Gourmetzindagi

HAIKU- My observations

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 06:44:00 +0000

Glass on the table,
Little empty little full;
Questions on my mind!

Tear up my organs,
Fill it with glass and wax;
Rape my mind.

Job of the Sun-
Spread light, east to west
Free of cost!

My Man- My Soldier

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 06:36:00 +0000

Vacation time in Kerala had always been a drive through memory lane. This holiday season was going to be quite different and never thought that things would turn out to be the way they ultimately did.

I was married now and no longer the little girl who would hold her mother’s sari and walk around mystified at everything she lays her eyes on. God’s own country has changed and now it no longer deserved to be called so. The green countryside, the gently and innocent people and the peace and calm atmosphere is replaced with concrete jungle, rude and perverted individuals and noisy atmosphere.

It was 10 at night. Myself and Tharun were waiting at a bus-stop to catch our ride to our own district. We were visiting a friend on the occasion of his wedding and had had a wonderful time. Palghat district is a conglomeration of Malayali and Tamilian culture. This factor renders it a very unique face and distinct quality. The ladies with their beetle-nut and tobacco reddened lips with big round suns on their foreheads look absolutely amazing in the Tamil style sari, while men walk around with dignified looks on their faces and a patriarchal pride. Some people speak Tamil while some are comfortable speaking Malayalam. But my story is not a creative description of the place but that of an incident which justifies the title of my blogpost.

The bus was late and all four of us were speaking about the wedding ceremony. My husband’s friend and his wife who lived in Palghat had come to see us off. There were quite a few other groups of people who were traveling with us or come to see off someone. Amongst all of these there was a group of men who looked particularly suspicious. They were speaking in Hindi and didn’t realize that some of the people around them knew Hindi as well. Their comments were directed towards me. As I stood there trying to pretend to ignore these people and continue talking to the friend, it was getting excruciating to stand listening to the perverted comments and outrageous statements.

Suddenly, the remarks grew in hideous proportions and my capacity to tolerate any further suddenly came to a hault. I confronted the group in Hindi and made them realize that I understood each and every word they spoke. All four in the group started arguing with me and tried to corner me. Suddenly, I saw my husband step into the crowd and he came and stood in front of me like a mountain (6 foot, well-built guy can do something like that very easily). He was engrossed in a conversation with his friend when the commotion began. He turned to me and asked if I was alright. I told him that this group had been speaking utter nonsense for quite some time and that I couldn’t tolerate it any longer.

He commanded the group to step back and like a might warrior challenged them. They had fist fights and pushing and pulling took place. The goon-gang started using abusive language and the scene got a lot more fierce. All that the crowd gathered around us did was comment on how they were not asked for help when the entire scene was taking place right in front of their eyes. It was a maniac scene and all I could think of was that my husband who is generally a very soft and polite person could do something so very bold. The men argued and ultimately Tharun decided to call the police. The group got scared upon the mention of police and fled the scene. Ultimately the gang was caught but we couldn't delay our forward journey, hence both of us boarded the bus. On the bus, a middle-aged man sitting on the seat in the opposite aisle started explaining to Tharun how he should have called out for help. Tharun went back to his calm and sober mood and told him that one need not print any invites for help, it should come from within and not upon asking.

I have always been proud of him. This episode in my life taught me that even if he is a calm and slow to react person, he would definitely stand strong for people he really cares for. That was a new lesson learnt and definitely those goons learnt a lesson as well.

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 04:58:00 +0000

Hair O' saga

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Wed, 30 Jan 2013 16:41:00 +0000

My days went by working in the publishing house where I had acquired quite an interesting post and an even more interesting work profile. "Interesting" purely in terms of having a manager who would make sure that you have a strict and restricted environment. Talking to colleagues for more than a prescribed amount of time was not allowed (time limit was 1 minute... not more)! Well the numbers were never given in writing but the method of making one understand the importance of time and space made one realise the grave mistake committed by way of spending time asking a colleague about her birthday party.

Anyway, the magazine I worked for invested, generated and promoted wedding related news, views, features, vendors, suppliers and what-not of the wedding scenario. We are not talking about the Big Fat Indian weddings of which I'm the biggest fan alive; but the modern, sophisticated and small gathering weddings where the rings are exchanged amidst a few people making it easier to get divorced without answering 1000+ guests who attended the wedding (or in this case, did not attend the wedding)!

The launch party of the magazine was due and before the big bang entry into the world of white gowns and suited men my Manager decided to have a team photoshot done professionally.
"We have to look our best!", she said. She can definitely say that! For someone to whom a weekend is a gift from heaven and all that's done during these two days is follow Lord's words- eat, drink and be merry, it can be very difficult to drag oneself out of bed and get "pretty" dressed for the shoot!

