Truly, madly, IDLY !

You can say all the jokes you want about South Indians, but we will never ever stop eating Idlis. Not for the whole world. No amount of Rajnikanth-kolaveri-kerala nurses unfunny jokes can dissuade us from our traditional food, which continues to be a top favorite across all age groups- from toddlers to politicians. Oh and we are also tea drinkers. It keeps us awake and

and alert you see. It is one of the reasons behind the percentage of South Indian students that knock at the gates of IIT, and the ever increasing theft rate elsewhere  ;-)

Coming back to idlis, even though its batter is available in every nook and corner, it cannot be compared with what we grind at home. The color, smell and everything about it is different. It could probably be because the stores may use baking soda for fast fermentation which is a practice we never do at home. Anyway for bachelors and newly-married-cooking-retarded people (that’s me around five years back), these batter packets are a blessing.

It was on my first grocery shopping trip post marriage that I found out about the idli batter packets and I rejoiced like I won the lottery. I was not even aware of the existence of such a thing mainly because before marriage, I never went grocery shopping. Secondly, hot idlis frequently appeared at the dining table and taken for granted in no time. Thirdly, when Mummy and a housemaid of twenty years are at the kitchen there is no room or reason for a third person to intrude and investigate. Fourthly it was better to eat and leave rather than staying back to ask questions and invite trouble.

It was years later when our baby came into our lives, we started to forego anything that came in packets. This included masalas, batter, processed snacks and other stuff. And then as necessity is the mother of pain-in-the-neck, our next trip to India saw us returning with a brand new grinder. Lifting the grinder weights regularly has made me a mini Mary Kom in terms of biceps. And then came the real trivia. Idli batter is no joke. If you want to make it successfully you need to brush up those math lessons which are collecting cobwebs in some corner of the brain(?). Sixth grade flashback - remember that lesson in ratio and proportion?

So Raw Rice: Urad Dal: Fenugreek = 2:1:(1small spoon). Well, had I understood mathematics in its raw form during my school days, I would have four cooks in my kitchen today asking me what I’d like to eat for dinner. Well, I’ll choose not to talk about what could have happened and focus on not learning mathematics come what may. It takes a while until you can understand that, this formula when followed religiously does not yield soft yummy idlis. Sometimes it can bite on your back by producing idlis that can also be used as stones at the Secretariat march. Idlis are made by ‘experience’, which I would like to rename as ‘sheer luck’. The silver lining of going through all this pain is that, once you grind the batter and keep for fermentation, and it fails at the box office, the same can be used to make dosas. Dosas always come out crisp and yum even if the batter is not in a good mood. This saves me from a lot of batter related stress.

The first time I made idlis, the ones on the lowest rung of idli mould drowned and died.  This was celebrated as a family joke (initiated and marketed by my sister) that my idlis committed suicide. I am secretly planning to throw an idli at her one of these days. 

After a while I mastered the art of making “poo polathe*” idlis. That feeling of licking clean a plate of soft idlis is a form of emotional bliss that can be experienced only by South Indians. Well these idlis are so light on the tummy that it drives us to drink an extra cup of coffee or grab a few biscuits by 11 a.m., but that is not a downside.

So as I sat around pretending to be a master chef, and at other times singing from the rooftop about my newly found culinary skills, somewhere in the background, summer gave way to winter. I found out the hard and bitter way that batter does not ferment in winter. And it is exactly at winter when you really want to devour hot idlis and tea! It took me a lot of effort to stop myself from running to the nearest store and grab a pack of idli batter!  I googled all the culinary blogs and found some real gems which had tips about making idlis in winter. Muscat is as of now at 16 to 20 degrees, which is too cold for idli batter. I tried the water bath method, and then placed it in the oven with oven lights on throughout the night for around 12 hours in total. In the morning I woke up like a mother hen eager to check on her eggs. I opened the oven, and the batter vessel...and... eurekaa!

February. Cool Monday morning. The golden rays of the sun seeped through the window. The birds tapped and murmured against the glass windows. The doves flew past fluttering their wings. The cool breeze tickled the curtains. The coconut oil solidified. On the dining table was the casserole. In it was hot 'poo polathe*' idlis bathing in steam. There was some coconut chutney and a cup of tea for company. Pure bliss. 

*super soft

Picture courtesy:Google

Selfies for Dummies!

Recently when I went shopping, I saw a lot of girls clicking selfies completely oblivious of the surroundings. I was relieved because I thought I was being weird and narcissistic by clicking my own pictures all day. However for most guys this is something they don’t comprehend. Why blame them when even our spelling godfather Microsoft Word does not get it!  I just want to say …Dude we depend on you for all our spellings…update yourself!

