Comfort Food

These days, my mind is on overdrive - thinking. Thinking even in my sleep. An endless euphoria about nothing in particular. Perhaps it is the yog-asanas and all. I get these really unusual ideas and storylines - my dreams roll over to actual stories to write, but when I wake up, it is a gorgeous day and I have forgotten my ’stories’. Morning, especially a crisp spring morning is the favourite time of the day for me.
I read or hear about comfort food - soups, bean chili, macaroni and cheese, etc. Here are some of my favourite comfort foods :

• Phodnichi bhakri : Bhakri is flatbread made out of jowar or bajra - a rural staple although it is gaining popularity amongst health-conscious circles now. Leftover bhakris crumbled to bite-size pieces and sauteed in a tadka of oil, mustard seeds, cumin, green chillies, chopped onion and roasted peanuts. Salt and sugar added as seasoning and it makes a perfect mid-morning snack!

• Roti Laddoo : Leftover rotis crumbled and mixed with ghee, jaggery pieces or sugar and rolled into balls.

• Breakfast bread : My Nani would lightly toast bread slices and slather them with homemade white butter. After that, meticulously sprinkle sugar over the slices. These slices were best with a tall glass of room-temperature milk! Yummm

• Herbed bhakri : a fancy name to an earthy dish. Maa makes these often. Crush some garlic, green chillies with salt and add chopped cilantro leaves, ajwain and sesame seeds. Add the jowar flour and warm water to make the dough. Make bhakris out of this and put some ghee on each disc.

• Wada Pav : common man’s burger in Maharashtra. Bro and I sometimes go to the ‘Joshi Wadewale’ stall. There is a rush of customers around the stall and one has to jostle and struggle a bit to get into the crowd and place the order. In minutes after paying for the order, the guy hands us a paper parcel, warm to the touch. At home, we hasten to open it. Inside are the hot potato wadas, buns and some dry garlic chutney and lots of fried green chillies.

• Sabudana Khichadi : this is usually prepared during the Ekadashi, Mahashivratri fasts. It is soaked sago which is cooked in hot oil tempered with cumin, green chillies. Peanut powder and boiled potato pieces are added to the mix, with salt and sugar. It is served with a sprinkling of cut cilantro leaves and fresh grated coconut. Any time Grandma made this dish, she would some for us, in a steel tiffin……a totally unexpected treat!

• Varan-bhaat : I am not a fan of rice but absolutely love this combo. Pressure cook the rice and dal in separate vessels. The dal is a mix of split tuvar and moong dals to which water, hing and some turmeric has been added before the pressure cooking. One can add a slice of lime at the cooker base to get a fresher aroma. After opening the cooker, add some water to the dal and churn it to make it of a watery consistency (texture is crucial otherwise the taste would be completely ruined if the dal becomes thick)!  Serve over the hot rice with salt and ghee and a spoonful of mango pickle.

• Pithla : I like the rustic cooking of Rajasthan which seems to use a lot of besan, gowar, millet and ghee. This dish is Maharashtrian though. Chopped garlic is added to hot oil in a kadhai and allowed to brown; following which some cut green chillies and mustard is added. Immediately, a few cups of water are added to the kadhai. If one likes lumps of the besan in the pithla, add some tablespoons of besan to the water before it starts boiling. For a lumpless pithla, let the water boil and then add the besan. Mix the besan and add some jeera powder and salt. Cover and let it steam until cooked. Tastes great with bhakri and raw shallots.

• Gola bhaat : Another rice dish. Made from besan. Roast the besan flour over oil. Add garlic pieces, peanut powder, coriander and cumin powder, dessicated coconut, salt and chopped cilantro and continue roasting. After mix has cooled, add water and roll into balls or golas. Steam in a vessel with rice in the pressure cooker. Make a tadka of oil, mustard seeds, hing. Pour a teaspoon over the hot rice and add the crushed ‘gola’s. Tastes good served with a glass of spiced buttermilk.

• Idli Wada sambar : I have never tried making the wadas at home, but for the idlis, I like to experiment by using split moong instead of urad dal or red rice instead of parboiled rice, etc. A delicacy had with sambar (with signature masalas from each household) and coconut or  gunpowder chutney.

• Herbed roasted potatoes : Use ‘new potatoes’ or small red potatoes halved.  One could also use a mix of root vegetables such as potatoes, sweet potatoes, parsnips, fennel bulbs, carrots, turnips. Boil these in water until fork tender. Mix fresh rosemary, crushed black pepper, salt, red pepper flakes and olive oil and toss the potatoes in this mix. You can also use oil and any Mrs.Dash salt-free seasoning. Scatter on a baking dish and bake until done. Finish by broiling (or roasting - top heating element in the oven).