Not to mention the fact that on a lazy weekend afternoon, I not only had to gather myself to get dressed but also had to carry another pair of clothing in case I was considered too ugly to be photographed! This thought is not due to the sadist thinking that I'm an ugly duckling (matter-of-fact, am a pretty good looking chick, "in my own way"...lolzzz this complicates everything!) My dear Manager wanted the best! One has to oblidge such demands. No one would like to get fired because they dress ill... Would you?

I wore my cream trousers, red blouse and white glimmering jacket and showed up for the shoot. Two photographers, one videographer, my Manager, another colleague were already present. I was the last one to arrive and also the only one to be laser scanned by the Lady! So the look was the same kind an old, ancient grandmother would give a firangi (white-skinned foreigner- pardon my racist explanation but a literal translation was of prime importance!) dressed in skimpy clothes and about to enter the holy Ganga for a bath. I was stripped nacked by her mere look and all she said once I was in hearing distance was, "Go change!"

So pensively I shook my head and immediately reverted, " That's what I was about to do!" I turned around and gave a huge sign. Alas! All my prayers were in vain and here I was marching like a half-dead tigress towards the bathroom.

Once I entered the bathroom and admired myself in what I had worn and cursed her, I settled down on the top of a toilet closet to change into my beautiful skirt. That's when I saw it. The jungle. Growing on my legs. Blamed it own work, life, laziness and I wished I had opted for hair removal.
Embarrassed to the core, I wore the skirt, the matching shirt and accessories. Retouched the make-up and took a last look at my face which had already started to dull thinking of the impending comments from my lovely colleagues and manager.

I went into the room where the shoot was scheduled. Everyone was seated on the sofa and chairs spread across the room and as I approached the room I quickly scanned for a place which could positively hide my wolverine look. To my surprise the best place was beside my Manager and that's where I marched to. Photographer zoomed in can noticed my beautifully covered legs from afar- Embaressment one. Colleague was giggling beneath her breath- Embaressment two. Manager saw my legs as I was sitting down beside her and she shouted out loud for everyone to hear loud and clear- "Ah! Babes what's this??? Don't show-off your virgin legs!!!!"

All the world came crashing down. I was nose deep in shame and humiliation and unlike the stories grandmom read to me, the heroine neither woke up from her sleep to realise it was a nightmare nor did a knight in silver armour save the damsel in distress. I, the herione of this episode sat there, looking all disgusted, throughout the entire time people looked, giggled, murmured and went on about their work.

Now, at my office I have a beautiful pet name- "Virgin legs". My policy is- If you can't wipe out something, live it with complete pride! That's what I do... But literally speaking, I wipe out all the unwanted, bloody hair with a wretched cream the moment I see a new demon rising.

Here's the photograph ultimately used- hiding all my flaws and problem areas!! Yey!!!

This post is a part of the <a href="http://www.satincare.com/" title="Gillette Satin Satin Care" target="_blank">Gillette Satin Care</a> contest in association with <a href="http://www.blogadda.com" title="BlogAdda.com" target="_blank">BlogAdda.com </a>

My WOW Diwali

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Sun, 25 Nov 2012 06:29:00 +0000

I got married! Yes, I did! Well from my previously writing you all must have understood that I had issues finding the 'right' guy but as destiny dictates, it happened!

Now that I am married, the most wonderful memory I have is of my last Diwali. Being a South Indian and raised as an NRI, my husband shows no understanding of the Diwali festival. Though he understands the historical significance of the mighty festival of light, yet the deep rooted love for the grand festival which is wide awake in Indians who have lived a short or a long while in India escapes him. Down south of the country, the festival is celebrated in an entirely different way and method hence to speak the grandeur is not clear to many as it is to the Northies or Central Indians. This factor is one of the greatest additions of living in a country like India where it is popularly said that language and water changes after every seven miles.

Coming back to my experience and memory attached to a picture, which is the topic for writing this WOW, I would like to say that this Diwali was one of the best indeed, even without the crackers or without the huge light hanging over the balcony!

As I stood in my dark, gloomy balcony (was comparing it with the neighbourhood which was exceptionally lit up and was shedding more than an ounce of the fairy light pleasure as witnessed back in my childhood days) I was pretending to talk to myself with the internal motif to make my husband hear how desolate and depressed I felt about the dull Diwali we were having.

I even went to the extent of mimicking him when he mentioned that next Diwali will be different (poor thing was trying really hard to calm my newly wed spirit). Then like raging fire, as if like a hero who's sister has been raped and he is buring with revenge and marches towards the vicious villian's den, he got up and came close to me. I was so sure that this Diwali will surely have some crackers falling here and there, but he came and stood close for me to see him clear and polite face. He took my hands in his and gently said, "Let's go out!" Though it was not enticing to go out at the moment, I oblidged (still afraid of the raging fire which was not to be seen- thought it was the calm before the thunderbolt and lightening!). He locked the door, and signalled me to walk. I pensively waited for the lift to reach my 2nd floor apartment and quitely went down still holding his hand.