Well for all those husbands/boyfriends/brothers/fathers out there who don’t understand what a selfie is, here are some insights.

A selfie is a self-portrait. Like you most probably believe, we DID NOT invent this word; it was included in the Oxford Dictionary from year 2013.

      We do not ask you to click our pictures anymore, and torment or embarrass you. When we are clicking a selfie, if you feel embarrassed you can just move out of the frame and act like a stranger. We will be really grateful.

      Most selfies are taken in restrooms. This is because corporate and mall restrooms are well lit. Do not complain, as you are probably waiting somewhere checking out some hot chics, or in the worst case inquiring when Apple is releasing the next iphone.

      A selfie is harmless. It hardly costs anything. We don’t even send our selfies to you.

      You may think why we need a selfie when there are mirrors everywhere. You are not expected to understand this.

     With selfies there is no dearth of profile pictures.

     Almost anyone looks like a celebrity in selfies.

     Selfies relieve us from stress and uplifts our confidence like no other.

      It is the most loved feel-good activity, after shopping and cupcakes.

      It is foolish to think that women who click a lot of selfies are self-obsessed. Yeah we are, but it is still foolish to think like that.

      If we click a lot of selfies it doesn’t mean that we are selfless.

      Selfies are not clicked only when we are wearing something new. Even a school uniform is reason enough.

      Selfie experts can pose like it was Dabboo Ratnani who clicked them by not showing their extended hands which holds the phone. This is no ordinary feat. 

      A good selfie involves some financial risk . Chances of the phone falling down when we are adjusting our hair cannot be ruled out. It is not a child's play, and moreover, it is not silly. 

      A selfie that turned out very well may not even need to go under the editing knife! It is a real time saver!

      Selfies with friends rejuvenates friendship and keeps memories alive. We do not lose patience if we have to click countless pictures just to make sure everyone looks good. When everyone agrees on one, that is one of those moments when we have bonded for life.

So next time she takes a selfie at the mall, or takes more time at the restroom, you know what to do. Just stop asking and keep walking. 

The great Indian CAR-ste System.

Recently a very amusing encounter happened between an Audi and a Nano at Trivandrum. Apparently cars do not respect each other based on their make. Well here is what really happened. A family was driving home in a Nano. They did not give way to the celebrity vehicle Audi that was following them, because the signal was red and there was no choice for the Nano but to stay where it was. Apparently the Audi got fast and furious that the Nano did not hold her skirt and bow down as it was supposed to. Further things got lame and silly when the Audi driver got out of his car after overtaking the Nano and manhandled the Nano driver who was travelling with his family. Poor Nano was publicly reminded that the road was the ancestral property of the Audis and the BMWs, and that traffic signals were not applicable to them. And that Mukesh Ambani does not enter Reliance offices by swiping his id card. You need to have polarized vision to read unwritten, but pretty obvious celebrity vehicle rules, my Nano friend! 

As for me this is like watching the CARS movie, or a long drive with the hubby, whose mind is full of car politics. For example when we used to drive a Maruti Swift in India, he used to give way to Honda Accord to overtake but not to an i10, because apparently i10 dint have what it takes. May be i10 needed to grow up and become a Honda Accord or something. Other Maruti Swifts with brighter colors and better alloy wheels would not be spared either. And let’s not discuss Nano! This was one of the startling revelations about him I learnt post marriage because till then all the trips I ever went were with Papa and Mummy during which even bicycles overtook us. So after understanding car politics I was like Wow! These guys do not have ANY right to mock us girls, just because we go green eyed when somebody turns up in a brand new dress or handbag. They have mean car politics going on in their heads! Untold dark secrets of stupid car politics!

For the uninitiated, the car-ste system is something like this. The Big B travels in a Rolls Royce because it is old,rich, handsome and elegant just like him. His granddaughter travels in a Mini Cooper, because it is small and cute, and also showcases the brand of the family she belongs to. Salman Khan drives a Range Rover as he is a ‘young’ sporty bachelor, and that’s also something which can kill innocent people on the streets and get away. Other rich businessmen and celebrities drive BMWs, Benz and Audi variants. All other cars, invariably Maruti and Hyundai hatchbacks are owned by honest, taxpaying aam aadmis. And there are classes there too.