• Roast Spring vegetables : A medley of baby corn, baby zucchini, tender green beans, red and yellow bell peppers, new potatoes, shallots or pearl onions, asparagus tips, cauliflower, garlic bulbs tossed in oil and herbs and roasted. Sometimes these can be marinated in spices in yoghurt and roasted over skewers.

• Rava cake : Grandma would make this cake on a cast iron griddle on the cooking range, using homemade butter and buttermilk. I modified the recipe a bit. The measures are approximate.
  2.5 cups semolina, 1 cup all purpose flour (maida), 1.5 cups buttermilk, 1 cup whole milk, a mix of sugar, powdered jaggery and honey to taste, 10-15 almonds coarsely crushed, 2 tablespoons cashew butter, 3 tablespoons unsalted butter (4 if not using the cashew butter), 1 teaspoon baking soda, 2 teaspoons finely ground cardamom
  1. Cream the butter.
  2. Add the semolina, flour, sugar, jaggery, honey and mix, slowly adding the buttermilk and milk. Continue mixing, incorporating air into the batter (around 200 whisks by hand).
  3. Cover the mixture and keep in a cool place for 2-3 hours, to allow the semolina to absorb the liquid ingredients.
  4. Preheat oven to 325 deg Fahrenheit.
  5. Fold in the ground almonds, cashew butter, cardamom and salt and lastly the baking soda. At this stage, the batter may seem too viscous and you can add more milk to get a cake consistency batter. 6. Pour into a greased pan and bake in the oven for 25 minutes (at 325 deg for the first 5 mins and then 360 deg for remaining time).

7. Cake is done when a toothpick inserted comes out clean (but not dry)!

• Jaggery Shira : this is sooji halva but made with jaggery instead of sugar. Mum makes this using jaggery since it is healthier. The only difference from shira with sugar is that the jaggery pieces are melted in hot water to make a syrup and then added to the roasted rava, and *no* bananas in the halva I make for sure! Topped with crushed cardamom.
  
  

Walden Pond and Wayside Grist Mill

Transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau lived at Walden Pond for two years in the 19th century. The place is now a National Landmark but still an esoteric visitor spot. In summer, the pond is open for swimming and one can also do hikes up the circuituous route to experience the serene beauty of the place and see the location of Thoreau’s wood cabin deep in the woods.

ENJOYING THE SUN

A PICTURESQUE SPOT ALONG THE HIKE

THE CABIN LOCATION

A CAIRN MARKS THE CABIN SPOT

Some quotes from Thoreau :

• Those whom we can love, we can hate; to others we are indifferent.
• Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good for something.
• Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed, and in such desperate enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.
• Any fool can make a rule, and any fool will mind it.
• Wealth is the ability to fully experience life.
• Our truest life is when we are in dreams awake.
• Every generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new.
• I do not know how to distinguish between our waking life and a dream. Are we not always living the life that we imagine we are?
• Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
• Thoreau on the Geeta - In the morning I bathe my intellect in the stupendous and cosmogonal philosophy of the Bhagavad Gita, in comparison with which our modern world and its literature seem puny and trivial.

Actually, the entire book, ‘Walden’ is scattered with such gem of thoughts. The book itself is a difficult read but miracles can happen through perseverance!

Wayside Grist Mill - built by Henry Ford. Features a giant water wheel and the stone ground wheat and corn is available for sale. The fictional ‘Dorlcote Mill’ from George Eliot’s ‘The Mill on the Floss’ comes to life here. For a single revolution of the water wheel, the millstones are turned about twenty-five times.

WAYSIDE GRIST MILL

THE TRAIL UP THE MILL

A CLEAR REFLECTION!

SIDE VIEW OF THE MILL

INSIDE THE MILL - MILLER DRESSED IN QUAKER OUTFI

THE GRIST MILL TRAIL IN AUTUMN

Milk Miracle!

I am sure this story has been told to most of us by our elders, when we were kids. For the last few days, I have been trying to remember some of the fond memories of my childhood days, but all that comes to mind is this story. Write about me! write about me, the fable seems to chant! My Grandfather would tell us this story often – it was an all-time favourite of his (and ours). After the lights were turned off, we would retire to the terrace, where mattresses would be laid out for us to sleep, with only the dim street lights or the moonlight to guide us to our beds. Some of us kids would feel scared of the dark, but not on the nights when Nana or Nani would tell us a bedtime story (which would be almost every night, so good riddance of the evil spirits, he-he!). “Tell us Gopal’s story, Ajoba!” we would demand. He would start his story in a mild tone and then become all animated when describing certain exciting parts of the story. All this is only sketched in my memory, no camcorders and other high-tech equipment for the common man then! Here goes the story….