We reached the car park, he opened the door and asked me to sit. He got in as well and started driving. We reached a mall and he quickly parked the car and again we took the lift to a floor I had never been to before. What I saw there made me instantaneously all smiles... It might sound a bit odd and funny and inappropriate for this Diwali write-up, but the floor was filled with wigs- yes, you heard me right! Hair-wigs. Well, it's not the case that I have no hair but I always had a facination for different kinds of hair-wigs. Kill me if you think am being an idiot but I always wanted to change my hairdo everyday to work or even when I was in college.
I had the most fun during the hour that we spent there, in the wig section. He clicked my pics in all kinds of wigs secretly avoiding the vigil eyes of the customer service representatives and it almost felt like reliving your childhood where you do some mischief after so much planning and preparation only to be caught by parents at the end!

Loved this Diwali, laughed out loud for the rest of the evening and really got to know my guy even more.... in a very different way though!

This post is a part of <a title="WOW" href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2012/09/28/write-over-the-weekend-wow-indian-blogs">Write Over the Weekend</a>, an initiative for <a title="Indian Bloggers" href="http://www.blogadda.com">Indian Bloggers</a> by BlogAdda

Review of Ashwin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key'

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Tue, 30 Oct 2012 18:44:00 +0000

Hello Everyone...
Apologies that the review on Aswin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key' took longer than calculated. It just been a busy bee month for me and I can't wait to sit down, relax and rewind with a glass of chilled wine.

Hoping (fingers crossed) that, that day would come soon. I ♥ my work and there fore transform into the world's most pathetics workoholic kinds once I have something work-related on my mind.

So, without further delay, here it is...
The review on Ashwin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key'

Ashwin Sanghi's Krishna Key is a gripping who-dunnit crime-story, perhaps modelled on Dan Brown's best-seller 'The Da Vinci Code'. Ashwin Sanghi's tale fantabulously captures the mystery surrounding the legends of Krishna's birth and death. In this volume of 108 episodes, Sanghi very confidently links the mythology and the modern to hypnotise his readers to start believeing his narration. Though claimed as a work of fiction based upon sound research, the narrative details of places and times are so convincingly analysed and portrayed that the reader is persuaded to apply a 'willing-suspension-of-disbelief' and accept the narrators construct. Sanghi succeeds in relating the various influences on the Indus Valley Civilization to the Mughal Period to the present times.

But as the incredible narration assisted with symbols, signs and slokas comes to an end, the reader is able to distinguish between thruth and illusion, reality and fantasy. He realises that Taarak Vakil is only a serial killer- a victim in the hands of Evil represented by Priya, Garg and their ilk. Krishna and Taarak can have no comparisons. Krishna could see through the evil games of Kamsa and the Kauravas, Taarak is an easy prey to a sinister conspiracy.

The plot provides Ashwin Sanghi, the writer to introduce Ravi Mohan Saini, a knowledged historian to take his readers through the various stories of Indian mythology, history and science. But surprisingly enough the all-knowing Prof. Saini is unable to read the machinations of Priya who poses as a research student. The plot also provides a thrilling romance of Mohan and Radha.

All in all, 'The Krishna Key' is an exciting book, a wonderful blend of suspence and thrill, but the end of the story is very weak- the total surrender of the three criminals is not a worthy ending to this labrynthian narration.

Rating: 3.5/5

This book review is part of the Book Review program initiated by Blogadda.com

Breast Cancer awareness

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Sun, 14 Oct 2012 12:10:00 +0000

As part of breast cancer awareness, I have decided to write a feature on it!! Join my thought and spread the word.

Keeping fingers crossed!!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Sat, 13 Oct 2012 16:29:00 +0000

We don’t live in the telegraph period. We live in the fuzzy front end generation equipped with an iPad which sings you to bed! There are no sweet sweater weaving grandmothers or mothers who make pickles with each seasonal change. To cut the story short, I was waiting for my appointment letter. It’s just a bloody, f*@# e-mail… Electronic mail and it was much slower in its arrival than the telegraph!

Each day I woke up, in a messy bed, surrounded by my foot cream, book I was reading late night, my comb, the earrings which I wore the previous day and Tharun. Each morning I prayed to all the gods and gave special respects and homage to Jesus, only to be left alone the whole day without any “good news”. Many a times I made cynical promises to the divine being on quitting my habit of getting annoyed at imperfections and ultimately creating a gloomy atmosphere around me, only if the job came around! I was a very demanding worshipper for sure. I kept my fingers crossed each time the phone rang. I thought that the HR might have experienced the mail bouncing back and decided to give me a call. But Alas! It was only the laundry guy.

