know everything that could have been; but live life in the present.
You need help, and don't be afraid to ask - a wonderful chole bhaat tastes much better than one with deep fried roasted, toasted onions.
I need to be in time, else the kitchen wouldn't be available for my needs. If I'm late, the cook would pleasingly tell me, "kal" (tomorrow).
Don't assume others don't know anything, don't assume you know everything. I was making pasta for the first time, and the kitchen staff didn't know what "pasta" was. But, I show them the shells and they smile, "Macaroni!!", and instantly they told me how they used to make it.
When not everything fits in, learn to improvise. When we were short of ingredients, we would add whatever was available locally. Sometimes, potatoes are all that are available. Hola, Hasselback Potatoes! Olive oil? What olive oil?
Share, and spread the smile. I once asked a colleague to bring me a bottle of mayonnaise and he asked me what I was going to do with it, because I wasn't eating the bread that was locally available. I made and sent him half a bottle of Salsa Bravas. I got another bottle of mayo soon.

If I haven't stressed it enough already - cooking is fun! And it doesn't just stop with the food. I am drawn into learning more about it. I learnt to make cajun spice mix, and then I found out where it came from. Same with salsa bravas. The history of pizzas is mouth watering. Did you know Hasselback Potatoes are named so only because they were first made in a motel named Hasselbacken? You ask any foodie to talk about the food they know and you will want time to stop. I guess, I'm much more mature when I taste something at a restaurant and want to comment. I am more likely to know how it was prepared than me telling them how to. More things taste nice now.

I wouldn't have gotten into cooking had it not been for family and friends who got me doing this, encouraged me, showed me new places, exposed me to new cuisines, and mostly had fun during the process. Some have taught me, some gave me tips, some sent in ideas, and some would risk their appetite to taste what I had made for the first time! So, here is a big thank you for that, and more! There are so many of them who inspire me to go into the kitchen and cook something up!

Hasselback Potatoes

A friend nudged me into making
"chapati" Bombay sandwich. Much fun!

When I had coffee.

There are some people who appear out of nowhere, interrupt your way of life and change it for the better with their kindness, love and affection - not by intent, but by nature. They are indifferently kind to everybody, by way of life. The utter sense of calmness on their face is infectious. The conversations are relaxed, connecting and almost as if we have been friends for a long time. There is nothing but love and respect for them all.

I don't drink coffee. I can't put a finger on what puts me off, but I don't drink that beverage. My parents gulp filter coffee numerous times a day, and almost every other leaf in my family tree does so too. I have rocked people off their chair when they come to know that this (so called) South Indian fellow doesn't drink coffee. 

But, I've had coffee. Thrice, maybe four times. Why? Kindness. It is not about the coffee, but the people who have been able to make me have a cup of coffee.

The most recent one was two months ago. I met this gentleman at work, let's call him Mr. M. M was an old and wrinkled man. He took short, slow steps and scanned everything till the horizon in a calm but absorbing gaze. He would talk in a slow, low, kind voice - like a grandfather talking to his little grandchild. He had come the site on duty, and invited met to his office. The meeting might have lasted fifteen minutes. Or an hour. It was hard to tell. This gentleman, who had never spoken to me before, took me under his wing and shared work experience (he had more than 40 years of it, spread across almost all continents, and many fields), advice, and bucket loads of information that would come in handy for anybody. It wasn't all one way traffic either. He asked me for views, inputs and feedback. He could barely walk, through age and illness, but the childlike enthusiasm would win that battle.

When we were about to go out for an inspection, he offered me a cup of coffee. "Bharath, you must have coffee with me." I smiled, took the offer, and drank the coffee. He made such a kind offer, I wouldn't refuse.

We spoke twice since. In both those conversations, his humility and kindness were transparent in the way he punctuated his requests with "Sorry to have disturbed you." (he is more than twice as old as I am) and my replies with "Thank you so much!"

Mr. M passed away yesterday. He waged a long battle against cancer.

The world is one gentleman lesser today. He will be missed.

Ignore, please.

I recently read a book by Dave Gorman - Too Much Information, where the author talks of the many places in the modern age where there is just "too much" thrown at your face - in print, digital, television etc - in advertisements, music, branding, marketing etc. The idea, under the layer of their primary reasons, is that with more information thrown at you, the less likely you will find the truth.

We are also prey to other kinds of excess. We live in an age that reeks of social media, in one form or another. Every app that you download on your mobile phone wants access to all the information stored on your phone. Every place you shop wants you to sign up with them - email, phone, address, age, favourite cartoon. Social media platforms want to know your date of birth, place of birth, birth marks, star sign, favourite cartoon. I love The Popeye Show to bits, but I don't want to share that with "everybody" everybody.

Oops.

The worst kind of excess is when you are on one of those social media, and let's say you are active on it. You are bombarded with so many things, SO so many things, that you are overwhelmed with what is going around in the world. I don't have a problem with this. These are the people we chose to hear from. There is a sense of being slightly left out, sometimes, in not knowing what other people are talking about - and you have to watch videos and read blogs to figure out what it is. I have a problem with this.

We are all unique (just like everyone else. tee hee). So, why not just be so. I have my set of likes and dislikes and I would love to stay in my cocoon and be respected for it. I sure should not feel any peer pressure to try to everything that others are doing, this is not a rat race, this shouldn't be a rat race. So, I am very sorry I don't have an opinion on who should win the USA election (definitely not Trump, though), who enraged whom in the parliament, or the other accident that took place on the highway somewhere in some place. They are all important, to some people, at some point of time; but not totality. I can only be an expert or knowledgeable in just so many subjects.

There is a sense of discomfort, anger too, when someone does not replicate interests. There are no healthy competitions anymore, no discussions - just violent, vocal arguments. Like a stand-up comedian put up on a video blog, "If I say I am a dog person, I get comments 'F*** you, you cat hater.'" I always wake up to one horde brandishing a media entity over something that they said 5 years ago, or calling names over a politician. I am not saying the target is innocent, but there are methods. Maybe?

With the tools of social media, one can be as authoritative as their keyboard and internet space can allow them to be. We are probably yet to define ethics and etiquette for such media of communication. (I know for a fact that I am not the same person in reality, as I seem on such online media, however hard I try to.) What you write on, say, twitter, gets interpreted in 10 different ways and you have 2 people supporting you, 4 people calling you names, 2 thinking you are an idiot and the others ignoring your presence. There is no way you can say anything diplomatic here, ask Harsha Bhogle. You may show respect to women, or look like you were being cheesy - depends on how one sees it.

A bit of the same also carries over to life offline, too. People tend to get flak for being different, doing different, liking different. If you love what you do, some of this can be tolerated and ignored. The "different" factor is what is going to separate you from the run-of-the-mill kind. Twitter was overwhelming at first because there were so many kind of people I didn't know about (which is kind of hard to come across offline). Respecting others for their uniqueness is the least you can do to bond, and maybe both of you will benefit from it some day. That's better than trying to enforce your idea on another('s).