Gopal was a very very poor child, who lived with his mother in a small village. His father had died when Gopal was a baby and his mother wanted to make sure that Gopal got a good education. So she had Gopal join a school which was a few miles away. Being penniless, Gopal had to walk to school everyday. Occasionally, a farmer in his bullock-cart would give him a ride for part of the way. He would have to cross a forest on the way and returning from school through the forest, would be an ordeal sometimes. He would hear creepy sounds in the forest, the hissing of a snake or the roar of a wild animal. At such times, he would start feeling scared and stop walking and look around.

One such day, when it was late after returning from school and it had already started turning dark, he had been walking through the jungle when he heard a rustling sound from nearby. Stopping all of sudden, he looked around and realized he was quivering, shaking with fear. All of a sudden, he heard a voice boom out from the depths of the jungle, “Do not be afraid of this forest, my friend! I am with you!” On his left, he saw a boy of his own age, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. The boy had a radiant smile on his face and he took Gopal’s hand. “The next time you cross this forest and feel afraid, do not hesitate to call my name. Call for Madhav and I will be there, with you and all your fears will be alleviated!” Gopal thanked his new friend and henceforth, crossing the forest was no longer a problem for him.

Gopal soon became the laughing-stock of his class. His clothes would often be pieces of rags, lovingly sewn together by his mother. A gaping hole in the tattered shirt or half-pants too loose for him. He had no chappals either, but would walk all the way to school and back, barefoot. Very few of his classmates were happy to be friends with him. He would face all the ridicule and derision with bravery and calmness.

One day in class, one of the boys announced, “Tomorrow is my birthday and I want all of you to come!” Gopal was happy and very excited that he too had been invited to the friend’s house. After reaching home, he told his mother the good news and said that this friend whose birthday he had been invited to, was the son of a rich Zamindar. “What gift shall I take with me, Maa?” he asked his mother anxiously, knowing that they did not have any money, not even pennies, to buy a gift. His mother replied to her son, “Son, we do not have any money to get your friend a gift nor any new clothes for you to wear tomorrow, but do not worry. I will think about something. You go and have a good night’s sleep, my dear!” Late into the night, his mother stayed awake, altering an old set of his father’s clothes for Gopal to wear.

The next morning when Gopal awoke, his mother gave him the altered clothes, had him take a bath and combed his hair. She said, “Son, unfortunately we do not have any gift to give to your friend!”

“Ok mother”, said Gopal without any complaints and left the house after touching his mother’s feet, as was his daily custom.

On his way to school, he was feeling very unhappy. He knew that after seeing him come to the birthday empty-handed, the other classmates would laugh and make fun of him. In his own thoughts, he did not realize that he was now walking through the forest. Suddenly, he remembered his friend Madhav and called out for him. His friend soon appeared next to him and after looking at Gopal’s dejected face, asked him what the matter was. Gopal explained the situation. Madhav listened patiently and then said, “Hmm….don’t worry, Gopal! Here - just take this glass of milk to your rich friend and ask him to empty the milk into a vessel of their own, and take the glass back to your mother.” After bidding Madhav goodbye, Gopal continued on his way to school with the glass of milk in his hand, feeling lighthearted after speaking to his forest-friend.

At the birthday, everyone had showed up dressed in finery and carrying large, showy gifts. When Gopal presented his gift – the glass of milk, everyone started laughing. Unaffected, Gopal asked them to instruct their servant to empty the milk into one of their own containers and return the glass to him. The Zamindar summoned his servant and ordered him to do so. Two minutes passed by and the servant still did not return. “What’s taking the wretched man so long!” the Zamindar muttered angrily. He sent another servant to check on him. The other servant returned with an amazed look on his face. “Saheb, you have to come to the kitchen to see this!” he said.

The Zamindar and others went to the kitchen and saw the servant emptying out the glass of milk into a gallon-sized container. Next to that container were several other containers of assorted sizes, full of milk! (Here my GrandDad would get all animated and make actions of pouring out the milk from an imaginary glass…”bddd..…bd…..bdd…bdd” and we kids would share his excitement).

“Sa’ab, the glass is not getting empty!” the servant exclaimed in wonder and frustration. The Zamindar could not believe his eyes and thought it was a trick of his eyes. Finally, all the vessels in the rich Zamindar’s house were full to the brim, with milk and still the glass was full. “Who gave you this glass of milk, quick!” the man asked Gopal. “It is my friend, Madhav. He can perform miracles and I totally believe in him!” Gopal said calmly. “Impossible! This is a trick. I do not believe this! Take me to your friend and let us see if his miracles are for real!” the greedy Zamindar said.