Whenever Tharun gave me his golden words of advice and tried to inculcate in me the thought that it’s “alright”, I would only pounce back like a hungry tigress. He would learn the lesson of patience and retrieve in to his den like a small puppy but that wouldn’t satisfy me and I would chase him down to tell him ‘exactly how I feel’.

As months went back and time elapsed, I realized that keeping the fingers crossed is not doing much! It’s only causing pain to my fingers and they ached every time I turned them in any direction now. So that was the end of that!

Ultimately after about three months of waiting, the HR called, right when I was in the middle of haggling for something at the local market. Mind you, the HR didn’t represent the company I had put my resume with and attended interview for… it was another job altogether! Let’s say that the crossing of the fingers didn’t work for something it was crossed for but ultimately the result was what I was looking out for!

Moral of the story- Cross the fingers or not, life takes you towards the direction you desperately want to go!

This is my contribution towards "write over the weekend" initiative by blogadda.. and M loving it!

SOS to Parents!!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Fri, 05 Oct 2012 11:09:00 +0000

So here’s the deal! I got a new car. That’s no big news these day because everyone’s buying one and buses honk the road filled and clogged with mini, arrogant, haunt cars! But my issue is that people let loose their children and they go on to become tiny, rodent-like nuisance. Many might consider my language and the way of speech completely politically and geographically (I should live on MARS) incorrect. But have you considered the fact that my dialogues and furry could be a direct result of the pain cause due to an indirect assault no my heart?
I &hearts; kids. They are cute at birth, funny as toddler but hooligans as school-goers! As I re-read this article I realize that I am pouring out vengeance and on the brink of complete volcanic eruption.

Parents in this generation are less considerate, more selfish and the least gracious people. Children are a reflection of their personality. Coming back to the story of my car, I simply love it. Everyone does! But the scenario of love-hate becomes very evident when some tiny dweek tries to sabotage it. So children play in the parking area and jump on my car. I see footprints all over the newly waxed, shiny, sparkling black coloured vehicle of my dreams (not exactly my dreams… that’s would be an exaggeration!)

It looks like dweeks have nothing to do but to play in that area and to their enjoyment and my extreme disappointment they were sliding all over the car. The watchman was questioned who very honestly and in complete modesty replied that when he tried to talk to the parents, they merely ignored him with a non-lucid statement, “Where will our children play, if not here?”

So I wrote a letter complaining to the landlord about the issue!

Flat 203

Al Asmawi Bldg,
Al Qusais,
Dubai, U.A.E.

Date: 2/10/2012

Subject: Damage to vehicles in the covered parking area

Dear Sir/ Madam,

It has been frequently noted that children living in this building play in the covered parking area. This has caused damage to our cars and generated angry towards the irresponsibility of the parents.

The watchman was informed about this situation and he tried to talk to the parents as well. But the parents did not take any heed of what he told them and replied by saying that their children have no other place to play other than the parking area.

These parents might not have their cars parked in the covered parking and feel no responsibility towards other cars. None of this is our concern.

Kindly issue notice and take strict action on this regard.

Hope that this problem will be looked into at the earliest.

Thank you,

Reshma George

Please take note that parents are supposed to teach children the right way to life and as youngsters/young parents we need to know what’s right and what’s not! Please… new-generation parents teach your children manners! That will be the best education you give them!

Man and the 'Other'

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Sat, 04 Aug 2012 11:32:00 +0000

My earnest desire to write has born out of the alien connection I wish to establish between what Amir Khan said in most parts of his television venture “Satyameva Jayate.” This piece in one way can be acknowledged as a tribute for his tremendous effort to bring to light some of the gruesome situations which India faces even today while is convincing tries to portray that it is taking giant strides into the future. For all those who will not flip through this newsletter and consider it another futile effort, I would like to encourage or rather challenge each one to view an episode of the program. For those who did join in the millions who spared the mid-morning hours of Sunday to be completely uprooted and replanted by this show- Kudos!

Major part of the reality program concentrated on female foeticides, child sexual abuse, dowry and domestic violence. You must have already understood that female has been an essential core issue of discussion in this show and so has she been for many a centuries.

Especially with us ‘Keralites’ not much change has gone by regarding our outlook towards a female even though many of us have had the privilege to be educated. Enlightenment is not everybody’s cup of tea and therefore no one cares to grow over the previous generation and still rattles in a similar fashion to who our elders have behaved towards the feminine.

Moving out of the regional confines and viewing the situation all around the country, it does not give me immense pleasure to assure you that even today women alone continue to understand the height, the length, the depth and the breadth of her own degradation. She has been picked and murdered within the womb, she has been raped and forced into prostitution, she has been shunned by the society whenever she has tried to connect back and not even spared in her old age.

