Tag Archives: Food

156: Another Holiday Monday

5 Jun


What if I become broke? But oh my darling, what if you become rich?

I couldn’t help adapt the popular quote to this bookshop that I first visited as a child. It was a new experience because this was a bookshop of a different kind; one where they sold old books that smelt the best and even took back books you’d finished reading. 

It was just normal instinct to walk into a bookstore enroute the restaurant my friend A and I were heading to, to stuff our face with Mangalorean ghee roast crab. 

Our afternoon was delectable, to say the least. 

155: Sundays Of A Different Kind

4 Jun

This was spent sitting on a wooden seat at St. Patrick’s Church during Sunday mass, taking in Sunday mornings from a different perspective. 


It was followed by this debauchery with R, over conversations, laughter, reminiscing, and joy. 


Apt for a Bangalore Sunday morning after a long time. :)

Now on to the match!

154: Snapshots So Far

3 Jun

Some experiences are best described without words. 

Here are some of mine so far, and I’m letting these pictures do all the talking. 

Banana chips and post-dinner conversations


Saris, dosas, window shopping in Commercial Street.

Friday afternoons with family and these eyes

Impromptu visits, conversations, and homemade fish fry and prawn curry meals

Sunny, windy, shade-laden walks under these gentle giants

Andhra meals, laughter, and bubbly fresh lime sodas

Relaxing with baking

151: Magical May

31 May

Here’s what it’s been like in pictures. 

Hot. 

Relaxing. 

Experimental. 

Filled with debauchery. 


And just plain amazing!

142: Cheating

23 May

Today I’m cheating, and confessing about doing so. Yesterday was one of the best Mondays I’ve had in a long, long time. The school is at its fractional strength what with all the kids, except the senior students, already off. It was quiet, calm, serene, and it had rained. There was no clamouring, no crowding, no shouting, no hurrying. If this is a blessing, then I feel blessed. I even got to walk back home in a faint drizzle and under an overcast sky; there’s nothing more a Bangalore girl can ask for during a harsh North-Indian summer May Monday.

And then my internet died on me just when I was about to ease into some yoga which I haven’t been able to indulge in for an annoyingly long time. Therefore, out went my yoga and out went any chance I had of blogging as well. So here I am, writing about yesterday, today. And therefore I confess.

Yesterday was meant to be enjoyed in its entirety I presume. So there was some uninterrupted tree and sky-staring time, followed by a long conversation with P which ended a good hour later when her baby had a poop-blast situation. Because A also got back home much later than usual and I had time at hand, I did what most self-respecting domesticated wives do – cook. I made today’s lunch, dinner, and perhaps tomorrow’s breakfast as well, last night. There’s so much food in the fridge, A exclaimed, almost in fright. I’d say there’s no better friend than boxes of fresh home food to tide us through days when the last thing I want to do is cook.

There’s a box of black chana stew, dalia (a savoury broken wheat pilaf), cabbage stir fry (made in a mixed north-indian and south-indian style), mangalorean egg curry, leftover rice, dal, one piece of tandoori chicken, and some other essentials – that’s enough no? :P

127: A Day In Bed

7 May

I spent a large amount of my Saturday glued to my bed, risking the “in bed for too long” headache that almost always arrives in time to remind me of my lethargy. Having kept work at work, I had the weekend to my fancy, quite literally. Friday evening saw a barrage of random cooking that took place, without a thought and without much deliberation – I had a mutton curry going, a keema matar (mince + green peas prep) going, and an assortment of vegetables – to simply put it, the cooking bug had bitten me and there’s no other explanation for this sort of thing. Nevertheless, my meals for the weekend were more or less sorted, (but I still indulged in our Sunday rajma chawal prep), and there was time at hand to do exactly nothing.

So I called for some KFC (the nerve, especially after all that cooking!), sat on my bed and munched my way through the latest season of Scandal. Quite scandalous indeed, but one of the best I’ve seen so far. It also made me cry, which is a first. But then again, it isn’t surprising considering it’s Shonda Rhimes we’re talking about. How fantastically powerful each character has been. Needless to say, the feminist in me felt sated – because did you watch how fabulous that entire balance between men and women was? That’s what I think feminism really is; anything else just being too sickening to even stomach.

My binge tv-watching was all done, and while my head was relieved, my greed wasn’t. We hopped on to a neighbouring market which made me realise just how much I love being at home, especially during summer. Being surrounded by overly dressed people, so many of whom were my students I really didn’t want to even catch a glimpse of, the anti-socialite in me wanted to get back home and hang out with only my husband, and him alone. We’re glued to Designated Survivor, if I haven’t already told you. Chilled beers, mutton curry and rice, tv shows, and sharing a mini sundae, are according to me, one of the best ways to spend a weekend in. We are weekend-in people, because neither of us can stomach this 45 degree weather, nor malls bursting at their seams (which is all we really have here).

:)

120: Thank God For This Sunday

30 Apr

Because I’m on the go, this post is a photographic one. And man is it exactly the kind of Sunday I needed – quiet pubs playing GnR, mugs of chilled beer, great oriental food, and some amazing company.


Please excuse me while I indulge in some raucous laughter and unbeatable fish fingers with my booze. Happy Sunday, ya’ll!

113: Sundaze

23 Apr

We’re beating the heat, the blues, the madness, the chaos, and everything else that falls in and around this realm with beer, biryani, and popsicles.


We’re taking Sunday one lost Saturday at a time.

91: Sublime Saturdays…

1 Apr

…are made of this

A breakfast of leftovers: chicken sausages, pork sausages, mushroom + pepperoni omlettes with toast and OJ to go.

this

Browned clarified butter + vanilla sponge cake.

and this.

Grilled begun(i) bhaaja (brinjal/eggplant fritters) to complement our lunch of daal (lentils) bhaat (rice).

87: Noon-time Nostalgia

28 Mar

He smelt of a heady yet comforting combination of old clothes which he refused to give away, asafoetida, mildew-y papers whose stacks never receded, mustard oil, Ponds talcum powder, and tea. He wore what were huge holes put together by what was once, I presume, a perfectly white cotton vest. His holy thread, too worn yet intact, always ridged through all that melted cotton, while his skin sagged and revealed the telling of being a grandparent.

He never married but lived close enough to become my maternal granduncle, and therefore my nana, by default. Many of my memories of him halt at his insolence; towards the maid, the handyman, and even towards the ones I held dearest to me. He demarcated his boundaries in a house that was otherwise not in his reign of control, for he had two spots that were his and his alone – one by the door in the corner of my grandmother’s puja room, and the other which was his makeshift bed in the drawing room.

His spot in the puja room was where our curiosities germinated, bubbled, and stayed. On his stool were clustered together papers, Hanumanji stickers and prayer books (he was a faithful devotee), lawyer collars (he was one), files (but of course), his aluminium tea kettle, herbs, threads, nails and screws, perhaps a couple of pens…but that’s all my memory now allows me to recollect. It didn’t even strike the child in me to ever ask him about his worldly belongings…because how can an adult life be judged with just some paraphernalia on a wooden stool? I never asked and he never said.

But more than all these myriad smells and belongings put together, it was the fragrance of a summery musk melon we’d avidly huddle over while it was being cut and sprinkled with sugar, that I somehow attached to him. Memories of him always come rushing back as if he were handing me this sublime scoop of melon while standing right next to me as I cut the fruit and bit into it today.