Gopal and the Zamindar went to the forest where Gopal called out for Madhav to appear. After several beckonings, Madhav still did not appear. “See! Your friend is imaginary…I knew there are no such miracles. It is all a hoax!” said the Zamindar. Gopal refused to believe the Zamindar but there was nothing more to be done. Tearfully, he started returning to the village with the Zamindar, when all of a sudden a voice boomed in the jungle, “I am Madhav, Gopal’s friend! I make myself appear only before those who believe in me! I am invisible to the rest of the world.” Gopal was happy on hearing the voice and went to hug his friend Madhav, while the Zamindar was left alone, to his non-beliefs. That day onwards, Gopal and his mother never lacked for food and with Madhav’s constant companionship, Gopal became a successful man of integrity and virtue.

Ok, what aspects of this story make it so special for me? Like Gopal, Ajoba had also been very, very poor as a child. For him too, education was important and he walked several miles to school everyday. This is a story of believing in miracles, in a superpower….and because of this story (well partly, perhaps!) I grew to love milk! Hearing this story would make me hungry and the morning following the story, I would rush downstairs into the kitchen to drink milk in my favourite glass – yes a steel glass!

Dr. G’loo and Mr. Gabdool!

Dr. G’loo and Mr.Gabdool

G’loo is our pet golden retriever and Gabdool is the parrot my brother keeps as a pet. G’loo was brought in the house seven years ago, while Gabdool is a more recent addition. Needless to say, G’loo being senior to Gabdool feels that she should have more privileges in the house than him. Also, like a child, she feels a bit jealous that the love and attention she receives from us is going to be divided now.

G’loo is sweetly innocent, a child still. Gabdool is a seasoned rogue, in my opinion. In appearance, G’loo has large and expressive brown eyes, a piebald nose (discoloured after playing with a tyre that had a metal wire inside it – unknown to us) that had once been a handsome black, and a noble face which can almost be termed as masculine, with a long streak of dark hair between her eyes. Gabdool reminds me a lot of Gulshan Grover, a villain of Bollywood films (me not a fan of birds and reptiles, adore all mammals), with his beady snakelike eyes, red bulbous beak which is sharp enough to draw blood from a victim, and rough, reptilian claws. In looks, G’loo is very very sweet, angelic and beautiful while Gabdool ‘projects’ a better picture of himself by fluffing himself up to look softer and constantly grooming himself. Gabdool knows he looks good and tries to improve that a bit while G’loo is not aware of her good looks and tries to improve her behaviour and temperament instead! Good for her!!

As far as size is concerned, G’loo is about a hundred times heavier than Gabdool and a lot larger as well. One swipe of her heavy, chubby front paw (that reminds me of a lion cub’s paws) can do some drastic damage to the cheeky parrot. However, Gabdool does not know his weaknesses and the humble G’loo her strengths. G’loo is so helpless that she gets scared of even a cockroach! Gabdool recklessly tries to attack anyone hovering around his cage, irrespective of size or stature.

Earlier, when Gabdool had been new to the house, we had put him in a three foot cage. A bit confined, his temper would often flare up at the slightest provocation. He would spend most of his time showing off before an audience (mostly humans and other birds, the avian kind), doing somersaults while hanging onto the bar with his beak. However, G’loo was not part of his audience. He had no desire to perform before her. When the sweet G’loo went near his cage to have a closer peek at his antics, he probably thought that she had come near him as one approaches one’s prey. He stopped his antics all of a sudden and became seriously quiet, wary of the large animal approaching him, him (poor thing) being confined in a cage. He viciously charged at G’loo but was prevented from doing any harm, by the cage. Poor G’loo! Perhaps she had gone near him out of curiosity or to be friends! Who knows? The hostile welcome from Gabdool was enough for them to become mutual adversaries. G’loo got a bit angry for being attacked for no reason and decided to retaliate by barking loudly and nearing the cage in a menacing way. We had to stop G’loo from hurting herself in her attempt to threaten her foe. (The poor sweetie has very little sense when it comes to the ways of the world). It is a different story now. Gabdool has been shifted to a six-foot cage by my brother and now Gabdool sits high up on his perch, taking an occasional swing, looking down at G’loo with scorn and disdain. She is no longer of interest to him.

Eating habits….hmm…G’loo is a prolific eater. There is nothing she does not like! She has developed a taste for vegetarian items, although she does get choosticks and other dog-treats and goodies, occasionally. G’loo dines in a clean sort of way. A few crumbs and bits here and there, outside her dish, but still very tidy. All her attention is focused on the food before her. Sweets are never refused. She usually likes to dine with all her ‘human pets’. A very social animal! Dining alone is boring for her. Also she eats with knowledge about diets and nutrition, many a times. Like for example, she would eat the pith of citrus fruits, knowing that is high in flavonoids, or green leafy veggies. Gabdool on the other hand, is a messy eater. He uses his claws to hold the food (mostly nuts, guavas, corn, veggies – he is a health freak!) and nibbles on it slowly, with a faraway look in his eyes, while pondering over more pressing matters at hand and the state of the world, in general. About a third of the food (the good part of it like the flesh of the fruit or the nuts) goes in his stomach while the rest of it scatters on the floor of the cage. Gabdool is oblivious to the mess he has created and also the stink of rotting food around him. A boor, compared to the aristocratic Doctor G’loo. The reason she gets the title ‘Doctor’ here is that she knows the good stuff from the bad as well as she is more like the refined Dr.Jekyll, with her sober tastes and mild temper and Gabdool is more like the rogue Hyde. Often times, Gabdool is a bit pampered with all the new food items he gets. His rejects (like pet food bought specially for him, nuts) are sometimes given to the tame G’loo, who eats anything without fuss.