When a girl is allowed to be born, she joins a finishing school where for most part of her initial 20-23 years are spent to understand the codes of conduct when married. She is given the pink doll to play with, given utensils to practice with and instruction manual which is repeated practically every day stating how she needs to cook and clean and mend. If she has a brother, generally the trend goes that she will not be allowed to argue with him. Married women are ever obliged to obey their husbands, who had almost unlimited control over their wives’ activities and finances. In case of divorce, women had few legal rights and usually lost custody of their children, a very standing example is the case of Malayalam actress Urvashi.

As an ever evolving society we must understand that the division of the sexes is a biological fact, not an event in human history. Woman has always been man’s dependent, if not his slave; the two sexes have never shared the world in equality. And even today woman is heavily handicapped, though her situation is beginning to change. Even when her rights are legally recognized in the abstract, long-standing custom prevents their full expression in the mores. In the economic sphere men and women can almost be said to make up two castes; other things being equal, the former hold better jobs, get higher wages, and have more opportunity for success than their competitors. In industry and politics men have a great many more positions and they monopolize the most important posts. In addition to all this, they enjoy a traditional prestige that the education of children tends in every way to support, for the present enshrines the past--- and in the past all history has been made by men. At the present time, when women are beginning to take part in the affairs of the world, it is still a world that belongs to men—they have no doubt of it at all and women have scarcely any.

In proving woman’s inferiority, the anti-feminists began to draw not only upon religion, philosophy, and theology, as before, but also upon science—biology, experimental psychology, etc at most they were willing to grant “equality in difference” to the other sex.

I am not one of those pseudo-feminists who take flags in their hands and run away from their familial duties to proclaim an untrue face of feminist reality or ideology. I merely am an individual who has understood through various incidences that women have always been the mere echoes of men. Our laws and constitutions, our creeds and codes, and the customs of social life are all of masculine origin. The true woman is as yet a dream of the future.

Let us, in our families begin to nurture girls and women in the true sense and understand their value. Let the boys along with the girls set the table for dinner or help to cook; let them both mop the floor. Let them both be given an equal opportunity to establish their point of view and not scolded unreasonably for it. Let there be no pink and blue, let there be a choice.

Aahat Bhi Nahi...

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Mon, 23 Jul 2012 09:26:00 +0000

Love is an amazing tale of free-spirited joy, unbounded happiness and deep wretched sorrow... No two lovers have experienced happiness alone... time tests them numerously with pain and hurt. Love also has betrayal as one of its allies...and love has separation has one of the friends...

"जाते जाते चली गई बहार ,
ना ली रुखसत हमसे ,
ना ही किया कोई वादा ;
उसके आनेसे जो कलियाँ मुस्कुराई थी ,
उनपर भी हैं ख़ामोशी चाई ।

दिल में हैं तूफ़ान ,
आखोमें नमी ,
आनेवाला कोई सैलाब हैं ,
अभी हैं दूर कही ,
क्यों चली गयी अकेला छोड़कर ?
गर तू होती ,
सर्दिया ना होती सर्द ,
तन्हाई ना होता हर लम्हा ,
जाने क्यों रूठकर जा रही हैं ,
दस्तक देनेसे पहले खुशियाँ ।

कब तक बता ए पीर ,
होगा ये रंजोगम का आलम ?

झूठा हि सही ,
दिलासा तो देदे ,
कि लोटकर आएगी बहार ,
जिसके लिए सदियोंसे भी ,
पहले से बैठे हैं ,
दामन फ्हलाये ... मिन्नतें किये।"

The Red Saree

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Fri, 20 Jul 2012 12:44:00 +0000

I swept and mopped,
My face; The floor.

Searched for the concealer
for the sleepless nights.
Mirror stared at me-
I recalled the day,
Crow landed on my face.
Rivulets on my cheek,
Found way to my sagging breasts
splitting into a million capillaries.

I wore a tight bra,
To smoothen my stretched organ.
Draped the Red Saree
over the golden blouse.
Knew it'd arouse.

Tugged the saree
Below the navel.
Noticed the thorns,
curling all around.
Pulled the costume,
an inch or two.

The bird chirped;
I opened the door.
Saw a girl in red,
her hand around,
a familiar neck.

This man I shared bed with,
for thirty odd years,
had found another red saree.

The Hunter

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Fri, 20 Jul 2012 12:17:00 +0000

Every Yachtsman sets sail,
Over Atlantic's massive belly,
Keeps an eye on Sun's trail,
Wacthing out for the elusive bully.
But the moonless nights prophesize-
'The mast shall rattle and hull shudder,'
For he comes with deceptive ease,
To creak the doors and bend the rudder.
Human legs no match to his,
His curse- Hard to Escape,
Not a fire breather or Loch Ness,
A giant hunter without a shape.

Glittering skin and blue-green eyes,
A question to where your future lies!

