“Do you have squid today?” I asked the waiter.
“No, we don’t have squid.”
“Damn! I was craving for some squid! Anyways, do you have prawns?”
“Yes. Prawns curry, prawns roast, chilli prawns.”
“Hmm.. ok. Then get me two velleappams and one prawns roast.”
I was at a mallu restaurant with a friend, to satisfy my mallu food craving. My friend, a non-mallu, decided to play safe and ordered a chicken biryani.
I was pigging out on the prawns roast with single-minded focus, when a couple came and occupied the adjacent table. Non-mallus, going by the hindi they were speaking. And also going by the amount of fuss they were creating over everything that was there on the menu. Why come to a Kerala food joint if you don’t like the cuisine, I thought to myself. They were dismissing anything and everything that the waiter was suggesting. For one, they didn’t have a clue about half the things on the menu, and were making the bewildered waiter describe what went into all those dishes. And on top of that, it didn’t look like they were seafood or beef-eating people, which, hello, is the whole point of going to a mallu place.
I lost interest in them somewhere in between and got back to my second plate of prawns roast. (Do not judge me, I haven’t been home in 6 months!)
“I’m sorry sir, we don’t have mushroom masala.” I overheard the waiter telling the couple. They still hadn’t ordered.
Err..Mushrooms?? In a Kerala restaurant??!! Umm..ok. Whatever suits them.
Wait wait. The best is yet to come. The guy goes through the menu and asks “How about chicken biryani?”
“Ya! We’ll have that.” The girl is finally interested.
“But wait. Usme tho poora coconut coconut hoga.” (There’ll be coconut coconut in it, whatever that means)
“Oh! Nahi nahi, mujhe coconut nahi pasand.” (No no, I don’t like coconut.)
I was speechless. This was the height of ignorance about mallu food!!! Coconut in chicken biryani, for god’s sake??!!
So here’s a little food guide for all you non-Mallu’s. It’s time you got rid of certain misconceptions about our cuisine, and also were aware of certain things.
1)Yes, we come from the land of coconuts. Yes, we love coconuts. Yes, sometimes we love them enough to make babies with them. But that does NOT mean that we put coconut in each and every thing! And definitely not in Biryani!
2)I really don’t think you should order edible fungi in a Mallu restaurant. The fungi might be edible, but the dish might not be.
3)Yes yes, we luuurve banana chips. But that does not maketh a meal.
4)We do love our coconuts and our banana chips, but we do eat other stuff too, you know. If one more person goes “Ohhh!! Kerala Kutti! Coconut oil and banana chips!” with the all-knowing glee in their eye, I swear I shall not hesitate to break said coconut on their head.
5)We use coconut oil on our hair, and we use the same coconut oil for cooking. If you have a problem, eat bread and jam while you’re vacationing in Kerala. There’s no coconut oil in that.
6)And while we’re on that, if you’re planning to visit Kerala, be willing to taste our cuisine. Don’t expect to find the food of your land here. We Keralites are accommodative and gracious hosts, but if we hear you complaining about our food, you might just find an empty pot of toddy upturned on your silly snooty head.
7)We loooove cows. Go figure.
8)If you’re planning to start a hotel in Kerala, and you dish out Continental and Chinese fare, you may or may not strike gold. But start a porotta-beef thattukada (wayside eatery that serves yummy food), you’ll be a millionaire overnight.
9)If you want to eat the best food in Kerala, eat from a thattukada*. If you pass it off thinking it’s unhygienic, then you really don’t know what you missed.
10)If you can’t take spicy food, either go on a liquid diet or come prepared to spend ample time in the loo. We are not known as the Land of Spices for nothing.
11)We eat bananas, we fry bananas, we make sweets out of them, we make curry out of them, we eat out of a banana leaf, and when the need arises, we may even use the banana peel to take revenge on somebody. You’ll just have to learn to accept it.
12)When we see fish, we lose all self- control. You’ll have to accept that as well.
13)Mallu children might grow up reciting the different names of fish that we get here rather than A B C D. Yes, we are proud of our coast and the bounty it brings.
14)Mallus are very adaptable to other cuisines. We will try anything once. If we don’t like it, we will still eat it. And then go crib about it to our ‘country’men over a pot of toddy and some fish fry.
