The Humble Idli

 

How invested we are in food!

It always has to be good!

With all the variety,

There’s sure to be satiety,

For it, we’re always in the mood!

Today with so many cuisines literally at our fingertips, we are spoilt for choice. Hard on the heels of this plethora of platters, comes ennui. I remember the days when pizza was the last word in fine dining and “Chinese” just meant some noodles with cabbage and carrots thrown in. And now we are bored. If we want to meet friends outside, we debate which restaurant to go to, because agreeing on cuisine seems impossible. We load our palates with stimuli, then look for palate cleansers.

The other day I saw the table top wet grinder in my kitchen and decided to bring it out of hibernation. We had been ordering in idli/dosa batter for convenience. Now I wanted to use the machine at home. It just took a couple of minutes to put the dal and rice rava to soak. In a few hours, the tabletop grinder was whirring merrily, mimicking the mortar and pestle, churning out a smooth and fluffy batter.

The batter spent the night fermenting and rising, ready by morning. It went into the moulds, was steamed for about ten minutes, and there we were, ready for breakfast. As I was demoulding them, the most heavenly aroma rose up. It brought to mind simpler times, the comfort of familiarity, and the innocent confidence of childhood. Its very blandness, cloaked in steam, filled the kitchen with an aura of security. In that moment, I would not have traded the humble idli for the most starred and ribboned dish in the world.

Truly, sometimes the best city to live in, is Simplicity.

This post is a part of the Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025

Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025

A small act of kindness

 

It was one of their regular get-togethers: the girl gang met up for a celebratory lunch for one of the birthdays. The camaraderie was tangible, the atmosphere imbued with hilarity. The lunch spread was singularly toothsome, and would contribute to their middle-age spread as well!

As usual the photo session was the highlight of the meet, after the conversations, of course. These latter ones ranged from food, to shows, to kids, to the help, to in-laws, philosophy and many more topics.  For the photos, everyone spruced up again; some merely refreshing their lipstick while others went the whole hog and re-applied their make- up, and readjusted their outfits. The photos were being taken in selfie mode and also in the regular mode, with either the help or one of the friends pitching in and clicking. There were cries of, “Hurry up already! We can’t hold our breath any longer!” and “Hey, smiling for so long is making my jaw ache!”. The women were choosing which camera to use for best results: filters were being tried out and also applied. Definitely there was an improvement over the natural looks, in the filtered version.

When the photos were shared within the group, Deepa found that not only had her picture been taken at an unflattering angle, but also, she had had a wardrobe malfunction of sorts. She knew these photos would soon be out on social media. Her heart sank. How could she ask everyone in the group to delete the pictures? Or to not share them on social media at least? How could she be sure that everyone would comply with her request, even if she asked? She was resigned to the pictures coming out, since some of the women in the group were not really close friends.

And then, the unexpected happened. Not a single “bad” picture of hers made it to any social media account. There were pictures of the food, some pictures without her in them, yet another with only close-ups of their faces. The friends seemed to have collectively and instinctively decided to refrain from posting those pictures, even if they themselves were looking good in them.

 Deepa was deeply grateful for this small act of kindness, which came from the large hearts of her friends. Friends who were otherwise always keen on social media. This was what sisterhood was.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025.

Blogchatter Half Marathon

Failure: A Hidden Opportunity

 

I am reflecting on a time from my student days, oh, so long ago! As high school was nearing its end, I realized that the only subjects I really liked, were English, Maths, and Biology. However, this combination for undergraduate studies was not available anywhere. I decided then to take up the Maths-Physics-Chemistry stream for the B.Sc. program, and give Biology a miss, though I was really interested in Life Sciences and I loved drawing for the lab journal. There was a sneaky reason too, for saying goodbye to Biology at that point. My parents would have liked me to sit for the medical entrance exams, and I didn’t. So, it figured that if I did not have Biology in my course, I would automatically be out of the running!

Through those three years of Undergrad, I enjoyed the studies; I guess by today’s definition we were nerdy! I was fascinated by Maths. We would hunt around outside our prescribed books, for new differential equations to solve: that’s how geeky we were! Then came the preparation for the entrance exams for postgraduation. That I would take up Maths, was a no-brainer. But fate had other plans.

I sat for the entrance exam for MSc Maths, at two I.I.T’s. I didn’t make it to either. Physics was my second choice. Half heartedly I sat for the entrance for that too, and surprise! I got through. For a short while, the disappointment of not getting Maths was there. Then slowly, Physics began opening up its treasure trove of pure knowledge. Kudos of course to all the professors who showed us callow students, the mysteries of the Universe and how to unravel them. The bonus was that there was plenty of Maths to sink my teeth into. The beauty lay in learning how pure numbers translated into physical phenomena.

Physics was not just a career path; it made me evolve as a person too. For that I am grateful for not getting the subject of my choice, all those years ago!