G’loo is a very social creature. Loves humans and welcomes every visitor with an item in her mouth. Usually it is some clothes (mostly grabbed hastily from the freshly-washed stack of clothes kept neatly by Bai on a table), but she understands which clothes not to bring out to guests! G’loo wants to share every joke and likes to laugh with the group – share every emotion with her human companions. If she sees anyone crying, she hurries over to comfort them and wipe away their tears. Gabdool is still very anti-social, a bit wild. Ofcourse, he does like to showoff his talents, but has not yet learnt to start a conversation with his human friends. (Most of his conversations are still limited to other parrots he encounters outside the window of his room).

G’loo loves to spend her time constructively. She likes to eat, snooze and play games. Playing hide-and-seek with human friends is her forte. We usually cover her eyes and ask the person (one at a time as she still has to learn to count large numbers!) to go and hide somewhere. Then at the call of ‘Ready’ by the person hiding, she shoots like an arrow, to find the person. Sometimes she cheats, using her nose to sniff the direction in which the person is headed, to hide (since her eyes are covered). Other games she loves are pillow fights, rug fights (wherein the human player hides under a rug and G’loo tries to nose her way inside the cosy rug which is held down firmly by the squirming bundle inside), racing and playing catch-catch on the terrace, ball games, tug-o’-wars with ropes and other items, doga (dog yoga) and stretching. Gabdool likes to play his own games, which are highly destructive. One such game is to perch himself on a stick that has been laid across the cage, at a height and then attack and gnaw at the same stick in a vicious manner. Soon, after repeated attempts at breaking the stick, the stick gets split to the point where a single thread of wood is holding the two pieces together. A last hack at the stick and it breaks, with Gabdool holding for dear life onto the part he is still perched upon, watching in wicked glee and doom, his own ‘downfall’ (physical and mental), as the stick collapses to the ground in slow motion (err…that is we would like to see it in slow motion). Another game he likes are flapping his wings rapidly when let out of the cage (yes, he is let out many times and has never tried escaping – he likes all the attention and good, readymade food he gets here!). He also likes to mock-fight, using his sharp beak. If we try to reach out for him through the bars of the cage, the pupils of his eyes turn large and small – a sign that he has been provoked and is ready to attack – and then he lunges forward to strike at our fingers with his steel beak. Often, his lunge is so vicious that he loses his balance and almost falls off the stick!

Sleeping habits….G’loo sleeps next to her human folks, close to them. We tried getting her a dog bed, but she stopped sleeping on that in a week or so. She likes to snuggle up close to her ‘Mom’ and sleep under the same rug! Often times, us humans wake up with a start when there are noises in the street, late at night, but G’loo sleeps through it all like a baby. She has been brought up that way. She cannot dream of sleeping alone. She is sad to be left alone in a room during daytime as well, while the rest of her folks are in another room. When he is not playing his dangerous games, Gabdool is found sleeping, perched on the stick with one claw slightly raised above the stick and eyes shut (sometimes he seems to sleep with eyes wide open).

Gabdool loves the computer and spends a lot of his free time (time aside from grooming himself, gobbling and playing destructive games) perched on my brother’s shoulder and gazing pedantically at the computer screen, while bro is seated in front of the computer. G’loo hates computers and walks about the room restlessly, when her loved ones are seated before a computer. After some time, frustrated that her human friend is not leaving the computer, she goes to him or her and clambers up upon their lap, entreating them to shut down the PC and play with her instead!

Sometimes I feel that secretly, G’loo would like to become a bit like Gabdool – a bit bold, headstrong and adventurous; while Gabdool would like to tone down a bit to become like G’loo, sweet-tempered and social, to be accepted by humans. The urge to change roles, like a Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde would wish for. (i.e when Hyde has done too much mayhem and distruction, a dormant part of him wishes to become Jekyll again and when Jekyll has lived a decent life for too long, Hydian characteristics start popping their ugly heads out). Dunno…but I wish sweet G’loo would stay the way she is and Gabdool would learn to be like her. I will keep on hoping for this…

A Fragrant Blog

As a teen, I liked collecting perfume and attar bottles. Dad loved perfumes and he had a small collection, nothing fancy but I remember some of the bottles were of lovely shapes – one like Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage, an angel, another in the shape of a leaf and so on. Apart from perfumes, some scents continue to remain important for me.