15)We eat rice. A lot of it.
16)A bowl of kanji (rice gruel) with coconut chutney and a papad equals one satisfied Malayali.
17)‘Avial’ is not just a rock-band. It’s a delectable dish that every Keralite is proud of.
18)If you visit a Mallu house and are served Jackfruit chips, and half an hour later at lunch, find jackfruit in your curry as well, along with jackfruit sabji, do not be alarmed. The jackfruit kheer is on the way.
19)Same is the case with tapioca. We believe in maximum utilization of our resources, as you may have figured out by now.
20)We worship the sea-goddess. In every sense.
21)No matter how busy the mornings are in a household, we still take time out to prepare and eat puttu-kadala or appam-egg curry or idiyappam-stew for breakfast. We believe in starting the day royally.
So, there you go. I'm not sure if this has helped in making you any wiser about Kerala cuisine, but it sure has made me crave for some good home-made mallu food. Dammit!!
April 18, 2011
April 15, 2011
On the experiment called cooking.
Experiments, when they go wrong, can be ghastly. And one such experiment is cooking.
One of my colleagues got married recently, and happens to be quite a novice in the kitchen. Never having had to make even so much as a boiled egg up until her wedding, she now treats her kitchen as a chemistry lab. As a result, we are treated to half-boiled dal, improperly fried vegetables, new dishes that started off as something else but ended up as something else, and she’s still to make acquaintance with salt and spices. In short, her cooking leaves a lot to be desired.
What is it with cooking, that makes it so hard for some? Now, I’m no Tarla Dalal or Sanjeev Kapoor, but I’m no burner of chai either. I’m, what you can call, a moderate cook. I don’t cook daily, can’t be bothered to, but whenever I do, it’s not too bad. I’m a weekend cook, as of now. My roommate cooks for me during the weekdays, and I cook for her in the weekends. I make the occasional Khichdi or sabji-rice on a weekday sometimes, but for the most part, I go in there only to make coffee and wash utensils.
But somehow, I’ve managed to never burn anything or make a complete disaster of it. Maybe, by some stroke of luck, I finally managed to inherit some good quality of my mother’s. She is (as every kid in the world would say) the world’s best cook. Not just that, she is a very meticulous cook. She’s not one of those who cooks up a storm and ends up leaving the kitchen as though a hurricane swept it. She’s spic and span, something that I failed to inherit in its full extent. I try, but I know I can never be as cleanliness- obsessed as her.
I started off as an experimental cook, not a I’m-doing-it-coz-I-have-to-do-it cook. My mom never called me or my sister into the kitchen to help her cook, or rather, we never really offered (Yes yes, I know what you’re thinking. Save it.). In fact, she tells me that when she was younger, she never stepped foot in the kitchen, but she ended up getting married to someone who is very very very finicky about food- the right amount of salt, proper meals at proper times, and a lover of non-veg. My mom? Vegetarian. She used to eat non-veg at some point in time, ages ago, but stopped because she didn’t like it anymore. But in spite of being a pure vegetarian, she manages to whip up the best of fish curries and chicken biryani. And the best part, she has a recipe for everything. I’m a recipe-less cook. I don’t follow any recipe- I go by my sense of smell (Is it pungent, like rotten eggs? No? Good enough), sense of taste (Does it taste like boiled newspapers? No? Good to go.), and my sense of sight (Does it look like ulcer in a curry? Not so far). My mom has two fat diaries filled with recipes she wrote down and cut out from papers and magazines, and she does try them out.
My cooking experiments started with eggs, and then slowly moved on to chicken. And once I realized that chicken is probably one of the easiest things to make, I started enjoying making it. It became a ritual at home, when only mom and I were there. I would make either eggs or chicken, and since she didn’t eat either of this, she felt safe enough to let me experiment (Ahem). It was only after I started living on my own that I began experimenting with dal, sambar, and other sabjis. And thankfully, my roommate at that time too was a good cook. Together we managed to keep the kitchen from blowing up.
But somehow, I never could bring myself to cook daily. I just can’t wake up early enough in the morning, and by the time I come back at night, I’m too tired (Or so I convince myself). My future husband and kids can look forward to a lot of frozen dinners and pasta/noodles variety. But one thing I can assure them- every weekend will be a feast.
