He was there when I opened the door to the balcony, chirping away with all the strength he could muster.
“What is it?”
He replied in monosyllables. “Chirp. Chirp. CHIRP!”
Confused, I looked around into the evening. The sun was setting, lending a golden glow to the plants in our little, slightly messy, garden. The sky was alive with groups of birds returning to their nests, in time for the evening snack – a freshly caught worm! In fact, some members of his family could also be seen near the roadside shrubs, chattering away about climate change.
“Why are you sitting here all alone? Go out and play.” Continue reading
“I am very sorry.”
The man in the dark blue shirt, standing dumbstruck in our courtyard, looked up at my Dad. He was wet from head to toe – so wet that it was hard to ascertain what the colour or make of his shirt had once been. Continue reading
And pure refrigerating and gastronomic genius. Continue reading
“I’ll have some of the Radha Pallobi.”
A friend of mine, a newcomer to Market No. 1, Chittaranjan Park, had just wiped clean a plateful of Bengali sweets – chomchom, rajbhog, sandesh and yes, rasgullas.
“Splendid idea.” I told her. “You’ve had far too many sweets anyway.”
“Wait, what? Isn’t Radha Pallobi a sweet? It sure sounds like one!”
I shook my head and handed over to her a plate of steaming hot Radha Pallobi – stuffed luchis with delicious aloo dum. She was taken aback momentarily, but soon dug in with enthusiasm, much to the shop-owner’s joy.
My friend was no exception; most people on their first trip to C.R. Park are gastronomically overwhelmed at the sheer expanse of this mini-Kolkata. There’s the chaat corner, for instance. They have soft fuchkas – or panipuri – which they fill with a yum mixture of mashed potatoes, chillies and fragrant lemons. They have mangsho-ghughni – chickpeas infused with delicious spices, and hold your breath, mutton. And then there’s jhalmuri too – tall cones of puffed rice flavoured with green chillies, onions, tomatoes, spices and namkeen. Continue reading
Okay, picture this. You have booked top notch seats in the over prized multiplex (wait, they are all overpriced – redundant adjective). You are all geared up to see this movie with widespread acclaim. And then it begins. But not only on the screen. Oh you denizen of utopia, not only on the screen.
Lately, I just can’t seem to watch a movie without being surrounded by people who talk as if its their living room, kids who cry as if their umbilical cord has just been cut, and mobile phones that constantly sing obnoxious ring-tones that their owners are too obnoxious to turn down. It is a cacophonous Rohit Shetty film and you don’t even have a helmet. So, I decided to try and enlist the various reasons behind this curious phenomenon. Continue reading
It was a cold morning. Jackets, socks, caps and gloves kind of cold. The clouds lined the sky unforgivingly. Even the monkeys were unusually quiet, the regular spring missing from their step. Just then, the sun trickled in through the dense foliage. Only a minute and the world was different. Up and away in Dhanaulti, around 30kms from Mussoorie, the sombre, wintry day transformed into a February paradise. Continue reading
I turn to you like I would turn to a drug. Except I don’t do drugs. But wait, I believe compulsively soaking in the morning sunshine and sinking my nose deep into shiuli flowers also count as drugs, minus the grave bodily damage – ta da! But, I digress.
So I turn to you like I would turn to a drug. You lighten the darkest of my afternoons, when all I can see from my silly, corner desk at work is a sombre sky. I have such a love affair with you that it seems sad beyond the grave that you will be gone in a month or two. Relegated to cold storage, ignored, graying and dehydrating. Continue reading
I wait for the weekend the entire week, counting the remaining days on my fingers till I can squeal in delight over how there’s no alarm clock the next morning. When I leave for work every day, my balcony is already flooded with tremendously inviting sunshine – the kind that makes me reconsider the point of leaving the house. When the weekend arrives, I tell myself, I will lap up as much sunshine as I can, sitting out in a green-field with a picnic basket and a book. Continue reading
Mahabaleshwar, a hill station near Pune [www.tourindia365.com]
It actually is cold in Pune. I mean, my-fingers-are-numb kind of cold. After years of arguing with R about how Pune can never compete with Delhi in the winter department, it does seem like this quaint old city is up to the competition. No, I am not complaining. In fact, I am delighted. Continue reading
There are days when all I want to do is immerse myself in memories. Everything about such days triggers off a remembrance, right from the morning sun rising slowly up the horizon, to the baby pigeon and his mom sleeping peacefully in a box-bed in my balcony. There was a time when Mom and I snuggled up like that on winter mornings in Delhi, letting the house-cats raise a pandemonium and the vegetable-sellers shout their hearts out before venturing to really get started with the day. Continue reading