Grandpa’s wardrobe had his clothes neatly on hangers and the aroma of betelnuts, cashews and rock-sugar clinging onto the space inside. I knew that in the same closet, somewhere inside was a tin of the delicious Cadbury Eclairs and peppermints that Grandma gave us. Great-Aunt’s hubby who resided on the second floor of the same house, always kept snuff, scented betelnuts and Pan Parag. Behind the wardrobe that contained these, hung a fat, furry tail that he said was a real tail of some animal (probably a mongoose?)! I would always touch the tail hesitantly, thinking of the poor dead animal, while snooping for the scented betelnuts.

Then there was my music teacher’s house which always smelled of coconut, betelnut and sugar. Perhaps because it is a custom to give the coconut at the beginning of a function and we had many musical functions at her place. Afterwards, she’d distribute the fresh coconut chunks amongst her students. I loved having the coconut with rock sugar and betelnut pieces.

Once when I had a dandruff problem, an elder had put oil infused with eucalyptus on my hair. I loved the fresh perfume of Nilgiri and I started using it on my handkerchief so often that some of my family members started scolding me for overdoing it. I loved the white cubes of camphor, kept in the puja room and would crush the cubes and rub in the perfume on my hair or even taking a bite out of a cube to see what it tastes like! It usually had a head-clearing effect.

I have never been fascinated by the ‘chic’ perfumes – feel that they contain too much alcohol or expire too soon. I had received one of the Estee Lauder collections and an Elizabeth Arden green tea perfume as gifts and found the former too strong in an unpleasant sort of manner. The green-tea perfume was good though. I think these perfumes only smell great when they are inside paper folds of magazines, which entices people to buy them and discover they are not so good after all!

Some months back, I had gone for a Marathi musical play. Some people arrived late after the play had begun and got into the row in front of ours. As one of the ladies in that group took a seat, I got a whiff of a once-familiar perfume from my childhood – Khus (vetiver). Instead of focusing on the play, I sat there thinking about events from days bygone. The next day, I went to the old market in the heart of the city and got a bottle of khus attar. Then, the following week was spent in exploring other attars. There was henna, kewra (screwpine), sandalwood, rose, mogra, jasmine and raatrani. I ended up getting all, although I found the jasmine perfume too heady and strong. My sack of attars met a sad end when they were usurped from my handbag by the airline security (I happened to be traveling just after the Heathrow scam). Must have made someone’s dear ones happy, receiving those attars for free!

We get essential oils at local health stores here and I like using the rosemary essence. Ylang-ylang has the perfume of a popular flower we see in parts of India – bakul. I like the colour of dried lavender and had been using the essence until I read somewhere that it contains phytoestrogens that could interfere with the hormone functions. Gardenia has a divine perfume (the flower, I mean – not the essence which reeks of an artificial smell). I’d gladly wear a fresh gardenia on my jacket everyday!

Shikakai was and still is a hot favourite and every household has their own recipe to make this shampoo. A special medical shikakai we buy is a conglomeration of all favourite powders – khus, camphor, shikakai, sandalwood, henna, rose, soapnut, etc. As the hair dries naturally in the bright sunlight, after a shikakai wash, the delicate aroma is hard to miss.

When our dog nuzzles close to me, I like to hug her to breathe in the faint perfume on her head – she almost smells like a baby but like babies, unfortunately catches on any stronger scent like that of cooking oil or incense sticks. Luckily, the bad smells do not stay for long on her and I guess she too likes delicate perfumes because she loves to stretch out (with me) in front of the cooler misting khus perfume - an alternative for the vetiver curtains.

Crisp books, pine cones, wet meadows (not lawn turfs), rain on parched earth, the seashore with all of the treasures from below the sea, the aquamarine ocean waters, a dear one’s embrace….smell beautiful! I had gone for a lilac festival once and really liked the perfume. After that visit, I started looking out for lilac, geranium and marjoram essences at stores. The Indian name for the sweet marjoram plant is ‘marwa’ and it is sold as a houseplant. Although these perfumes are great as essential oils, they are horrible in readymade products like commercial shampoos, room sprays or soaps. The key is to use the essences separately – good riddance to these harsh products!

The list in food items is endless, but especially love the aroma of sabudana khichadi, anything aloo (Aloo methi) and any steamed foods (idlis, dhoklas) cooking. The aroma list is not complete without saffron and cardamom of course. I love those ‘homemade’ soaps with their gorgeous colours, that are sold in health stores – they look good enough to eat but are too expensive and can induce a feeling of guilt, if bought. I used to like the perfume of Aramusk soap but after finding out how it is obtained, gave up on it.