Alright, so I may not be one of those moms who’s the world’s best cook. Maybe I can settle for being the world’s best drama-queen mom.
Right.
One of my colleagues got married recently, and happens to be quite a novice in the kitchen. Never having had to make even so much as a boiled egg up until her wedding, she now treats her kitchen as a chemistry lab. As a result, we are treated to half-boiled dal, improperly fried vegetables, new dishes that started off as something else but ended up as something else, and she’s still to make acquaintance with salt and spices. In short, her cooking leaves a lot to be desired.
What is it with cooking, that makes it so hard for some? Now, I’m no Tarla Dalal or Sanjeev Kapoor, but I’m no burner of chai either. I’m, what you can call, a moderate cook. I don’t cook daily, can’t be bothered to, but whenever I do, it’s not too bad. I’m a weekend cook, as of now. My roommate cooks for me during the weekdays, and I cook for her in the weekends. I make the occasional Khichdi or sabji-rice on a weekday sometimes, but for the most part, I go in there only to make coffee and wash utensils.
But somehow, I’ve managed to never burn anything or make a complete disaster of it. Maybe, by some stroke of luck, I finally managed to inherit some good quality of my mother’s. She is (as every kid in the world would say) the world’s best cook. Not just that, she is a very meticulous cook. She’s not one of those who cooks up a storm and ends up leaving the kitchen as though a hurricane swept it. She’s spic and span, something that I failed to inherit in its full extent. I try, but I know I can never be as cleanliness- obsessed as her.
I started off as an experimental cook, not a I’m-doing-it-coz-I-have-to-do-it cook. My mom never called me or my sister into the kitchen to help her cook, or rather, we never really offered (Yes yes, I know what you’re thinking. Save it.). In fact, she tells me that when she was younger, she never stepped foot in the kitchen, but she ended up getting married to someone who is very very very finicky about food- the right amount of salt, proper meals at proper times, and a lover of non-veg. My mom? Vegetarian. She used to eat non-veg at some point in time, ages ago, but stopped because she didn’t like it anymore. But in spite of being a pure vegetarian, she manages to whip up the best of fish curries and chicken biryani. And the best part, she has a recipe for everything. I’m a recipe-less cook. I don’t follow any recipe- I go by my sense of smell (Is it pungent, like rotten eggs? No? Good enough), sense of taste (Does it taste like boiled newspapers? No? Good to go.), and my sense of sight (Does it look like ulcer in a curry? Not so far). My mom has two fat diaries filled with recipes she wrote down and cut out from papers and magazines, and she does try them out.
My cooking experiments started with eggs, and then slowly moved on to chicken. And once I realized that chicken is probably one of the easiest things to make, I started enjoying making it. It became a ritual at home, when only mom and I were there. I would make either eggs or chicken, and since she didn’t eat either of this, she felt safe enough to let me experiment (Ahem). It was only after I started living on my own that I began experimenting with dal, sambar, and other sabjis. And thankfully, my roommate at that time too was a good cook. Together we managed to keep the kitchen from blowing up.
But somehow, I never could bring myself to cook daily. I just can’t wake up early enough in the morning, and by the time I come back at night, I’m too tired (Or so I convince myself). My future husband and kids can look forward to a lot of frozen dinners and pasta/noodles variety. But one thing I can assure them- every weekend will be a feast.
Alright, so I may not be one of those moms who’s the world’s best cook. Maybe I can settle for being the world’s best drama-queen mom.
Right.
April 13, 2011
Artistically challenged
The other day, I’d been to a city publication’s office, with regard to some freelance writing work. During our chat, the lady there asked me what I would be comfortable writing about. I rattled off a list- books, movies, theatre, food, etc.
“What about art? Would you be interested in going to an art exhibition and do reviews?” She asked.
“Err..I don’t think so. I’m not much of an art person.” I said.
What I almost said, then thought better not to, was “Sure, if the art is a pencil-colour drawing of a house with a tree in the garden and a few v-shaped birds in the sky, I don’t mind.”
Alright, confession-time. I can’t draw to save my life.