I choose to ignore as much noise as I can. If you have cute cat videos, something to do with sports, or something nice to try out in the kitchen, or maybe even a movie, I am all ears. Else, I would prefer to recline into my seat, read the book in hand (it helps, because I am a very slow reader) while you try to finish your cacophony. If you choose to decipher that as arrogance, sure you can - I am going to ignore that too.

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to change you is the greatest accomplishment.
- Ralphy Waldo Emerson, essayist

My Sandwich Chronicle

I bought a grilled sandwich maker recently, and my trips to the kitchen have been twice as fun ever since. Just so I don't forget, this is the list of the sandwiches that I have made with it thus far (hopefully I update it over time.)

Do suggest your sandwich recipes that I can try out

1. Tomato - onion - capsicum grilled cheese (ft. ketchup, chili flakes, oregano)

2. Tomato - onion - capsicum grilled (avoided cheese, because breakfast)

3. Spaghetti Arrabbiata - onion grilled sandwich (essentially under the grilled cheese s/w umbrella, given that I sprayed the cheese into the pasta first. Note: I <3 arrabbiata="" p="" salsa="">

Spaghetti Arrabbiata in a s/w

4. Capsicum - onion - carrots grilled cheese (ft. ketchup, green chili sauce)

5. Tomato - onion - capsicum - red bell pepper - corn grilled cheese (ft. ketchup, green chili sauce)

Left: Tomato - onion - capsicum - red bell pepper - corn
Right: Pineapple - black raisins - corn grilled cheese

6. Pineapple - black raisins - corn grilled cheese (this is currently my favourite, because a heavy risk paid off)

Patatas Bravas

I came across this Spanish dish, Patatas Bravas, when I was watching something on youtube. It seemed complicated, but doable - in just the right proportion to capture my attention. I have since been wanting to try this out, and I finally made it today.

Salsa Bravas

Patatas Bravas, literally translated means "brave potatoes", but actually mean "fierce potatoes". It is a starter, and is a simple two fold process - salsa and the fries.

I watched and read a few recipes for this dish and found they have been customized mildly, but the core is the same - a tomato based spicy salsa. I used 3 red tomatoes, medium in size (medium as per Indian sizing), cut them into eights and dropped them into a blender cup. On a frying pan, with only a tsp or so of oil, fry chopped onions and garlic for a minute or so, turn off the flame and then add them to the tomatoes. Also add 2 green chilis, chopped (it doesn't matter much, we will be blending them soon) a couple of tsp of powdered red paprika / red chili powder. Add a pinch of sugar and a little bit of salt. Then, add two spoon-scoops of mayonnaise to it. Close the lid of the blender cup and blend the ingredients until you see a thick paste with no solid lumps. Taste the salsa and check if the heat is as per your taste. The salsa looks beautiful - the mayo lends a white shade to the red tomatoes and paprika, so the final result is a bit creamy looking; and the taste is spicy hot, you can see the heat. You can now refrigerate the salsa until you need it.

For the fries, it is intended to spice up the potatoes as early as possible. Take a sufficient water in a heating vessel to hold the potatoes you plan to use. Bring the water to simmering heat (but not a boil). Add red chili/paprika powder to the water and then put in the potatoes (unpeeled) and let them soak in the simmering water for 20 minute. Now, turn off the flame, remove the potatoes and peel them. I found this part tough, as I am used to peeling boiler potatoes - easy as. These are tough, be careful not to mash them if you are using a peeler. Cut the potatoes into bite size cubes. Take generous amount of oil in a fry pan and bring it to a med-high heat. Deep fry the potatoes in batches until they turn golden brown and are penetrable through a now crispy surface. Remove them from the oil onto paper towels to soak the excess oil. The outsides are crispy, slightly brownish and the insides are soft. If the cubes are very big, the insides come out hard. Sprinkle some salt over them once the oil wears off.

When all batches are done, transfer them on to a serving plate, hot. From what I have seen/read, the salsa is randomly poured over the plate of fries - just enough to top each potato fry in an imperfect manner, but not too much as to soak the potatoes in the salsa - and served to be eaten with the help of toothpicks. I served the salsa in a separate cup for each to pour in as much as s/he wishes. Patatas Bravas, ready.

You can feel the softness of the fries with the toothpick, the crunch is coated with the salsa dip which is spicy hot. It seems to be a nice party snack, a starter. It gets over in a jiffy, too. The heat also would bode well during the winter, I guess. Only 20 % of the salsa that I prepared got consumed today - I had used 4 medium sized (Indian) potatoes for the fries. The rest of it is back into the refrigerator and we plant to consume it along with the parathas, idlis and dosas during breakfast.

Notes: The sauce can be made well in advance and stocked, while you can make the fries when you want. So, in a way, you can make this in short notice (provided you have the salsa).
You can add the tomatoes to the pan while frying the onions/garlic, and saute for a short while before going to the blender.
Also, a couple of things that other recipes mentioned but I didn't have - vinegar, and tomato paste.
I ran out of garlic cloves, so I used a garlic-ginger paste instead. The ginger would be spicy, but will not lend to the heat.
Salsa Bravas might be a nice side to parathas, idlis, dosas because the spicy heat is kind of matches the purpose of chutneys that the mentioned Indian breakfasts go along well with. I have never had an idli with something that contains mayo, though. There is always a first time, like the first time I made Patatas Bravas.

Honey Chili Cauliflower

The single most favourite dish that I had tasted while in Punjab is the Honey Chilli Cauliflower, something that is very hard to find outside of the great land. Only recently though I have wanted to try and make it, and today I did. Of course, youtube ki jai for the lessons. This is how I made it:

This is a two-part procedure - one to fry the cauliflower and the second to make the gravy.

Cut the cauliflower into small flowerets, bite size. Take a few spoons of maida/all-purpose-flour in a bowl and add a pinch of salt and freshly ground black pepper to it. Also add a bit of oil. Mix the flour and add water to it as you do, to make a semi-thick batter that has no lumps in it. Now add the cauliflowerets to the batter and mix it well, but softly, so the batter covers them all but not break them into smaller portions while mixing. Now, deep batter-fry them on med-high flame until brownish in colour. Remove them from the oil and set them aside for use later.

Now, for the gravy. Add a tablespoon of cornflour to a cup of water, mix it well, and keep it aside. Take a few of tsp of oil in a frying pan, on med-high flame. Add to it garlic-ginger paste, chopped garlic, chopped ginger, chopped spring onions (and julienned capsicum if you have, I didn't). Let this fry for about a couple of minutes. (In my case, the home-made garlic-ginger paste started sticking to the pan floor, and I didn't know how to go around it, except stirring it clear.) The ingredients must be changing their colours a bit by now. Add the cornflower-water mix to this. Turn the flame to high. Add a tbsp of soy sauce, chili paste, tomato ketchup and ground black pepper to it. I didn't have chili paste, so I used chili powder/paprika, and some hot & sweet sauce. Add a spoonful of sesame seeds and a tbsp of honey. Keep stirring once in a while and allow the liquid to reduce to half, to a thick paste. Once it has, turn off the flame.