Song of Solitude

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Thu, 21 Jun 2012 11:37:00 +0000

A dark room in the House,

with doors and windows shut,

letting no light inside,

confined from the rest,

unfaced to the outside,

with no trace of life

sits a little figure by the cage.

Bundle of cloth she is,

wrapped and dumped in the corner,

her only companion- The parrot caged!

Never she talks... she moves never,

stares at the picture.

Could be her lover or son

who abandoned her half-way through.

Take a closer look at her face

so pale and bleek,

there is a tiny tear drop

on her poor wrinkled cheek.

She recalls the days,

Oh! so joyful and mellow.

Her heart saddens at the thought of

years spent alone.

Her strength fails, her will falls,

She stretched out her arms skyward,

trying to grab something from heaven above.

Momently there is a heavy breath taken,

and silence creeps in.

Wind comes in from the cremation grounds

and leaves through the door.

Alas! There are traces of life no more...

Peril..... of the Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Wed, 20 Jun 2012 14:11:00 +0000

History of painting... Me as a painter dates back to the mid 80's ....That's when I was born. I wouldn't be bold enough to say that I was born with a painting brush in my mouth but I guess I did have a liking towards it.

My parents were most encouraging and silently promoted my passion in the art. Father got me a new set of colours and brushes which I still hold dear. I have all the poster colours I used then and definitely have all the brushes, though most of them now look like old, broken bodies who have been through all the wear and tear and seen many a seasons...

I have decided to show off a few of the paintings and would love to know what the whole world thinks of them.....

I wouldn't say that this is my original... I have a slight memory of having seen it somewhere but the faceless pain of the woman never left me...
To note that I paint on waste paper and this painting has been made on waste card board...

The hi-fi Joker

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Tue, 05 Jun 2012 08:01:00 +0000

My class began and all were seated. The professor had started chanting the mantras which I presume she had learnt through years of teaching the students only upgrading the informative content to a certain extent catering to the nature, gender, style, fashion and age of the student group.

There was Christine sitting behind me and I was concentrating to understand the new topic unveiled by the professor. It was fun to understand that "marketing" had a slight hint of "psychology". The buyers and sellers, the consumers and customers were segragated into various types based upon the jingle in their pockets and their need. Need and satisfaction went hand in hand where the gap was tried to be filled by the sellers. The lecture diverted towards the topic of cars and what kind of a car is liked by which kind of people.

Suddenly at the door I saw a rainbow appear... well atleast the person had wored every colour in the rainbow. A complete retro looking guy. He was atheletically built and wore khaki shorts and stripped shirt with red-coloured square glasses fixed on his nose. He was confident or shameless enough to note ask permission from the professor who was flowing in her own stroy telling spirit and I was wondering if such kind of behaviour was acceptable from a student. He might have been a professional, proficient in his respective field but wasn't the professor deserving a polite permission seeking routine?? Hmmm... my thought was suddenly interupted by the retro guy who was asked by the professor if he could name a toyota vehicle and all he could do was give a smile, look at everyone around him and said tht he has never come across any vehicle brand of that name. My imagination took flight and I hit him on his head... Christine knocked my elbow off the bench and I was back on planet Earth! Suddenly it occured to me that certain people assigned certain things to status quo and it didnt take me much time to figure out that toyota was completely a different status desire. His might have been a Merc. I could vividly imagine him driving a black Merc and stepping out of it ignoring all the other low-lying vehicle which were completely below him.

I was pulled out of my dreamland by the professor who very politely and charmingly asked the retro idiot to give an example of drinking bottled water. He again did his usual expression only by now everyone in the room understood it as an idiot's attempt to shine. The kind of time he took for the reply, the professor looked at him and very plesantly said...." May be you haven't heard of it either! Life must be really tough!" We all giggled like silly little girls and went back to the notes.

Revisiting Ajanta...place from my childhood!

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 10:30:00 +0000

If Major John Smith of the Madras Cavalry Regiment had not noticed it on July 8, 1819, standing at the top of a hill, the Ajanta caves would have remained hidden and forgotten forever. But the fact remains that he saw the topmost carved portion of a cave and ordered immediate excavation! Or else this man-made treasure would have remained in oblivion.

The state of Maharashtra is blessed with various ancient monuments and structures. One of them is the famous Ajanta caves. The Ajanta caves have been declared as a World Heritage site. A set of about 29 caves located around the Waghora River. I had the opportunity of visiting Ajanta with a Global Exchange Student’s team. The team had come all the way from America to study Indian culture and I was supposed to accompany them. It was their first experience as well as mine. Ajanta caves are located at a distance of 99 kilometers from Aurangabad. The drive to the caves was full of excitement, as all the five of us traveling to visit the caves had done quite a good study of the various paintings and sculptures in the caves. A parking space allotted for all the vehicles coming to Ajanta is at about a distance of 3 kilometers from the caves and buses are provided for tourists to reach the vicinity of the caves. These buses are non-polluting and thus helpful in preventing further degradation of the paintings in the caves. The Archaeological department of India has started cleaning the paintings with various chemicals and strengthening its colour and hue. These steps have been taken to preserve and protect an ancient and magnificent heritage of our nation. After paying for the tickets and appointing a guide to lighten our path through the discovery of a new world we found our way to cave no.1.