My idea of drawing was, like the above-mentioned description, a house, a tree, a few birds, if possible a sun, and a couple of stick figures to pass off as people.(Refer pic. It's not just in MS Paint. That's how I draw in real life too). And even to draw a house, I needed a scale! Art class used to be torture time for me, and my art sir finally gave up on me. I used to spend most of the art periods outside the class because I hadn’t completed an assignment, or my friend Nisha, the resident art genius, used to take pity on me and complete it for me.
But, so what if I could not draw? I had the next best thing to it- a mother and a sister who could! Now, all of you who’ve been through this art and crafts charade in school would know how important it is to have a relative or a neighbor or a friend who can draw well. I was blessed enough to have all of them! All my projects that required drawing were promptly handed over to my mom and sis- I didn’t even bother trying, because that would be just a waste of time and resources. ( I used to love to colour, though, but even then I had trouble staying inside the lines).
I still remember, one time, I had a Social Studies project, where we had to submit a model of South America, either on chart paper, or on thermacol. And it had to be a full page drawing on a regular chart paper, which is slightly bigger than the size of a newspaper, and it had to be submitted in two days’ time. I promptly went home and told mom what was expected. Amma took one look at the size of the chart paper, the map of South America, with its collection of teeny-weeny islands (or whatever it was. Geography was never my best friend) at the bottom, and then looked at me. Her eyes silently said “If only you weren’t my daughter... “. I woke up next day morning to see the most wonderful sketch of South America on the dining table, complete with the miniscule islands and everything- she hadn’t missed out on a single detail. She had stayed up almost half the night, bent over the chart paper, replicating each and every shape. I was so gonna get top marks for this!! (Yes, even back then, I was quite shallow. Thankyouverymuch). So all I had to do, was fill in the colours. Sunday night saw my mother, my sister, and my neighbour, Ritu Didi, trying to undo the damage that I had done to my mom’s hard work. I was strictly told to stay away from it. So I did. I needed the marks, after all. Needless to say, my SS sir was mighty impressed by the final outcome (I think most teachers already know that it is the parents who do most of the work. Saves us a lot of explanation, I guess).
Even if it was a project that involved a lot of writing, my mom used to do it for me. She has beautiful, italics-type handwriting, and I have, to quote a friend “like-a-crow-crapped-on-your-page”-type handwriting. My English sir used to painstakingly write on each of my pages, “Improve your handwriting”, till one fine day, he got tired and wrote “Beautiful handwriting!” thinking that I might take a hint. I didn’t. I believe in consistency, you see.
Anyhow, I somehow managed to scrape through all my art and craft-related work thanks to the gifted people around me. My sister was good at drawing, and she used to do a lot of my projects too. My neighbour, Ritu Didi, was a genius at all these things. She used to do my fabric-painting assignments, my embroidery works, and she completed a major part of my biology record-book, with all those weird insects and flowers and what not. The only thing I was ever remotely interested in, was needlework and stitching, and that interest also waned gradually once I realized that you need more than just talent for such things- you need patience too, and that, was definitely not my cup of tea.
I once bought an Anchor Quick Stitch-kit because it caught my fancy (and I was in my Oh-I’m-going-to-be-a-fashion-designer-so-I-want-to-stitch phase). The rusted needle and sad-looking bunny in the unfinished frame is a testimony of my attention-span equivalent to that of a five-year old. So is the box of unused glass painting colours that I had bought when the glass-painting-bug bit me, and that project also met a premature death when my mother accidentally sat on the glass that I had laid out on my bed and broke it. That was the last time I tried to discover the non-existent artist in me. I now stick to admiring other people’s art and appreciating them.
This post is dedicated to my mom, my sister, and to Ritu Didi, for all the work they did. Thank you, for being so gifted. It sure got me out of many a tight spot!
I feel so sorry for the kids that I’ll be having. They’re stuck with a mother who cannot draw and has a terrible handwriting. Poor things.
Dear God, I don’t want a tall, dark, handsome, rich, kind husband. Just give me one that can draw and has beautiful handwriting. For the sake of my unborn children. Please!
“What about art? Would you be interested in going to an art exhibition and do reviews?” She asked.
“Err..I don’t think so. I’m not much of an art person.” I said.