Then there are the spoilt brat cars. For example the Ambani kids drive the Aston Martin, some NRI kids of Kerala under ten years of age drive the Ferrari and other rich kids of the Middle East drive Lamborghinis and Porsche, a regular sight for us commoners. And when they race through those lesser travelled roads near the airport, a 5:00 pm weekend sport of rich teenagers, regular cars either stop or reduce speed and shift to a side as a sign of reverence. Or fear.

People choose cars by how it makes them look among others. If you drive to a fancy restaurant in a normal car, the security may gesture you to park outside, but if you go in a shiny SUV, he will open the door for you and park it too. 

In an Indian arranged marriage if the groom comes in a top end car then he is considered to be a great catch by the bride’s nosey relatives. Whereas if the bride arrives in a luxury car, the guy is considered to be lucky and any flaws associated with either of the couple will be conveniently overseen. What if the bride is a notorious college dropout? Her father gave her Audi Q7 as dowry wedding gift…! Instantly she is elevated to sainthood.  

Flashback to year 2007.

I was in Mumbai on a project, with five others, trying to cross a busy road. We stood by the zebra cross trying to make eye contact with speeding drivers for at least fifteen minutes.

Me (to friend): “Let’s start taking baby steps, until we reach somewhere near the center of the road. Then at least somebody will let us pass… come” I took two steps.

A lorry was coming slowly.

Friend: “Hey if you want to die then target that Benz, not this lorry. Atleast the news of your accident will sound cooler.”

P.S : I always had such awesome, 'caring' friends. I still do. Thank you very much J

The year that was - hits, misses and growing old.

While working days are like HD videos played using a dial up internet connection (buffering…buffering... buffering…YAWN), vacation days are like a movie when it is fast forwarded 32X. More so, if it is Christmas. A fun filled masala entertainer with frequent intervals to eat high calorie food in large quantities with zero guilt and maximum gluttony. Back in Oman now, wondering where to place all those shoes I bought during my shopping spree at Cochin, and the extra kilos I gained around my waist. And by that I have been denied the right to even look into any shoe shop for the rest of the year. So 2014 will be the first year of my life I will be not be lusting after shoes. It’s not a resolution or anything, just a decision enforced on me. 

Let’s see!(evil grin).

2013 had been an okay kind of year. It was not good for me, or my batch mates, as we all turned fat, lazy and a year older. Our kids also became naughtier. Looking back, I remember being in a large group of friends, whose whereabouts are not known to me now. How a person who came to school with me can be in a place where there is no internet, I sometimes wonder. But it is not about internet. It is about the efforts we take to keep in touch. And this effort originates from genuine friendship. All other show offs and fake pretense die in time. And I lived to turn thirty to establish this shocking revelation which is already known even to small children.

Everyone who turned thirty now knows what betrayal feels like. Some friends walked away from my life for good, leaving me distrusting anyone who crossed my path. If I had 40 friends when I was 18, and even during my 20’s, I have like five friends now, to whom I don’t open up for the same fear of betrayal. But true friendship exists and at thirty realization dawns clear and most of us almost know who will stay and who will not. We are all judges at our own courts. 

2013 also took away a major portion of my hair. I dread the thought of combing it these days, as that’s when whatever is left also falls off! Anyone else turned bald at thirty? Please let me know!

2013 also marked certain other changes. Loud ringtones irritate me like no other. (Earlier I used to be loud myself so these ringtones were insignificant in comparison). I also can’t stand the fact that any person in my address book that uses whatsapp appears on my whatsapp list. This includes the shopkeeper at whose shop I gave my pressure cooker for repair, the plumber of the building where I stay and the sales person at a retail store who promised to call when there is a sale. And we wonder why people still swear by BBM.

I have also stopped screaming in potentially painful situations like paper cuts, knife cuts, and other minor accidents.  I also do not alert the neighborhood if I discover a spider in my bedroom.

2013 was also the year when some of my best clothes started showing their age. They are either pale, faded in patches, or the fabric has given way to anomalous spaces. They are still too good to be worn at home.  As such they now occupy a backseat in my wardrobe, and have grown hands and feet themselves, thus pushing the newer ones in such a way that once the wardrobe is opened it rains clothes (giving my spouse a false impression that I have too many of them). He is very unlikely to believe the hands and feet story theory.

Coming to think of it, I have the Joey syndrome now. Every birthday I am like ‘Why, God, Why me!!?’ and I dread to death those number candles.

Even though it is a depressing fact that we are not growing any younger, it’s a solace that nobody else is. 

And whenever I feel low, I think of Priyanka Chopra. 

She is older than I am.

 Buhahaha ;-)