Let's Redefine Manners

“Now sweetheart, let’s revise this. What will you say to every one of your guests as they leave?”
“Thank you for coming. I really enjoyed your company.”
“Good girl.”
“But dad…”
“No buts.”
“It’s my birthday party. Why do I have to invite the entire neighbourhood? I’m pretty sure I’m not going to have fun with the Mathur brats. They’ll mess up my toys any chance they get.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ve got to be polite to our guests. Now let’s do this again. This time, do it with a smile.”

I gave him a forced smile and then stretched it all the way to stress upon the fact that it’s mighty fake.

My dad, as we were growing up, always told us how important it was to keep up appearances, maintain relationships, avoid slander at any cost and always be accommodating and respectful.

It is an important time-honoured lesson to teach your kids as they’re growing up. Manners are of utmost significance. They’re a mirror to good upbringing. They’re the one thing that you can depend on to bail you out of most social crises you encounter in your adult life — and, mind you, there’ll be situations aplenty where they’d give you a fighting chance to win.

As Indians, as an inherent part of our culture, we’re just taught to suck it up and be respectful. To mince our words. To open our houses to uninvited guests. To share our small plate of food. To never say ‘No’ to elders, and if it’s absolutely necessary, to soft-cushion the impact of it. To run errands against our will for the pados waali aunty, even though our schedules may be running as crazy as that of a political candidate during elections.

I have grown up keeping this valued, sometimes stifling, lesson in the back of my mind. And it is only now, as an adult raising a child of my own in the big city, that I have to say with gloomy realization: It is time to toss this universally accepted, age-old attachment to manners in the trash.

It’s not because I think my parents were wrong. It’s just that I don’t necessarily think that manners are awfully significant in today’s context. My parents lived in quaint townships most of their lives, with their own circle of people who’d be ready to bail them out of life-altering emergencies (or help them babysit while they enjoy a movie date). They had job security for life, a good work-life balance with no tweets to answer and no self-perceived social media pressures, giving them enough time in hand to volunteer for charity work, social obligations and cultural events. More importantly, getting from point A to B in the towns we lived never took more than fifteen minutes, unless we were visiting another city. Time hardly came into the equation when we had to step out of the house. The only thing that we had to worry about was to be fashionably late cos getting held up by traffic was a rarity.

We had house-parties over the weekend spent playing dark room and Pictionary with our friends, while our parents swayed to the sound of oldies, roaring laughter emerging from the living room as we tried to keep as quiet and still as possible, in the backdrop of large, lavish spreads of home-cooked buffets and shandies. You get the picture. Of course, come Monday and our dads would be dutifully back to their eight-to-five jobs and our mums would be back to their gruelling groundhog days of clearing the aftermath of hosting parties and making mundane life happy and easy for us — while also finding enough breathing space to gossip about Mr.Sharma’s sleazy drunken comment and Mrs. Roy scandalously “smoking with the men”.

What a wonderful, upbeat thing it was to grow in a small township. No wonder we have such good manners.

Cut to today. You live in a big city. You’re a parent who’s constantly racing against time to get your kid to school punctually. You hop on in the elevator of your high-rise building and some random guy holds it up cos his wife’s probably forgotten to pack pickles in his lunch box and she is sorting the choicest ones for him as her morning endearment to him…while we continue to wait. Another girl, probably an alien, is new to the concept of ‘no-network in elevators’ and starts to get really nasal and high-pitched with her Helloooos (which briefly takes you back to Adele’s version of it). When you finally make it to the bottom, as the doors open, anxious disaster survivors (I can only assume) are storming in before you can get out. You fight the urge to tread on their feet with your pointy heels. Anyway, you head out and the first thing you’re greeted by to start your conceivably uneventful commute is a giant stash of dog poop parked right in your walkway. Suddenly, the day is not so uneventful. Now, you’re an avatar in a game involving jumping over puddles, suspicious piles of gunk and in-your-face garbage dumps. As a mandatory Monsoon-level skill in Mumbai, you’re also required to twirl with your kid in your arms to avoid speeding car splashes over your kid’s crisp, clean uniform. You save your hot breath of fire, your choicest cuss words, for His Highness the rickshaw driver who averts his face like an angry wife on hearing where you’d like him to take you. But since you’re taught some restraint on your part, you start with basic manners 101, notching it up to kind pleas, and then in vain you try to reason with him. But hey, how do you even reason with a guy playing deaf? So out comes a stream of words you’d heard through your school cafeteria and road rages for his benefit.

Anyway, you drop your kid to school. Of course, you have been delayed by unforeseen forces and your caffeine urge is now soaring to the skies. So you think, what the hell, I’ll stop for some coffee. Your local barista comes immediately to mind with his “come hither” expressions. You get there, heaving and expectant, but what do you see? There’s a huge line. But you try to empathize. I mean you’re part of the crowd, right? People need coffee to get their motors up and running. So you stand in the queue. When you’re one person away from the counter, the young boy in front of you decides he can’t tear himself away from early morning social media traffic even to place his order. Come on, he’s very important in the virtual world unlike you. So he continues tapping away and smirking to himself. The seemingly miffed barista, who may just wind up accidentally spitting in your coffee instead of his, tries to rush with his order with pointed questions. You’re a well-mannered person. So you look the other way and give the boy a break. But the person behind you is now persistently nudging you to move further, constantly shoving you with their leather bag. Apparently, now it’s your fault that the line is not moving. You give them a nasty stare and a bonus grunt and continue on the journey to chase your golden caramel latte.