What I almost said, then thought better not to, was “Sure, if the art is a pencil-colour drawing of a house with a tree in the garden and a few v-shaped birds in the sky, I don’t mind.”
Alright, confession-time. I can’t draw to save my life.
My idea of drawing was, like the above-mentioned description, a house, a tree, a few birds, if possible a sun, and a couple of stick figures to pass off as people.(Refer pic. It's not just in MS Paint. That's how I draw in real life too). And even to draw a house, I needed a scale! Art class used to be torture time for me, and my art sir finally gave up on me. I used to spend most of the art periods outside the class because I hadn’t completed an assignment, or my friend Nisha, the resident art genius, used to take pity on me and complete it for me.
But, so what if I could not draw? I had the next best thing to it- a mother and a sister who could! Now, all of you who’ve been through this art and crafts charade in school would know how important it is to have a relative or a neighbor or a friend who can draw well. I was blessed enough to have all of them! All my projects that required drawing were promptly handed over to my mom and sis- I didn’t even bother trying, because that would be just a waste of time and resources. ( I used to love to colour, though, but even then I had trouble staying inside the lines).
I still remember, one time, I had a Social Studies project, where we had to submit a model of South America, either on chart paper, or on thermacol. And it had to be a full page drawing on a regular chart paper, which is slightly bigger than the size of a newspaper, and it had to be submitted in two days’ time. I promptly went home and told mom what was expected. Amma took one look at the size of the chart paper, the map of South America, with its collection of teeny-weeny islands (or whatever it was. Geography was never my best friend) at the bottom, and then looked at me. Her eyes silently said “If only you weren’t my daughter... “. I woke up next day morning to see the most wonderful sketch of South America on the dining table, complete with the miniscule islands and everything- she hadn’t missed out on a single detail. She had stayed up almost half the night, bent over the chart paper, replicating each and every shape. I was so gonna get top marks for this!! (Yes, even back then, I was quite shallow. Thankyouverymuch). So all I had to do, was fill in the colours. Sunday night saw my mother, my sister, and my neighbour, Ritu Didi, trying to undo the damage that I had done to my mom’s hard work. I was strictly told to stay away from it. So I did. I needed the marks, after all. Needless to say, my SS sir was mighty impressed by the final outcome (I think most teachers already know that it is the parents who do most of the work. Saves us a lot of explanation, I guess).
Even if it was a project that involved a lot of writing, my mom used to do it for me. She has beautiful, italics-type handwriting, and I have, to quote a friend “like-a-crow-crapped-on-your-page”-type handwriting. My English sir used to painstakingly write on each of my pages, “Improve your handwriting”, till one fine day, he got tired and wrote “Beautiful handwriting!” thinking that I might take a hint. I didn’t. I believe in consistency, you see.
Anyhow, I somehow managed to scrape through all my art and craft-related work thanks to the gifted people around me. My sister was good at drawing, and she used to do a lot of my projects too. My neighbour, Ritu Didi, was a genius at all these things. She used to do my fabric-painting assignments, my embroidery works, and she completed a major part of my biology record-book, with all those weird insects and flowers and what not. The only thing I was ever remotely interested in, was needlework and stitching, and that interest also waned gradually once I realized that you need more than just talent for such things- you need patience too, and that, was definitely not my cup of tea.
I once bought an Anchor Quick Stitch-kit because it caught my fancy (and I was in my Oh-I’m-going-to-be-a-fashion-designer-so-I-want-to-stitch phase). The rusted needle and sad-looking bunny in the unfinished frame is a testimony of my attention-span equivalent to that of a five-year old. So is the box of unused glass painting colours that I had bought when the glass-painting-bug bit me, and that project also met a premature death when my mother accidentally sat on the glass that I had laid out on my bed and broke it. That was the last time I tried to discover the non-existent artist in me. I now stick to admiring other people’s art and appreciating them.
This post is dedicated to my mom, my sister, and to Ritu Didi, for all the work they did. Thank you, for being so gifted. It sure got me out of many a tight spot!
I feel so sorry for the kids that I’ll be having. They’re stuck with a mother who cannot draw and has a terrible handwriting. Poor things.