Wait for 5 minute after you turn off the flame and then mix the fried cauliflower to the paste and mix them well till the paste has coated all of the cauliflower. Transfer to your serving dish, sprinkle sesame seeds on top for aesthetics, and serve.

The dish should be crispy when prepared, with a sweet-spicy taste lent to courtesy the chili, the sauces and the honey. Soft onions and cabbage, julienned, marinated in lemon juice go well on top of this as a fine compliment in taste, texture and colour - that I know out of my dining experiences in Punjab.

Notes: I need to get better at batter frying (or as I later found out in the day, any kind of deep frying). I had some trouble finding the right thickness of the batter so that the cauliflower could hold on to it, I had to add a bit of cornflour to help thicken the batter. I need to hold myself back better in trying to not eat up the fried cauliflower and save them for the dish :-D . As of today, it's the best fried stuff.

There are two videos that I referred to while making this, and picked up steps from both:

1. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPPfZK9Mp44

2. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dgVhR7wkeNw

Roti/Paratha noodles

It's a weekday-holiday today, Happy Dussehra and all. I was served methi paratha for breakfast, but I wanted to try out something else, with a kitchen and time at my disposal for the morning. I decided to experiment, and try out "paratha noodles" inspired by this video (with whatever ingredients I could find):



This is how it went:
Stack up your parathas, or rotis (bonus points if lachha paratha) and then roll them up together. Now, cut through them, making thin strips out of them. You should get a plate full noodle-like strips of rotis at the end of this activity, and keep it aside. (refer the video)

Heat (medium) oil on a pan, ajwain/mustard seeds sprinkled into them. Just when they start spattering, add chopped garlic and onion to the heat. Allow them to turn into whatever shade you like them best. Add into them julienned carrots and diced capsicums if you have them (I didn't, sad trombone), and the diced tomatoes. Allow them to cook for a minute or so, so the oil works on them all. Lower the flame. Now, sprinkle some chilli powder and salt over them. Here, you may add garam masala and/or other spices too - each give the dish a unique end result. Add crushed black pepper and salt "as per taste". Also add chilli sauce, ketchup (or just the hot and sweet ketchup instead of both). Stir them up quickly.

Before the vegetables get cooked too much, add into them the rotis that you had shredded into strips earlier and mix them well with the vegetables. The rotis must be cool/cold after all the waiting by the side. So, the mixture should cook with the parathas such that the parathas are now hot on the pan but the vegetables don't get overcook to become too soft by the end. Garnish them with coriander leaves for the aesthetics. Serve hot.

Like all things Indian, this can also be customized as per taste and liking, or as was the case with me - as per availability, so try them out. (vegetables - cabbages work fine too, also beans, coloured bell peppers, peas; sauces - soy sauce can be added but not for breakfast; spices - as you like/want) This is a dish to get out of the boredom of the simple roti and paratha with dahi/achaar/ketchup routine, so make it fun.

PS: The South Indian variant - chilli parotta - is the boss of this division, something I hope to master some day (tummy approves).

Tomato Balls

I have not required to make my own meal in nearly 3 years now, and the last I had to do so, it was only for a period of 4 months. I have just started trying out something out of boredom in the kitchen that is open to use on weekend, while the canteen/mess runs it on the other days.

Last week, I made tomato balls, which I watched on TV, no Carnival Eats on Nat Geo Travel (I think) in an episode that covered the Indiana State Fair.

Here is what is needed:

Tomatoes
Onions (Onion:Tomato::1:2)
Mozzarella cheese
Black Pepper
Coriander leaves
Green chillies
A few cloves of garlic, as you please.
Maida/wheat flour/corn flour (as a binder)
Bread Crumbs (even better binder)
Any spices/masala (I used jeera, chilly powder, and a pinch of chaat masala)
Salt
Oil (for frying)

Recipe:

Dice the tomatoes small, drain them. If they are pulpy, squish them a bit and drain the juice away. (If you can combine this with another dish that can use this tomato juice, it would be brilliant!) Chop the onions fine. Grate the cheese, and fill half a cup with the gratings. Add the tomatoes, onions and cheese to a bowl and add a bit of flour to the mix. Grind and add the black pepper and jeera to this. Chop green chillies, garlic and the coriander leaves and them to the bowl. Also add the spices and salt.
Mix them together, add some fine granules of bread crumbs and continue to mix until the contents can be bound into a ball. Once it is thick enough, roll them into small balls 2" or so big. If you can multitask the frying and the ball-making, that is good. Else, have all the balls made before the oil is put on heat.
On a frying pan, or fryer, have enough amount of oil to submerge the balls. Once the oil is hot enough on med/high flame, drop in the balls carefully and deep fry them. The texture on the outside becomes dark brown with the tomatoes and onions frying. Once so on all sides, take them off the stove and place them on a paper napkin to drain off excess oil. Serve hot with ketchup or mayonnaise.

I enjoyed it when I watched it on TV, and I enjoyed the customised way I had prepared it (above) too. The cheese played some magic inside, the tomatoes and onions tasted well. It went well with mayo, too! This would be a nice evening snack. Do remember: the more wet and pulpy the cut tomatoes are, the more difficult it would be to bind them together. Using more dough would bring down the taste/flavour. Also, you can go innovative on the leaf used - coriander can be replaced with mint. Spices can be chosen as per taste.

Click here for the video of the original.

Kolkata, Digha, North Odisha

A colleague's wedding recently presented an opportunity to pack myself East to Bengal and Odisha. I say such, because I was always holding myself back in visiting Kolkata - I dislike crowded cities and find comfort in the smaller ones. I once was at Kharagpur for a week, and didn't visit Kolkata! Only recently I braved myself to Mumbai, and loved it.

The very moment I stepped out into the Kolkatan air, I could feel the humidity, on my palm, very much like Chennai. Airport is far away from the heart of the city, but the city has expanded well to touch and consume the airport into its arms. A long ride from the airport to Bhawanipore gave a glimpse of the city I had been shunning myself away from all these years. First, the long VIP road, which I think is the road that you can recognize from the sky as you descend to land - a long, wide road, with tall light masts, taking very few turns along its way as it drives you to the city. I noticed there were very few two-wheelers on these roads, which is quite different from Nagpur, where everybody drives approximately 1.3 two-wheelers on the road. We bade goodbye to the VIP and snaked our way towards Bhawanipore, probably touching Park Street on our way through. If I trace the same route, I can buy anything and everything I need to furnish my house, find schools and colleges for kids, places to work, shop, dine and bank the rest.