The construction of these caves took place in two phases from 2^nd century BC to 6^th century AD. Earlier phase was between the 2^nd century BC to AD and the second phase was during the supremacy of the Vakatakas and Guptas. Some paintings in the caves are from 2^nd century BC while some are from 5^th century AD. The themes of the paintings are intensely religious in tone and center around Buddha, Bodhisattvas, incidents from the life of Buddha and the ‘Jatakas’. Paintings are made on a ground of mud plaster, consisting of cow-dung and various other preservative materials available in those days. The technique used to paint is the tempera technique. The colours used are mostly blue, white, green, black and yellow made from bone calcium, stones etc. various studies reveal that the monks or craftsmen who made the caves first dug vertically down to a certain depth and then dug horizontally to increase the length.

Cave no.1 has the world famous painting of ‘Bodhisattva Padmapani’ i.e., Prince Buddha holding a fragile blue lotus in his hand and bent sideways as if the weight of his ornate jeweled crown is too heavy for his head. This painting according to some experts has a 3-dimensional view giving the observer a feeling one gets while looking at Mona Lisa made by the famous artist Leonardo Da Vinci. The half-closed eyes of Prince Buddha create illusion for the observer as to where he is looking. Another wall has the painting of ‘Bodhisattva Vajrapani’, the speciality of this painting are the different types of earrings worn in both the ears. Cave no.2 shows Maya, Buddha’s mother standing in the garden of Lumbini with Mahajanaka Jataka and her attendants. Here, the Buddhist icons seen were sculpted according to a set of codified rules that used symbolic hand gestures and motifs such as the wheel, the deer, the throne and sacred Bodhi tree. Each represents a stage of Buddha’s life. One of the caves has an inscription, which records that – Buddha’s image in cave no.4 was the gift of some Abhayanandi who hailed from Mathura. As per another inscription Varahadeva, minister of King Vakataka, Harishena (475-500 AD) dedicated cave no.16 to Buddhist Sangha and cave no.17 was a gift of the prince. Another cave has a scene of about a thousand monks deep in meditation known as the Miracle of Sravasti. Cave no.17 has the statue of Buddha seated in ‘Padmasana’ the lotus pose of meditation. His hair is sculpted as tied in a topknot surrounded by a halo of light, representing ‘nirvana’ or enlightenment. At one of the verandahs’ is a scene identified by scholars as the scene from the ‘Vishvantara Jataka’, which is about a prince who gave away his belongings in alms. This scene provides interesting information of the contemporary wooden architecture. Cave no.9, 10, 19, 26, 29 are Chaitya Grihas while the rest are Sangharamas or Viharas. The viharas contain two beds cut out of rock in a small chamber for the monks to rest. The monks living in these monasteries were not allowed to visit the next monastery, which can be considered as the ‘cave next door’. Their daily routine consisted of prayer, meditation asking for alms, decorating their monasteries and taking rest. Then comes cave no.19 with the best surviving examples of a rock cut Chaitya Griha. The elephant porch cut out on the exterior of this cave is toped by the distinctive ‘horseshoe’ shaped window flanked by ‘Yakshas’ or guardians, standing Buddha’s figure and elaborate decorative motifs. The interior is carved with pillars; a monolithic carved symbolic stupa and images of Buddha, which herald the introduction of the Mahayana phase. Cave no.26 has the sculpture of Buddha seen seated under a Bodhi tree at Bodhgaya, meditating while Mara and her voluptuous daughters attempted to tempt him. Then, Buddha touched the earth with his left hand and witnessed his enlightenment. The ‘Parinivana’ (ultimate enlightenment or liberation) came when Buddha left the world as depicted in the 7m (23ft) long image of the reclining Buddha in cave no.26. Another painting was the story of a white elephant that is considered as one of the births of Buddha. The story goes that a queen falls in love with the beautiful white pearl-like tasks of the elephant and orders her soldiers to get it for her. When the elephant sees the soldiers approaching him he stops them and takes out his tasks. He asks one of the soldiers to tell the queen to bring the task in the form of the necklace, which she wants to be made out of the task to heaven when she dies. This shows that the elephant knows that he will go to heaven because he goes thought pain without the task but will the queen get to heaven as she has only brought others pain to fulfill her own desires. The queen comes to know of this and understands her mistake. There are numerous tales painted on the walls of these caves, which are popularly known today as the ‘Jataka Tales’. The scene of the waterfall formed by Waghora River was also a rejuvenating sight to witness. The greenery-laden region, as my trip was during the rainy season was also a breath taking experience. The trek to the viewpoint provided on the highest of the hills from where the caves can be clearly seen was also an exhilarating experience. The shops available at the foot of the caves are a nice but costly place to take home some materialistic symbols of memories of Ajanta.