Dear God, I don’t want a tall, dark, handsome, rich, kind husband. Just give me one that can draw and has beautiful handwriting. For the sake of my unborn children. Please!
April 12, 2011
Wishlist of a screwloose- Part 1
Warning: Highly imaginative content ahead. Proceed at your own risk.
I know I’m only 24, but it’s never too early to make a wish/ bucket list, right. Plus, I was bored at work.
So, here goes.
# I want to do a sleazy item number in a Bollywood movie, wearing all those sequined bustiers and skimpy skirts, gyrating to the beats of 'Munni badnaam hui’ or 'Babuji zara dheere chalo’. ‘Ek do teen’ will also do. Oh, and I need my own vanity van, which will have a well-stocked bar (I figure a certain level of intoxication is mandatory for that kind of inhibition-less gyration), an LCD TV to watch Emotional Atyachaar and Roadies, imported cosmetics, and Filmfare magazines. I will have a matronly manager who will attend to me and flatter me all the time “Babyji, juice”, “Babyji, biryani”, “Shot ready hai, Babyji”, “Aapke saamne tho Aishwarya Rai bhi kaamwali bai lagti hai, Babyji”. I should also get to keep the skimpy costume that I will later wear to my child’s PTA meetings.
# I want to star in a soap opera and play the vamp’s character, wearing the ugly sarees and uglier five-inch thick make-up. Only difference between me and the other actresses who play vamps will be that I will look beautiful even with all that ugly make-up and costume. My signature move, where everyone will know I’m up to no good, will be me buffing my nails with a purple nail file. Ivory-studded.
# I want to go to a movie and talk loudly into the phone. Just when a crucial scene is about to happen and everyone’s silent, I want to giggle into the phone “Oh my god, last night was sooooooo amazing!” irrespective of whether I was talking about a date or a meteor shower, and then blush when everyone turns to stare/glare at me (the blush will be visible even in the darkened movie hall).
# I want to go to a really crowded place, like a temple, and push through the queue and kick up a fight with all those who are not letting me cut the line. And I will not rest till I see blood. Preferably theirs.
# I want to buy a really huge house in the most expensive locality of the city, and then decorate it with the choicest of items from “Dee Décor- Crappy Furnishings for Happy Living.” My bedroom will have one wall painted purple, another wall painted orange, and the rest will be a blinding red. My children’s room will have posters of Justin Bieber, High School Musical, Hannah Montana, Britney Spears etc.
# I want to be one of those people who nonchalantly pee/ spit on the road, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world to pull out your thing (I’m a good girl. I don’t say the P word on a public forum) on a crowded road and scald people’s eyes. (Although, the fact that I’m a girl might make it a little difficult for me to do the same thing in public. Oh well, I guess that’s one thing off the list. Damn, I was so looking forward to this one!)
# I want to be a teacher and teach really awesome English to my students. For eg:-
Fill in the blanks:
Shahid Kapoor is ‘good friends’ with _______________ (No choices given. It might be confusing for the kids to list out more than ten names).
Nursery rhymes:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If you don’t tell me the answer
Boo you boo you!
Dictation:
Spell a)Facebook b)Orkut c)Like d)Comment e)Frandship f)Request g) Photo album h)gmail i)Google j)Sachin Tendulkar
Utilizing English language for Conservation of Letters- SMS language.
A for Apl, B for Bl, C for Ct, D for dll, E for Elphnt, F for fud, G for gal, H for hw, I for imp...Z for zzzz.
(This could be a breakthrough course!! I could be on the board of directors of Facebook and Twitter!)
I will walk into class every day and greet students “Good maarning childrens, pliss sit dauwn.”
# I want to go to a five-star hotel and order for ‘chota chai’ and ‘biskut’. If they act confused or derogatory, I’ll say “Kya yaaron, biskut nahi maaloom?Maa ki kirkiri.* ”
# I want to go to a very traditional (but lavish. I want the free food) wedding, and yell just when the pheras are about to begin “Nahin, ye shaadi nahin ho sakthi!! Tumhe hamaare bacche ki kasam!!”. To the bride.
# Stand for elections and go for campaigning wearing a FCUK tube top and skinny jeans. It’s time somebody gave Ujala and Khadi a break.