A friend of mine helped me with lodging, and met us when we arrived. We then dined at Jai Hind Dhaba, which started as a tea stall for truck drivers and is now a three-level restaurant at Bhawanipore, and has branches elsewhere. We helped ourselves to this and that, and more of that. I never thought alu-do-pyaaza could taste exotic. My friend confirmed we had space to spare in our tummy, and took us to Balwant Singh's for a dessert - doodh cola. Yes, cola milk. You never know how two things get together well. There is a lesson on Po - the art of fusing two ideas together and deriving answers, in Lateral Thinking by Edward de Bono. I am sure this is what he intended to mean. Ohh, we also saw Netaji Bhawan, the residence of Netaji Subash Chandra Bose, from where he escaped home arrest.

We woke up early next day to make our way to the railway station. I did know it was summer, and Kolkata is to the East, but I did not expect day break at 4.30 am! The time was 5.00, the roads were empty, the early morning light gave a clear, open look at another side of Kolkata - between the lawns, besides the Victoria Memorial, St. Paul's Cathedral, the Eden Gardens, Howrah Bridge and eventually, the loud and bustling, Howrah Railway Terminus.

The short journey to Digha ran alongside a very beautiful scenery by its sides. Once it was out of the city, it ran through vast greenery. I wanted to make up for the short sleep overnight, with some on the train. So, after I read Neville Cardus describing the most ideal match he ever saw, where Sir Don Bradman and his Australians overcame a hiccup to decimate the English, I fell asleep, dreaming that I am happily bashed to the boundary ropes by the Don as if it was an honour to be bowling to him. That lasted for only that short while as my very loud neighbour wanted to talk to his family seated behind him every 30 second, so loud that the most punk motorbike would be put to shame. Barely hearing my own thoughts clearly, I carried myself to Digha, and in all the excitement, forgot the book on the train. That train is now richer by a beautiful volume of Ramachandra Guha's Picador Book of Cricket.

Digha. Less humid than Kolkata, More windy than Kolkata. The sea breeze lured you to the seashore. We had to put aside our baggage before we did so. Digha has two beaches - the New and the Old, named so. New Digha is to the South of the railway station. It is sandy, longer area to play on the beach, and looks cleaner as you have to work very hard to mess up a very large area. The Old Digha beach is to the North of the railway station, near the heart of the city. It isn't a sandy beach, and has rock-cut steps leading into the waters. So, the waves hitting the rocks are more dramatic than at Old Digha, where the enjoyment is more in letting the waves hit you on the sea bed. The city is mainly lined with trinklet shops, and sea-food.

New Digha

Old Digha

Local transport looks very interesting, probably unique. The cycle rickshaws look like horse carts. There are autorickshaw vans. And, the most unique ones are the motor driven carts which look no more than vegetable carts, but carry people instead of vegetables, who tug a metal bar running through the middle of the cart while sitting around it, to prevent falling off it.

We made two trips to Odisha from Digha over the next couple of days. The density of greenery is beautiful. The one time I went to Bengal earlier, through what was then Orissa, I had seen the greenery alongside the tracks and made me wonder what the land was like inside. I had time to see. And this time, during wedding festivities. Unlike Baroda, where a Baraat would be a nuisance, in the village here, it was a festival for everyone. People enjoyed as the carriage went past their place, even thought it was touching midnight. It brought light to their places, which is at some places rare.

The light of the Baraat

Back to Kolkata on our way back, we had half a day to spare before we rode through traffic to the airport again. We visited Kalighat Mandir before it got crowded. It is a pity how commercial temples have become, the temple staff make it such that the darshan is so chaotic, you don't want to try a second time. You can't seek peace in such temples. Gods listen to prayers wherever you are.

With time to spare before a mini-tweetup, we ticked off Victoria Memorial, only the lawns. The architecture is so beautiful, everyone will find something to appreciate. It also seemed to match sculptures of others too, like the minarets. The humid heat was all forgotten in the neat beauty of the lawns and the majestic monument itself.

The Victoria Memorial

My friend then helped me start what I had been eagerly waiting to all trip long - eat sweets. I lost track of all the sweets I tried at Balram Mullick's. The Sondesh were so good, you wanted more of the same, but had to balance that with trying all other flavours. The dahi bora was filling and excellent! The rosagullas tasty! (duh!!) Mishti doi smooth! The thing that took the cake - kheer kadam. It has the ecstasy of rosagullas (or something equally woof!) and condensed milk rolled into one. Literally. Our breakfast, was at Sharma's, where we had a delicious serving of kachoris with alu ki sabji, the kachoris being as soft as a puri, but well flavoured. That was flushed down with a clay cup filled with chai, with saffron. Now, that is a rich tea!

This building is just at the mouth of Park Street - Old, with a Domino's.

A visit to the Park Street reminded me of South Bombay. The buildings were old, and looked like it had a splash of the new, with modern retail shops, eateries and libraries all lined side by side. It was spacious, unlike Bombay. It helped that people adhered to traffic rules, very well. Also, what I noticed right there at Park Street was a lady, a beggar, with a child who was tied to a railing. A stark reminder of the other side of the city, that I didn't see on this short visit.

Park Street

Also, Park Street

We went to Netaji Bhawan to see the house that is now converted as a museum, to display some photographs and belongings of the Netaji and his brother, Sarat Chandra Bose. I packed some lunch and also sweets from Balram Mullick's for the trip back.

Netaji Bhawan

It was a beautiful trip! I am left wondering if I should have planned a longer stay there, cover more of the city. For now, I will just flush my insides with the essence of the rosagullas, enjoying the Kolkata I could.

Mein tenu samjhawaan ki : Rahat's magic

I've lived in many places in India so far - childhood and beyond. There are songs that, when you hear, remind you of a certain place or period.

I was in Punjab until recently, moved to Nagpur. I loved Punjab. It has almost everything that you would want out of it. A few weeks before I moved, I heard the song "Main tenu samjhaawan ki..." sung by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan (and a cameo by Farah Anwar). It is a Punjabi song, from a Indo-Pakistani movie, Virsa. I heard it only by chance, because a remake of this was coming up in a Bollywood movie.

It is a sad song, where Rahat lends his voice to spell out the pain of broken love. And, he does a stunning job with this task. Rahat has impeccable control over the tones, and a beautiful, echoing voice that sends ripples of the sweet tones to your ears. The story of this stranger's sadness is presented sung in such a lovely manner, you want to sympathize with him, comfort him, bring the girl back... My eyes lose focus when I'm listening to this. It is touching. I made sure this is the first song I listen to on my way to work or back. This is one sad song you would enjoy. Rahat is the magician.