This blog focuses on the aromas but some smells I detest are that of mustard tadka in oil, a variation of the champa flower (kavthi-chafa), jackfruits (can only imagine how durians reek), ripening fruit, those berry-scented artificial sprays, metallic surfaces and strong alkaline soap.

Aromatherapy is good when practiced occasionally. It also gives a feeling of freshness and cleanliness and is better than using the artificial sprays which contain a lot of bad chemicals. Over-indulgence can have bad effects but I haven’t spent too much time on this hobby to tire of it, so I still I do enjoy it. It is worth a try.

Beautiful Tree Igloo

This is an amazing tree ‘house’ we happened to see while sightseeing Newport. **** Photos and Blog copyrighted by : Goldendog http://goldenoollig.wordpresscom © August 2007 **** The tree shown in the first photo below is not a single tree but a clump of five trees of the Weeping European Beech species. They have grown to form a tree house or igloo. Within the drooping branches of the trees is a lovely cave of around 800 sq feet (a compact apartment ) which has the green branches of the trees for walls and the trunks as pillars for support.

For the remaining photos, just turn the laptop sideways and imagine that they r being viewed in panoramic mode as if one would be inside the tree igloo! **** Photos and Blog copyrighted by : Goldendog http://goldenoollig.com © August 2007 ****

Sadly enough, there is a lot of graffiti on the trees, left by some thoughtless people.

To still get an idea of how this tree house looks like from inside :

Returning Home

The phone rang in Manjiri’s office. It was Madhuri, her cousin, on the line. “Manju, Neeru Aatya is no more!” Madhuri exclaimed in a tearful voice. Manjiri was in a state of shock after hearing this, but gathered her courage and informed Madhuri that she would come to Pune by the next available train or bus.

Neeru Aatya was Manjiri’s Mother. She had been in coma for the last month due to complications of a brain tumour. Manjiri had done the hospital duty and looked after Neeru for three consecutive months before returning to Mumbai for her new job. A month ago, the doctor had assured Manjiri that Neeru would recover soon and thinking that the situation was improving, Manjiri decided to take the new job. After all, they were a joint family and there was a fleet of close relatives to look after Neeru, in Manjiri’s absence. The financial situation of Neeru and her husband was bleak (in fact, they even had had to borrow money for the hospital treatment from Neeru’s brother) and Manjiri had just completed her architecture degree. Starting a job had been absolutely necessary.

Neeru, her Mother….She was like the star of the family. A great cook, popular among children, she was the ideal homemaker, in the true sense of the word. It was her love that had created their joint household to call it a “home”. Almost devoid of any ego, she never got offended or allowed herself to be affected by someone else’s bad demeanour towards her. In fact, people (except Manjiri’s Dad - Nana) rarely behaved badly with her. In her 22 years, Manjiri had never quarreled with her Mother, although she and her Dad had several skirmishes, especially over Neeru, as Manjiri always accused Nana of treating Neeru like a doormat.

Manjiri was having all these thoughts while in the train to Pune. Being calm and relaxed was impossible. The entire family and many acquaintances would be there in Pune, she knew. Neeru had a lot of well-wishers.

Her two cousins (Manjiri was a single child), Madhuri and Manasi, had come to receive her at the station. Upon entering through the gate of the “Malti Madhav” bungalow where they all stayed as one big family, she could see her elder cousins’ husbands, their children, Neeru’s cousins and other close relatives, gathered in the sitting room.

They all stayed at the bungalow for the funeral and shraadha. There was not much said between them, except bringing up remembrances of Neeru. By the end of the fourteenth day, everyone seemed a bit relaxed and spoke about only the happy memories of Neeru. Nana would be aloof from all these gatherings and Manjiri never bothered to ask her Dad where he went or how he was feeling. She knew he never had any love for his wife and her death had now set him free. Nana had never been accepted as such, by Neeru’s brother (Abba), although he had permitted the couple to stay in his house after understanding their financial situation.

After the funeral, Manjiri returned to her job in Mumbai. She never received a single letter or phone call from her Dad. It used to be Viju Aunty (Neeru’s brother’s wife) who would call Manjiri and shed tears over their mutual loss and bring up some of Neeru’s good memories. A few months after Neeru’s demise, Manjiri received a frantic call from Viju Aunty, asking her to come to Pune as soon as possible.

The news was most shameful. Nana had hastily gotten married to some woman fifteen years his junior, without consulting anyone (even Manjiri)! He and the new wife were still staying in Neeru’s brother’s (Abba’s) house, as Abba was too much of a gentleman to order him out of the house.

Manjiri hugged Viju Aunty and asked her in despair, “What am I going to do now, Aunty? I sensed myself to be an orphan after Mother’s death. I was never close to Nana. I guessed Nana would do something like this!” She failed to notice the strange look on Viju’s face, as she said this.