# Kick somebody else’s bucket.
To be continued…
*Maa ki kirkiri- Quintessentially Hyderabadi swear-word.
I know I’m only 24, but it’s never too early to make a wish/ bucket list, right. Plus, I was bored at work.
So, here goes.
# I want to do a sleazy item number in a Bollywood movie, wearing all those sequined bustiers and skimpy skirts, gyrating to the beats of 'Munni badnaam hui’ or 'Babuji zara dheere chalo’. ‘Ek do teen’ will also do. Oh, and I need my own vanity van, which will have a well-stocked bar (I figure a certain level of intoxication is mandatory for that kind of inhibition-less gyration), an LCD TV to watch Emotional Atyachaar and Roadies, imported cosmetics, and Filmfare magazines. I will have a matronly manager who will attend to me and flatter me all the time “Babyji, juice”, “Babyji, biryani”, “Shot ready hai, Babyji”, “Aapke saamne tho Aishwarya Rai bhi kaamwali bai lagti hai, Babyji”. I should also get to keep the skimpy costume that I will later wear to my child’s PTA meetings.
# I want to star in a soap opera and play the vamp’s character, wearing the ugly sarees and uglier five-inch thick make-up. Only difference between me and the other actresses who play vamps will be that I will look beautiful even with all that ugly make-up and costume. My signature move, where everyone will know I’m up to no good, will be me buffing my nails with a purple nail file. Ivory-studded.
# I want to go to a movie and talk loudly into the phone. Just when a crucial scene is about to happen and everyone’s silent, I want to giggle into the phone “Oh my god, last night was sooooooo amazing!” irrespective of whether I was talking about a date or a meteor shower, and then blush when everyone turns to stare/glare at me (the blush will be visible even in the darkened movie hall).
# I want to go to a really crowded place, like a temple, and push through the queue and kick up a fight with all those who are not letting me cut the line. And I will not rest till I see blood. Preferably theirs.
# I want to buy a really huge house in the most expensive locality of the city, and then decorate it with the choicest of items from “Dee Décor- Crappy Furnishings for Happy Living.” My bedroom will have one wall painted purple, another wall painted orange, and the rest will be a blinding red. My children’s room will have posters of Justin Bieber, High School Musical, Hannah Montana, Britney Spears etc.
# I want to be one of those people who nonchalantly pee/ spit on the road, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world to pull out your thing (I’m a good girl. I don’t say the P word on a public forum) on a crowded road and scald people’s eyes. (Although, the fact that I’m a girl might make it a little difficult for me to do the same thing in public. Oh well, I guess that’s one thing off the list. Damn, I was so looking forward to this one!)
# I want to be a teacher and teach really awesome English to my students. For eg:-
Fill in the blanks:
Shahid Kapoor is ‘good friends’ with _______________ (No choices given. It might be confusing for the kids to list out more than ten names).
Nursery rhymes:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If you don’t tell me the answer
Boo you boo you!
Dictation:
Spell a)Facebook b)Orkut c)Like d)Comment e)Frandship f)Request g) Photo album h)gmail i)Google j)Sachin Tendulkar
Utilizing English language for Conservation of Letters- SMS language.
A for Apl, B for Bl, C for Ct, D for dll, E for Elphnt, F for fud, G for gal, H for hw, I for imp...Z for zzzz.
(This could be a breakthrough course!! I could be on the board of directors of Facebook and Twitter!)
I will walk into class every day and greet students “Good maarning childrens, pliss sit dauwn.”
# I want to go to a five-star hotel and order for ‘chota chai’ and ‘biskut’. If they act confused or derogatory, I’ll say “Kya yaaron, biskut nahi maaloom?Maa ki kirkiri.* ”
# I want to go to a very traditional (but lavish. I want the free food) wedding, and yell just when the pheras are about to begin “Nahin, ye shaadi nahin ho sakthi!! Tumhe hamaare bacche ki kasam!!”. To the bride.
# Stand for elections and go for campaigning wearing a FCUK tube top and skinny jeans. It’s time somebody gave Ujala and Khadi a break.
# Kick somebody else’s bucket.
To be continued…
*Maa ki kirkiri- Quintessentially Hyderabadi swear-word.