But as the cliché is ‘every coin as two sides.’ There are not many dustbins placed around the caves to throw the trash. The beautiful paintings on the walls here have been covered by graffiti. Even Major John Smith has his name and date of discovery of the caves written down on a pillar in cave no. 19. People consider writing in such places as great fun but they forget that they are playing a major role in the extinction of an entire culture. Their silly mistakes could bring down the heritage of India and nations around the world.

As India is standing on the threshold of a new era and preparing to make her contribution to the world of the future every citizen of the nation has an equally important role to play in evolving the culture of the New world which is emerging slowly from the wreckage of the old. This is the momentous period of her history, pregnant with precious possibilities, and any disinterested offer of co-operation or irresponsible move by the citizen of India will bring about an immense moral value decline. Hence we must all join hands to save our heritage and culture from doom and destruction so that the coming generation will be able to see the form and shape of the great and noble dreams cherished by the immortal prophets and philosophers of the past.

The Unknown

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 13:01:00 +0000

Everyday I wake up to
The solitary comforts of my soul.
Each passing day as an insoluble solstice,
All seems sober and secure.
I see a vision through the peeper,
A land distant and unknown,
Where there are floods of joy, miseries nil
Life is sparkling and tranquil.
Golden deer graze the yellow meads,
Sweet vino flows from every shed,
Prosperity and bliss scatter their charm,
In every shelter, every town.

I wonder where this land could be,
Is it next door or dwells in me?

Nanny O’nanny

noreply@blogger.com (Gourmetzindagi) — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 12:59:00 +0000

It all started with their birth I guess! Moving to Dubai was a career decision; certain decisions are inevitable and need to be taken when time is appropriate. But having kids in the middle of a sprawling career growth is something which needs considerable thought. Ah! But this problem can be solved. Everything in the busy bustling world can have a remedy. We are humans delicately engineered by the Almighty to find solutions and nail the problem.
Nanny. They brought her from their home country. Now the lady was of a death defining character. She had the command bestowed upon her by her age. I might as well add that age can never bring maturity only experience can. She dressed in her traditional wear and held the characteristic of a woman much known in her circle for her courage for raising her kids all by herself without a male support system, for her tall muscular personality and a woman’s moustache which would put a male one to shame. I prefer to think that nannies are a method to stay young; young with your husband, young within the circle you float and young within yourself. It is when the children become a burden they all seem very boring and inculcate a feeling that life just went by without much to notice or achievement. An urban woman’s thoughts can be manipulative and deceptive.
One day I stepped into their house on the occasion of a birthday party and the kids had cuddled the woman in such a fashion that it reminded me of the kangaroo on discovery channel carrying its offspring in her pouch. They would move an inch without noticing where the woman was standing and held her in their circle of vision. I felt pity for the mother. It seemed to have gone her unnoticed or she preferred not to give it much thought but it was evident that blood was diluting and becoming much less thick than water. The woman made her presence felt in the room and was confident enough to lay down her opinion on any family issue that came forth. I particularly considered this as the episode where the lady of the house was losing the hold over her administration.
She had tears in her eyes when I opened the door. Mom wiped them as she came in and handed her a glass of water. It was an innocent and simple incident but seemed to have shattered her from within and made her realize that giving birth is not everything but becoming a part of the life of your fast growing child is more important. She had returned from office and the kids were playing with their building bricks. Contrary to her march into her room she took a left turned and sat beside the kids. Watching them play was the moment of the day. She took both of them in her arms thirsty with love and asked, “Whom do you love the most in this world?” I am sure she was expecting ‘mommy’. Many thoughts ran through her mind. Pictures of her working over-time, pictures of her doing her late night shifts, pictures of her shopping for the best children’s food, children’s drink, memories of her holding him in her arms when they were born, memories of her dressing them up for their first day at the play-school. She expected an answer. She knew the answer. Suddenly the kids stood up and pointed. The little fingers hurt her heart. The direction of the finger moved from her to somewhere else and she could hear her heart break into a million pieces. How could they? How could they have not seen the love?
To immediate effect the nanny was removed and sent back home. It was very difficult. It was terrible to explain to the kids. They wouldn’t eat or drink without her. They wouldn’t sleep without her hug. Continuously crying children can be a real pain and a horrible sight to watch.
I guess when you choose someone for something you should determine the limit at which they can function. Human emotions hold the key to one’s development. Life is not always about earning more than you can spend, it can also be about loving more than someone can handle, caring more than required and being there when no one cares to be!