“Wait here.” Viju said and opened the wardrobe to remove an envelope from the drawer. “Read this letter, Manjiri. It is the last letter I got from Neeru when she was ill, before the coma. I will wait for you in the living room. Oh my child, I cannot….” She rushed out of the room before completing her sentence.

The next hour passed in deathly silence. Aunt Viju was sitting in the rocking chair in the living room, her heart beating so loudly that she feared something would happen to her before she was reunited with…..

Manjiri came into the living room. The silence was painful. She had evidently been crying. Without saying much, she rushed over to Viju and into her arms, crying, “Oh, Ma! You are so good. I cannot believe this happened in our family.” For a while, both of them cried, tears mixed with sorrow about the past and hopeful joy for the future. Then Viju settled back in her chair and continued with her story of their past.

“Firstly, keep in mind that it is only on Neeru’s request in the letter, that I am telling you all this. Otherwise, I would have still accepted you as my ‘niece’ and made sure you received as much love as Madhuri or Manasi - your real sisters! “

“Neeru was a bit younger than me, but we both got married at the same time. Alas, for Neeru, the marriage was not a garden of roses. For me, Neeru’s brother was like a saint. In fact, the brother-sister pair were almost saintly. Neeru’s husband Nana, had some bad ways, so Abba (Neeru’s brother) decided to give them lodging in his own house, for Neeru’s sake, so he could keep watch on his sister and make sure she did not get ill-treated by Nana. We had our first daughter, Manasi, after three years. Three more years passed by, with no child for Neeru. We thought it was a medical problem with Neeru. Those days, the blame was always put on the wife, not the husband. Also, certain things were never discussed. Only before Neeru’s death when she gave me this letter and we discussed some things from the past, did I find out the sad truth – Nana disliked Neeru and was repulsed by her - never treated her like a wife. I do not know why he even married her, but in those days, the groom and bride did not have much of a say, especially if the groom was not well off, financially, compared to the bride. Neeru was no beauty, especially for people who looked only at such superficial details, but many of us who were close to her, knew she had a heart of gold.

Ofcourse, some thirty years ago when this happened, I did not know about Neeru’s misfortunes in married life. All we thought was Neeru was barren and hence Nana had started hating her even more. What a heinous mistake it was, on our part!

So anyways, after three more years, Madhuri was born. Neeru looked after both the girls and I could sense she loved children so much. A child was the only hope she had in her sad life and God had denied her of that pleasure as well. I was a bit shocked when Neeru approached me and asked me if I could ‘gift’ my next issue to her. Still, she was very close to me, my poor sister-in-law and Abba and I decided to agree to that on two conditions. If our next child was a boy, we would keep him, as Abba wanted atleast one son. If a daughter, Neeru would get her and her and Nana would have to continue to stay at Abba’s house. Although we shared our discussions with Nana, he did not give a care about any of these discussions. If only the villain had been truthful and admitted it was his fault that they had no children! But no, he joined the rest of the world in putting the blame on Neeru! As is, his life was busy with other things and our big scheme did not interest him at all. As long as he had free lodging and monetary help, he did not worry.

Just this once, God was on Neeru’s side! Thank you God! You, my dear, were born to us. Neeru did everything as usual. Looking after me, taking care of you and cooking for the entire household of fifteen people or so! Her joy knew no limits! God had answered her prayers. The fact that we gave you to Neeru, remained a close secret. No one except Abba, Nana, I and Neeru knows about this (Nana did not care, either way). Neeru took good care of you the last 22 years. Almost like a single parent. Nana never loved you, since you had our blood in you. He hated Abba in particular, for behaving in a condescending manner with him. I am sure you must have also felt that Abba loved you more than Nana did. Neeru probably knew about Nana’s careless ways and was concerned that you would be left alone after her death. After all, you would have never accepted me as a Mother, if you had not known the secret. I would have always been ‘Viju Aunty’ to you, however close our relation.

We would call you Krishna sometimes (a Krishna of the real world, not divinity ofcourse), Neeru and I. Since we were all in the same house, you never were physically away from me and always in my mind. You, Manjiri, have been fortunate enough to have the love of two Mothers at the same time! Remember, as a kid, sometimes you would have a glass of Horlicks at Neeru’s house and then scamper downstairs to me where I would also give you a glass of Horlicks! Both of us knew your likes and dislikes! Did you ever sense that Neeru was not your real Mother? Ofcourse, no! The maternal instinct in Neeru was too strong for her to reject someone, once she took ownership of them.

I hope you accept Abba and me as your biological parents and do not hold a grudge against us. Sometimes, we have to do certain things, to bring that faint glimmer of hope in someone else’s life. Someone we love dearly. God gave me a lot of good things in life. Neeru was less fortunate and I wanted to make her happy. You were the one strong hope that Neeru had, to cling onto. I hope you understand and forgive me! Welcome home, my dear daughter Krishna! “

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