My favourite part of the song? Farrah Anwar's cameo. That part of the song is like two big synchronous waves of eternal beauty flowing across a serene sea of beautiful music, flushing your face with freshness carried from distance. She has a stunning voice, you will notice.

We all miss what we loved so much but got separated. There is no closure. I miss Punjab. For n number of reasons. And this song fits in so well for someone who misses something(s) out there.

Here is a video link to the song : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eSoUqjRLVA

Lyrics/translation : http://lyricstranslate.com/en/main-tenu-samjhawan-ki-mein-tenu-samjhawan-ki.html

Childhood

Woken up by others, the warm sun if a holiday, sounds of birds if vacation, reminder of school if weekday.
Outgrew the clothes we wore in just weeks.
Invented games out of anything available - sticks, leaves, stones.
Every person was a story teller.
Every story told a moral.
There were rules to keep you straight. Memories were born out of the broken rules.
Schools were fun when we were young. Homework spoiled it.
Rarely did homework at home. It was done at school, if at all, before leaving for home or after reaching school the next day.
Tests were routine. But exams were fun, because they came with the lure of a vacation.
Vulnerable to myths and blackmails. Ate carrots because I liked Bugs Bunny, spinach because I wouldn't be allowed to watch Popeye if I don't, and lady's finger because I had to do well in math.
99 was my favourite math score. My classmates were envious, my parents thought I let them down. "99 is not centum."
Biology and chemistry can eat you inside out. Gave up art along with biology. End of high school meant end of tiff with Chemistry. Or so I thought.
Cricket was the only sport. Sachin this. Sachin that. Ganguly this. Kumble that. Always imitated them bowlers, never held a ball in my hand.
We wanted the world, nothing was enough. We shared it all, nothing was good had alone.
We could sing all the songs. We still hold the ones from our childhood as our favourites.
Candies and ice-creams were wonderful, but all our favourite dishes are branded "Amma's".
We aspired to be doctors, engineers, pilots, sportsperson. The collection of trinklets showed that.
We were open dreamers. We found happiness wherever we went. We were looked upon as the candle of happiness. We got all the goodies spoonfed. We had the time of our lives.

And then, we grew up. We let childhood slip right in front of our own eyes, and we are never going to get back. Why did we want to grow, why did we let it go?

I don't remember the name of the poem I read, it was when I was in school, the poem was in my English text book. It said - we are grown ups, and while we cannot afford to be childish, we can be child-like.



Wish you a happy children's day!

Narumugaye. Losing myself to find peace.

I love melodies, or rather - I prefer melodies. Though not even semi-fluent in Carnatic, I find it soothingly beautiful. There is something magical about being able to produce something beautiful out of laid rules. Music teaches discipline. The line that separates a rendition from cacophony is singing to the notes, or playing to the tunes - adhering to which a well written set of notes results in a wonderful string of tones. Every song has its voice. Voices lend feeling to the song.

There are many songs in which I lose myself, lose track of time, and lots of time, eventually. But, there is loads of peace, and happiness in it. Sometimes, a puddle of energy. Some songs have excellent lyrics, some are so awesome on the music front alone you don't care what the lyrics sound like. Some songs introduce you to voices that you never heard before, and you would want to hear nobody else. These are the songs you play over and over, but never get tired of.

One such song is Narumugaiye, from the Tamil movie Iruvar.

It is a Carnatic styled romantic song eased into the movie (in the movie). I am no good when it comes to Tamil literature, I can barely string words together while reading; and have a tough time interpreting the purest form of the language. But, even for someone half as literate it sounded so soulful. I read the lyrics to slow the song down, and it makes more sense. I decipher the lyrics and see the simplistic beauty in it.

The song basically describes two lovebirds wondering how they fell in love, and probably list out all the reasons why too. It is the rendition meted out there by the singers that plays the trick. And the back ground music, of course. You can easily be listening to this track and imagine yourself by the shores of a lake in the forest, meeting your loved one there. Not a lot can be left to imagination when the singers carve out the duo out there for you.

The shrills, the control, the pitch, the tone, the raga, the lyrics, they all combine to give a soothing effect. It is no grand song, it is not going to set a stage on fire. It is what you need to go to when you want to do some soul searching. A romantic weather, mild rainshowers, early morning wintry sunshine, late evening breeze etc go well with this in the background. In any case, Narumugaye makes you forget all that is around you.

The song was written by Vairamuthu and sung by Unnikrishnan and Bombay Jayashree, and soundtracks courtesy A.R. Rahman. That's a great combination in there already!

Listen to the song here.
Here is a webpage that has the lyrics and translation for the song, and the video (also beautiful).
The movie includes many more wonderful songs that takes us a few years back. Aayirathil Naan Oruvan, Hello Mister Edhirkatchi are two to name.

Do let me know of similar songs, in any language.

The Punjab

I’m not a traveller by nature, but I am just privileged to have lived in so many places in during my childhood, days in college and now in my young career. This time, it was Punjab – to work in Rajpura (in District Patiala), to live in Zirakpur (bordering Chandigarh).

In so many ways was this different, in so many ways it felt homely. Either way, it was lovely. This was the first time I was posted full time at a work-site. It meant I would not be going to an office to chat up a computer. It meant I would have to spend days, nights, twilights, midnights, dawns, and everything in-between as and when required – at the power plant that was just bringing itself to life. It was what I signed up for, and I was so damn glad I was there. I have had little tastes of this before, but this was now mine for the taking.

The good thing about arriving in Punjab on December 30^th evening is two-fold. One, you already have a pretty good idea about the worst winter chill and can find happiness in the fact that things will only get better from here. You know, until the temperatures and your happiness both drop a bit in January. Two, there is a NYE party waiting for you. You see, I have this little knack for arriving at places just in time for a party (except that one time I turned up in Mumbai and India lost the Test match). I was wearing my thickest winter jacket, and carrying the heaviest travel bags to arrive at the cute little railway station in Chandigarh. A taxi driver approached and asked if I was working in the Army.

Winters are beautiful. You won’t hear “summers are beautiful” in India. India is not England. You get baking hot sunshine free with candies here. Winters are beautiful here. The long journey to work meant I would be ogling at the mustard fields, with their blooming yellow flowers atop the green plants partly curtailed by the fog. The density of the fog is directly proportional to the length of time you let out a “WHOOOOOAAAAA!” when the bus hits the highway and into the fog. As days went by, I conserved my energy spent in WHOOOOAAAAAing and judicially used them in sleeping all the way to work.

Summers had long, long days. Night shifts were spent keeping track of day-light. Nightfall occurred as late as 8.00 pm and the day dawned as early as 4.15 am. There are tiny hills near our place, and watching the sun rise from beyond them was a spectacle. Soon after, we get into our rooms and make the air conditioner work like a slave. (The one in my room was a protestor, it never really worked hard. Or worked at all.) The monsoon are prettier, there are a few clouds to go with the hills.