April 7, 2011
The elusive goddess
“Please! Please come back! I beg you! It’s been too many days!” I implore.
She looks down her snooty nose at me. The feisty bitch is in no mood to humour me.
“I was vacationing. In France. And Spain. And Egypt.”
“Vacation?? Vacation?! You’ve been traipsing around the world while I’ve been sitting here waiting for Your Highness to come visit me?!!”
“Why should I come visit you? You don’t care for me as much as I care for you.”
“That’s not true!! You know how much I love you and involve you in every aspect of my life!”
“Ya right! You come for me only when it pleases you! Stop treating me like a whore!”
“Err.. technically, that isn’t possible, you know, since I’m a girl too.”
“You very well know what I meant. You come looking for me only when you are in the mood. You don’t take into account the fact that I may also want to see you every day, or at least a few times a week. Is that too much to ask for??!! I’m hurt!”
“Ok ok, I admit, I’ve been a tad bit negligent of you. But it wasn’t intentional. I had work, then I took a break for the weekend.”
“Why didn’t you take me with you?” Full-on pouting.
“I can’t take you with me everywhere, sweety. Please try to understand.”
“See! This is what I meant! You come looking for me only when it pleases you. The other day, I came to you and sat on your shoulder, you didn’t even acknowledge my presence.” Sniffle sniffle.
“Ok ok. Fine. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’ll be more indulgent in future. Ok?”
“You’ll never turn me away?”
“I’ll never turn you away. Promise.”
“You’ll indulge me whenever I come?”
“Yes, I will.” This was getting tiring.
“And you’ll always pamper me and say nice things to me?”
“Yes, I will, my dear.”
“And you’ll buy me pretty purple shoes with diamonds encrusted in them and a pretty purple bag to put my lipstick and blusher in and donuts to eat?”
“Yes I.. What??!!”
“Will you or will you not??!!”
“ Ok ok! I will! Anything you want. Purple shoes, purple sunglasses, donuts, imli candies, fried chicken, Barbie doll, Sonu Sood, the Pyramid of Giza. Whatever it is I’ll buy it for you!! Just come back. Please!”
“Hmmpphh. Ok.”
Meet Miss Feisty. My Muse.
Now I’ve to go shop for purple shoes.
She looks down her snooty nose at me. The feisty bitch is in no mood to humour me.
“I was vacationing. In France. And Spain. And Egypt.”
“Vacation?? Vacation?! You’ve been traipsing around the world while I’ve been sitting here waiting for Your Highness to come visit me?!!”
“Why should I come visit you? You don’t care for me as much as I care for you.”
“That’s not true!! You know how much I love you and involve you in every aspect of my life!”
“Ya right! You come for me only when it pleases you! Stop treating me like a whore!”
“Err.. technically, that isn’t possible, you know, since I’m a girl too.”
“You very well know what I meant. You come looking for me only when you are in the mood. You don’t take into account the fact that I may also want to see you every day, or at least a few times a week. Is that too much to ask for??!! I’m hurt!”
“Why didn’t you take me with you?” Full-on pouting.
“I can’t take you with me everywhere, sweety. Please try to understand.”
“See! This is what I meant! You come looking for me only when it pleases you. The other day, I came to you and sat on your shoulder, you didn’t even acknowledge my presence.” Sniffle sniffle.
“Ok ok. Fine. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’ll be more indulgent in future. Ok?”
“You’ll never turn me away?”
“I’ll never turn you away. Promise.”
“You’ll indulge me whenever I come?”
“Yes, I will.” This was getting tiring.
“And you’ll always pamper me and say nice things to me?”
“Yes, I will, my dear.”
“And you’ll buy me pretty purple shoes with diamonds encrusted in them and a pretty purple bag to put my lipstick and blusher in and donuts to eat?”
“Yes I.. What??!!”
“Will you or will you not??!!”
“ Ok ok! I will! Anything you want. Purple shoes, purple sunglasses, donuts, imli candies, fried chicken, Barbie doll, Sonu Sood, the Pyramid of Giza. Whatever it is I’ll buy it for you!! Just come back. Please!”
“Hmmpphh. Ok.”
Meet Miss Feisty. My Muse.
Now I’ve to go shop for purple shoes.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)