This blogpost is part of Blogchatter Half Marathon

Blogchatter Half Marathon

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Goodbye to Writer’s block

Dear Block, 

Hope you have been comfortable. Could not have been easy, sharing space with all that clutter. The ever-lengthening to-do lists, the music, the imaginary conversations that were waiting to become real, and the plot lines. Not those, because you edged them out, didn’t you? Like a cuckoo chick that edges out the others that rightfully belong in the nest. A plot would just step in and then it would be gone, before I could even be aware of it properly. It would bother me no end, yet I could not do anything about it. The bother turned to frustration, and then resignation. After all, what was the use? A sneaking feeling of relief made itself known too. In a way, not writing was an easy way to reduce stress, because it was one thing off my plate. It has been nice having you around, but now it is time for you to go. 

 I realise I put off writing in the way that one saves dessert to be had after a boring meal. To be savoured and enjoyed. Well, writing is dessert for me. I felt I could only write after all the mundane tasks were done. But that left me tired and doused the creative spark completely. Then one fine day I tried my hand at a prompt. That was all there was to it. Ideas flowed after the kickstart. Haphazard, disjointed, maybe, but there. 

 That is the beauty of the external prompt. It piques the interest, and sets one thinking. Before one knows it, the line of thinking goes into territory one wasn’t even aware of. Maybe it was a fear of this very territory that stopped the writer in their tracks. A reluctance to explore. But a prompt leads, gently teasing, quietly guiding, and the block, which was a mountain, becomes a mere mound. A light jump, and it is crossed. This is goodbye, dear Block. I have sheltered behind you long enough. Maybe you will come back, but now I know how to put you in your place! No hard feelings, though!

 Not yours, truly,

 Me 

 This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025 https://www.theblogchatter.com

Winter

Winter has a way of sneaking up on you. One day you have the AC on, and the next, you are debating whether to keep even the fan on. Even with global warming, that nip in the air does come around, deliciously, with that air of ‘is it-isn’t it?’ There is the mandatory conversation about how winter used to start around Dussehra, and go all the way beyond Holi (“One year we had to take out the woollens again after putting them away after Holi!”) Now that the duration of winter is drastically reduced it has become even more precious: to be savoured to the fullest. Yes, the clothes are bulkier and bed-making is a chore at this time of the year, but that is balanced by all the joys winter brings. There is basking in the winter sun to be done, chikki to be gorged upon, not forgetting the rewdi and the gajak. The first almost- translucent carrots to be looked forward to, they of gajar- ka- halwa fame. Yet all those calories can be burned by any kind of workout because one does not feel drained like one does in summer. The feeling of snuggling into blankets and quilts, cocooned in soft warmth, cannot be replicated by comforters in the AC in the summer. Winter blooms brighten anyone’s day, nodding in the slight breeze. Winter is also the time when the maximum weddings take place in North India. That’s when the ladies swish about in shimmering silks and the gentlemen look dapper in their suits. The chill of winter, enjoyed for such a short while, shores us up for the long, merciless summer. This post is a part of the BlogChatter Blog Hop https://www.theblogchatter.com/blogchatter-blog-hop-a-new-way-to-write-collectively

On Coffee

Coffee, as has been rightly said, is an emotion. One reaches for it for comfort, or to feel energized and stimulated. With the plethora of choices available these days, one would think the humble filter coffee would be relegated to the background. But no, it holds its own amongst connoisseurs of the aromatic bean. It is not instant; it is not quick either. It takes a while for the decoction to percolate and slowly drip into the compartment below. It illustrates how good things come to those who wait. With me, coffee is a gesture of welcome, and also a measure of closeness. There are people who pick up the phone and say, Set up your filter, I am coming over for coffee! I look forward to these impromptu sessions, because that is when I treat myself to coffee too. Alas, I have not yet acquired the taste for it without sugar, so I don’t have it every day. Therefore, I savour it even more, when I do have it. I was introduced to coffee at a very early age. I could not have milk by itself or with any of the health drink mixes, so my mother would put a few drops of the decoction in milk and I would happily have “coffee”! As I grew older the coffee part increased and the milk part decreased. I read somewhere that coffee should be Black as the Devil, Sweet as an Angel, and Hot as Hell! While we have had filter coffee of all kinds, our present brand was discovered on a trip to Yercaud, the hill station in South India. From the plantations which were a sight to behold, came this particular brand. Another memorable trip was one to Coorg, again abundant with coffee plantations. I indulged in different blends and varieties of this ambrosia at that time. Of late, I have found myself noticing the smell of coffee in hospitals, malls, airports, and offices. I unabashedly judge these places by that smell! This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop

Friends Forever

It is time to say goodbye to some good friends.They initially enveloped me in their warmth, but of late they had begun to irritate me a little. I am getting all hot and bothered with them around. I feel they are intruding into my space. To be honest, I found them to be a little high maintenance. In time, I'd be willing to welcome them again, but now is not that time. I think we could do with a break, a nice long one. And now I want to take up with some old friends, who had gone away. They were in a dark space and I thought it best to let them be. I did miss them terribly, and now they are coming back to me, in ones and twos. Their lightness of being echoes my lightheartedness. Their breezy demeanor cheers me and I see in them a colourful wish to stick to me as the days go by. So goodbye, woollens, and hello cottons!!!