Just after sunrise, capture from my balcony.

The only two things prettier than the monsoon were the city of Chandigarh, and the women of Punjab. Chandigarh means City Beautiful. It was planned to be beautiful, and that plan worked out well. I should mention that it used to be a bit more green and better maintained, but nevertheless, beautiful even now. There are many gardens in and around the city. There are parks in every corner. There is a pretty Sukhna Lake, where I go to watch ducks. If you don’t feed the ducks, they will make you feel ashamed. Imagine 50 people watching you as 25 ducks disappointedly walk away, quacking in disgust. On a scale of zero to Congress losing the election, how embarrassed will you feel?

Women in Punjab, the Punjab, are among the prettiest in the world. The noses larger than anywhere else in India, bridged to varying degrees; and magical eyes that can kill if they tried. Their hair long as a horse tail, tied in plait, all so similar to the ones in TN – the two states are similar on that front. I found this girl in Neeru Bajwa. (shut up, it is her. I know.) The girls in Chandigarh, though, carry a pound of make-up on their face. And wear the darkest lip-sticks. I still maintain, and have been vehemently opposed on this view, that Barodian women are prettier – they don't need the make up to look beautiful.
Jai Jai Garvi Gujarat!

Where do all the pretty women and their handsome other halves go to? Apart from the gardens and the lakes, there are a few malls. The Elante Mall is grand, a magnet of shoppers. It rarely disappoints. It made me a shopper, something that I never thought I had the capability for. I prefer to visit the old, slightly traditional, Sector 17 (best said “Sector Sattara”) market more. It is a luxuriously spacious area lined with shops, stores, restaurants, tuition classes, theatre, book-stores and a large open area for all kinds of fun. It is where you see the normal people, not sporting a fake accent to impress others, not here for a movie at the Cineplex, not here for the food court. It is where the kids come with their parents to kill some hours in the evening, under the tree, taking a bite of ice-cream and chasing the soap bubble. It is calm, soothing, silently humming normalcy. Normalcy, with all the branded stores, mind you. And Sec 17 market is excellently placed, too. The bus terminus is just across the road. And beyond that is Sec 22, and 21 along which you can walk all day in circles and not feel even a bit bored. I’ve spent some walks there, sometimes alone, and that is one little thing I’d miss doing.

One BIG thing that I would miss would be, duh, Punjabi cuisine. Paratha. Dal. Paneer. Dhaba. Tandoor. Butter. Butter. Butter. I honestly thought I would be able to get rid of my paunch when I get posted at site, the physical work ought to burn off the fat. But I didn’t factor in the Punjab. And not for once was that stated as a complaint. Laced with Dhabas all along the highway from work to home, it was a pleasant dilemma to decide on what to eat where when we returned late from work. And by late, I mean 2.00 am, 3.00 am or even later. Dhabas are open all night, more and more delicious as the night grows old. I loved Punjab’s favourite vegetable –paneer. Be it paneer tikka or paneer butter masala, or the hybrid paneer tikka butter masala, you don’t have to think twice about ordering them. I’ve tasted nothing like them before, nothing since. I shamelessly collected upto 25 menu cards of restaurants in my locality and kept most of them happy. I did receive a reminder from one restaurant that my orders to them had gone dried up.

This was slightly past midnight, a favourite routine of ours.

Have you tried honey chilly cauliflower yet? No? Why?

I could write a book on this, but I realised I am not there yet. I’ll keep it to a little blogpost. I will end this with a bit about the Punjabi people. Kishore Biyani, the chief of Future India Group (Big Bazaar, Pantaloons, Central etc.), wrote in his autobiography It Happened in India that the Punjabis have very good spenders, extremely happy, but not particularly loyal to a particular store. I tell you what, I found the Punjabis extremely loyal. I learnt the Punjabi script on my own, by reading off bill boards and matching them with the Hindi or English script above. This sprang up such a joy among the Punjabis, the smiles on their faces was child like. It made me happy that such trivial things could spread joys. They rarely take pressure on themselves. “Koi gaal nai, ho jayega.” (No problem, it’ll be done.) Once you connect with them, you are one of them. I’m a Punjabi now, they will attest. They will greet you with Sat Sri Akal, and feed you with a giant glass of chilled rose water or lassi and send you off with “Fir milna, hame yaad rakhna.”

How can I ever forget you?

The Beautiful Twilight

Clouds left the sky
Not before the earth was wet.
A dry place to sit
I found after some time.

The cool breeze signaled nightfall
The Sun behind sped its fall.
The birds returned to their nests
Letting me know when passing me by.

The Sun took with him his friends
The colours that lit the sky.
Blue, yellow and red
They followed the Sun's trail.

Across the sky rose the Moon
To give me company,
For I am afraid
Of the dark, spooky night.

Gorgeous she was
The Moon in the night sky.
She looked pretty when she smiled
Even without her star-studded jewels.

Half the sky retreated its colours
The other spread darkness.
Which was more beautiful
It is hard to tell.

But there I was
Wrapped between them both.
Oh, that was serene,
The beautiful moment of twilight.

The twilight.

That Pretty Girl

(disclaimer: all characters mentioned are pieces of fiction. any resemblance to anybody is purely coincidental)

That pretty girl

The sun had just risen up, and was pacing up into the sky as the shadow of the trees by the turn of the street grew shorter. The bright yellow rays brought colour to everything else that lay on the street - the black tar, the grass by its side and the garbage that flew onto it overnight. The wintry dew couldn't wait to drop from the tip of a bent, spineless blade of grass.

I crossed the street and sat on the empty seat at the bus stop to wait for the bus going to the West. There are usually more people going the other way in the morning. While I sat alone here, a few people waited on the other side of the street. College, perhaps. Or, the IT professionals? It was hard to tell. They all look young.

In the East-most end of the shed, sat this girl clad in pink-and-green salwar. It was a narrow street, you could see people on the other side well. People would come and go every day, I wouldn't notice. But she, this girl looked so pretty.

She was engrossed in a book. Must've been a novel. The people around her didn't seem to bother her. She must've had long hair, they looked plaited. But a strand of hair danced by the side of her face. Sun rays hit her face through the strand of dangling hair, making the hair look golden brown and the face yellow. Her diamond ear-ring reflected other colours in the rainbow at my direction.

She would look up once in a while, while she turned pages. She would look to the West, anticipating her bus to show up, then turn her left wrist inwards, check the time, and go back to reading. Her hand looked thinner and longer than I would've imagined. No nail-polish. A continuous flow of light, wheatish brown colour, like the branches of a tree.

Her eyes were jet black. It was darker than the night that had just vanished. She had her eyelashes lined with kajal. It made her eyes stand out, intoxicating the onlooker. It seemed like her eyelashes were protecting us from the intoxicating eyes it shielded, but was itself beautiful enough to woo attention. Her nose had a bend on the bridge. The nose made her look cute. If she had been a baby, I would've pinched her nose. Her lips, unfazed by the winter, had no cracks, and always seemed to bring out a smile. Must've been the book, I thought. The slightly protruding chin completed her beautiful face.

She wasn't fat, nor was she thin. Her schoolmates wouldn't have made fun of her weight. Nor would any of them have hassled her for her figure. She looked like a girl next door, just that I would have had to live in Venus.

Her bus must've been approaching, she brought out her dupatta, also green in colour. And she tucked her book inside. Something was wrong, she was looking for something. Her eyes opened wide, and her little black eyeballs in the white socket looked like a photo-negative of the full moon in night sky. She found what she was looking for- the bookmark which she thought fell off her seat, was actually placed safely at the end of the book, something she must've forgotten while swimming in the story.

She zipped her bag close. And in one flurry of arm-swing, she draped herself with her dupatta, and got up from her seat. And as she got up and wore the bag over her shoulders, she looked across the street right into my eye, no eyelids blocking the sight this time. She turned to her right, and walked to the bus. Yes, her hair was plaited. Long, smooth, dropped straight down like the Nile. She then half turned her head, and looked again. Her eyes can freeze you. She smiled, she blushed, she shook her head twice, buckled her pace up and boarded the bus.

All I could do was watch the bus grunt down the street and turn right, arms still folded, eyelids yet to bat, air feeling lighter. She must be the most beautiful girl on earth.

A Barodian Year

A little over an year ago, on the last evening of August, I arrived in Baroda with a fever that I had picked up in the 32 hour long train ride from Madras. I didn't know if the autorickshaw driver over-charged me while dropping me to my guest house. I thought to myself this city too is like Madras (I was wrong), charging in multiples of Rs 50. Nevertheless, I checked into my room, and had a quick bath and completed my Avani Aavittam (the latest in the day I had ever performed it), had my dinner, and then slept off to wake up to the start of my career.

With the minimum levels of sanity restored by the morning of Ganesh Chaturti, I headed for my first day at work. The city has a pleasant calm. It must've rained before my arrival. Clouds were clustered. A drizzle or two now and then. Near-empty streets in the mornings. I spent my childhood in towns or little cities, and liked such cities without heavy traffic, and greenery to go along with it.

Right then. New place, nobody I know. Slowly got to make some friends at my guest house. I have gone through this before, but it was different the year before in Nagpur. Back then, it was a classroom of 60 people, and it was easier to know them all. Here, people from all walks of life are present, but they tread their own paths. A cross-road would start interactions. A dinner table at the canteen, or waiting for the bus stop or something like that.

I did find a good little bunch of people to dine on Sunday evenings when dinner wouldn't be served at my guest house. We would go around, rate South Indian food served in fake South Indian restaurants. There are a few exceptions of course, and those good restaurants know it. One of the best things about this city is the variety of cuisines that are on offer. There are those food chains you see in every city. That doesn't count. There are restaurants exclusively serving Punjabi, Rajasthani, Lucknowi, Kashmiri, Mughlai, Kannada, Kerala, Tamil, Bengali, Chinese, Japanese, Italian, Mexican etc cuisines. And quite a lot of them are vegetarians! I know atleast three vegetarian pizzerias here!

The best South Indian restaurant in Baroda- 22nd Parallel

Did I not mention Gujarati in that list? There are so many dishes in a Gujarati meal that if I just tasted all of them, my tummy would be full! And you can't help it - you will want more. The local delicacies of fafda-jalebi are quite mouth-watering too. Gujarati food tastes sweet. And they have Gujaratized other cuisines too. You will find sweet sambars, sweet "chilly corn gravy", sweet upma, sweet samosa etc. If I am presented with a glass of sweet lemon soda at the end of the meal, all will be forgiven.

It was hard being away from folks back home and people to talk to. I had evenings to spend without knowing what to do for most of it. It was then that I started reading books, and they kept me company in the evenings. I'm not a voracious reader, and I don't even have a method for reading books. If at a book store, I would waltz into the section titled "Sports", and look for a book that would be worth a read. I've since read a half a dozen books or so between live sports and trips to the cinemas.

Watching movies at the cinemas became the second how-to-kill-time hobby. It would take away a solid 3-4 hours off the weekend. I tried to start liking science-fiction during this development, but I think that is beyond me. I couldn't stand more of a toaster turning into a car and eating the man next to it only to turn into flames and become a pig. Or something like that. For a small city, Baroda has a lot of multiplexes. Must be careful not to venture into the one that shows all movies only in Hindi, so you don't have to watch The Three Musketeeers on a Sunday morning in Hindi. But then, these multiplexes are costlier than the ones in Chennai.

I also had a good year with one of the things I love a lot - cricket. Playing the game was limited. The company would organize tournaments, and it would be fun to play 3 or 4 games a day. A big ground near my guest house, The M.S.U. Pavilion would be a spectacle on weekends, almost every bit of land being used up for playing cricket. Kids and adults would play together, people in their formals would turn up for a game before they go for work on the Saturdays. It was fun.

I had a better year with cricket beyond the playing. I made some good friends in the city who follow the game. I went to the Motibaug cricket ground to watch a couple of days' play of Ranji Trophy games. There might not be many more scenic places to watch a game of cricket. It is also a pleasure to watch the local boys Irfan and Yusuf Pathan from close quarters. A lot of people like cricket here, and they take pride in the performance of their team.

Motibaug Cricket Ground

I seemingly had a good year writing on the game too, and was invited to write at www.i3j3cricket.com. I also now have a new skill - transcribing audios - which I wouldn't have if I was not presented with the opportunity to do so at www.thecricketcouch.com. I'm very grateful to the two gentlemen there. Slowly over the year, my interaction with people connected to the sport grew, and I was able to use their inputs to build something special by April. Watching and following the game, although, took a hit. I couldn't any more sit and watch every single game that was on air, and accept that it is how life moves on.

Baroda welcomes people in and people become miscible with the culture of the city. There are people from many parts of the country here, this city is growing well on many fronts and that has attracted these people. It is a little India. Yet there is something distinctive that makes these people bond themselves as Barodians, and touch base as residents of this city, A Big Lil' City. The urban growth has not taken away the palatial beauty that is scattered across the city. The suits and ties by day turn into traditional clothes by night. Sandwiches at breakfast turn into samosas by evening. The most festive of all festivals was the anniversary of Shri Sayaji Rao Gaekwad, one of the most famous rulers of the land. That showed how much people hold on to the tag of being a Barodian.

Baroda, by dusk. City lights above the canopy of trees.

The people here are quite friendly. The Gujarati they speak is easy to understand (not completely, though) if you know Hindi. The men love cars. And the women are the prettiest I've seen anywhere in the country, and they are the most beautiful during the Navaratri, dancing the Garba. How thousands of people dance in unison without practice is beyond my imagination. It is such a beautiful sight!

In a city that has a lot to love, there are a few negatives. Barodians have this habit of blocking every passage available in any place. People stop to talk at the doorways, they are in narrow aisles in shopping stores, they walk the other way on escalators, park cars in the middle of the road etc. Baroda has less traffic than any suburbs of metro-cities., but somehow the streets of the city morph themselves into a giant headache on Sunday nights when I feel like there are more cars than people on the road. The city has countable traffic police, maybe half a dozen working traffic signals, and no traffic rules. And this last rant may be personal, and only because my arrival was timed so. For an year, I thought it was illegal for it to rain at Baroda. Like everything that is illegal, there would only be scarce appearances seldom leaving clues- for every drizzle before you could get out and get wet, the clouds would have disappeared. It does rain well now, though. Happy for it.

But surely you can walk past the static Sunday night traffic, give the little boy blocking your way a tap on his head and walk past him and find ways to cheer yourself up on a non-rainy day. This city has far many things to keep you engaged. So just take a train to reach the rather neat railway station of Baroda, or catch the next flight to Baroda, at the end of which you will notice that it takes only 10 minutes to get out of the airport after the plane lands, or zoom in on one of the best National Highways, NH08, plying by Baroda. This city is as lovely as it is simple!

It's been a lovely year at Baroda. Looking forward to spend many more here, albeit work might make that discontinuous batches of stay.

PO - The Tool To Lateral Thinking

What is Lateral Thinking?

For any job at hand, there are methods, methods which have been formed and moulded into shape. There are ways which look straight, there are tracks less explored. The ones that have set foot have been created out of experience, experience of repetitive success, experience of not choosing other paths and choosing the one that has worked well so far. This is the logical way of doing things.

There are also ways around the mould to achieve the same goal, however quicker, or slower, or easier or harder or safer that detour might be. You will have to get out of the regular path, and attempt to take the path less travelled. It is not guaranteeing you a success, but it is guaranteeing you something new, something useful - if not for this task, for some other. To go for such paths, is the basis of lateral thinking.

For any logically true path to have come to the fore, there were paths tried out. Lateral thinking helps you choose the right path for logical thinking to take you ahead. Lateral thinking opens up doors to new ways of doing a task, logical thinking methodologically takes you ahead in a chosen path. Lateral thinking allows you to take risks, as it doesn't care about mistakes, while logical paths have a set path with no choices.

Lateral thinking is there to help you come out of methods, clichés, patterns, foregone assumptions etc, and allows you to think beyond what is already set and known.

PO - The tool

There are quite a few ways by which you can practice lateral thinking. The best way is by making use of the language tool - PO.

What does PO mean?

Logical thinking has "NO" as a tool for rejection of an idea, or suggestion. Lateral thinking has "PO" as a tool to consider that very idea or suggestion, ignore any negative implication that may have caused its rejection in logical thinking, and go ahead and see how the approval of the idea may have taken the thought process further.

Usage of PO in a language pauses normalcy, and triggers alternative possibilities of moving ahead; lateral thinking sets in.

Among various usages of PO, and the respective concepts of lateral thinking they relate to, here are three major ones :-

PO delays judgement

Usage of PO does not defend or disagree with an idea. It merely lets the idea bloom into something better. It delays judgment. How often have you rejected something, only to regret it later? You might've ordered your pizza toppings, rejected olives, only to later realise that they would've gone well with the Italian seasoning. If you had thought for a bit longer about olives and the seasoning, maybe you would've wanted to have it.
PO protects a thought from immediate judgment.

PO generates alternatives

PO takes you out of the patterns and clichés. For the moment, you may ignore that the process you had been following all life and try out another way. It is what kids do when you don't watch over them. Parents teach you how to climb down from a bed, but kids always want to jump, slide and fall. You know the goal, and you know what is right (the method). So, there is nothing wrong in exploring another way, something that may help you some other day (if the legs of the bed are greasy and not suitable to be used as a step?).

PO is provocative

There are divisions cut out in almost every field. PO explores ways in which you can use both the poles and generate ideas out of them. It explores the division to create ideas. Also, PO can be used to generate ideas around a single word, or a phrase or a sentence. Random. When a group of ideas flutter around a central word/phrase, you get something out of it.

Usage of PO in its provocative sense can be sometimes humourous.The above mentioned usage is bound to be funny if you have 8 people talking on a monkey's tail, for example.

Usage of PO

1. Generating alternatives.

"PO the tree has branches" may lead to a discussion about trees and branches, why branches appear on trees, why they branch outward etc. It gives an alternative perspective of the situation. 

"PO you need fork to eat noodles"  will diverse into ways of using a fork, and ways of eating noodles differently, and trying to figure out why forks were used to eat noodles.

2. Provocation

"shoe PO food"- shoe and food are seemingly unrelated. By inserting PO between the two words, you deliberately extract ideas that relate to both shoes and food. Maybe, pizza delivery guy? How shoes have helped deliveries faster on foot. Or, why shoes are not worn in some kitchens, to keep kitchens clean?

"Black PO White" must be a famous one.

"PO advantages of buses"- here, PO is used to discuss a topic, a phrase. Just like, how it would be for a single word, for example - "PO newspaper". You get people to bring out anything related to the word. This helps people to relax from stress, helps put a smile, maybe bring out laughter once in a while. It leaves your mind fresh for further decision making.

3. Protection from judgment

Anytime you are about to hear a "NO" or "NOT", bring out the tool "PO".

"This is not the right way to dress to an awards function"- here, the thought of wearing something casual would be rejected immediately. If you say "This is PO the right way to dress to an awards function", then the dressing is discussed - what should be word, what occasion suits casual wear, what dress suits an award function. This may cause a change in how the speaker and the listener had initially perceived the situation as. This would not have been possible in logical thinking.

In any discussion, before rejecting an idea, use PO, and look at what might happen, if the idea was taken ahead. What if it were assumed to be right and taken ahead. It may be such that the job works well in the successive stages, but not for this stage. So, you hold the idea, and explore alternative ways to help reach the stage from where that idea fits into the plan. Hence, the idea that may have originally been disposed off, has helped bring out a solution.

Also...

PO creates diversion, reduces over-reaction by removing emotional attachments reserved to polarized sides of an argument. PO is counteracting, but not arrogant. PO never takes sides, but always gives room for generating alternatives.

To sum up, PO helps challenges established patterns, and extracts information trapped in pigeon-holes and brings out alternative arrangement of information.

Lateral thinking is always going to be in use. If you are looking for ideas to go ahead, employ lateral thinking to find one. If you have an established method, explore new methods to improve upon what you already have - satisfaction is not an end point. If man was satisfied with postal services, emails would have never been a reality.

For more about PO, and all about Lateral Thinking, read "Lateral Thinking" by Edward de Bono.