Phew…You’ve dropped your kid to school, against all odds, you've had a great cup of coffee, and now you’re back home. You've got that “what do I do next” sort of vibe going on. You gobble down your breakfast cereal with vitamins. And just when you’re settling down to use your precious me-time to do your own work, the bell rings. It’s the neighbour. Well, of course. You’re a stay-at-home mom and you can spare some time for chai and gossip. You nod curtly through the conversations and give monosyllabic answers. Not hint enough. So then you say you really should be getting back to work. “What work?” “Oh, the writing.” “How do you find time for hobbies,” comes the curious afterthought. You explain how it’s not a hobby and that it really is your work. “Well, so are you paid for it?” You’re not one to exaggerate so you’re forced to tell them you’re not. And suddenly, even though, your neighbour’s giving you a pitiful look of understanding, you’re really, really angry. But thankfully, good manners come to the rescue. You bite your lip and shrug your shoulders.

Now here’s the thing. I want my kid to be well-behaved. I do think it is important to reward kindness with gracious words, love with affectionate smiles and thoughtfulness with gratitude. I want them to follow the manual of good upbringing as we did. But I'm not a big fan of it. I don’t hold good manners above keeping your level of sanity or holding your ground. I don’t want them growing up to accept things and keep silent in good manners. I don’t want them to say they’re OK when they clearly aren't.

I don’t want them to be afraid of saying ‘No’ in the guise of not wanting to hurt sentiments, especially when it is imperative to say it. When manners come in the way of honesty, I think in the long run, it’s better to say bitter truths rather than not saying anything at all. Manners may be necessary in a lot of contexts, probably in also learning the art of shaping words that cannot be taken back, but I don’t think they’re the primal end we should be striving for in our kids for this time and age that comes with its own quirky stress inducers and self-proclaimed achievement indices.

So, kids of this generation, here’s a new clause to the manners lesson you have learned in school and at home. Good manners breed good manners. Most of the time. But watch out for assholery and douchebaggery. If you find them, f*** good manners.

Into the Light... A Trail of Shadows Behind

"For better or for worse, till {cough} do us part."

Image Reference: The Book Thief (www.filmequals.com)

Pardon me? I missed the word after "till". You know that dreary, 'one-that-should-not-be-talked-about' D-word or [Insert Favourite Euphemism]. The part about [clears throat] death. You'd say that's a pretty morbid note to begin my blog with, since I'm meeting you after a long hiatus and considering this is technically, my first post in 2016. But something happened in the near family recently that drew me to this seemingly impassable, by-invite-only, eerie-looking door and my dread of mortality.

I first encountered Death as a soft-cushioned blow when I was nine years old. My grandma passed away, a woman who seems very shadowy now, but whose regal air and booming voice I can vaguely recollect, like a fading apparition. I really can't tell you how I dealt with her not being there on her armchair everyday. I am sure I must've got ghosted by her once in a blue moon. I don't recall if I hung on to any of her relics as a way of keeping her home. Her sudden disappearance into the shadows — it must've been quizzical but unfortunately, I don't remember anything about it.

But death went about its business and four years later, when we were sleeping, it came back for my mother. I remember being woken up to the sound of my loud breathing above my dad's anxious voice, as if somehow I had already felt its presence. I remember a ringing sound in my ears, like when an air plane dips in altitude all of a sudden. And I remember incomprehension. The haze of incomprehension lasted for months. We'd go out to play with our friends and come back and realize that someone irreplaceable is missing. We'd eat food without really tasting it — sometimes we'd complain out of habit but it didn't really matter. We were always huddled up in a group of friends and family who threatened to give us warm hugs and kisses for every little incident that reminded us of our mum. And yet there was a thick blackness within - through which the soothing, consoling words failed to seep through, one that made us feel lonely like never before.

I have felt the pervasive, all-consuming experience of bereavement more times in my close family than I thought I could take and every time, it took a piece of me to an alien land. To the stars, to another dimension, to another life form, to dreams - anything that promises a connection between the living and the dead. I lost my brother at a young age to malaria. We, as his family, and his close friends fell in a crumble of despair and agony at the invincible shock of it. I saw us rise from the ashes only to become a little distant, each one of us lost in his/her own unrequited longing for closure, for the finality of knowing that he's not here with us any more, of knowing that just like that, one day, against all odds, he's fallen out of life.

Every time I look at someone who's experienced loss recently, I know that they're wearing a façade, one that makes you think, "Oh, he'she's coping with it so well." "Oh, he/she's a fighter" or "How very brave of him/her." But the hard truth is there's no putting away grief. Unfortunately, grief strikes you in places that you thought were numb before and it takes its own sweet time to heal. Peels of the depths of  love and loss buried deep underneath a hard layer of shock come to surface gradually until you hurt no more, until you stop looking for signs that they'll come back, until you can finally say goodbye, until you can tell their stories, of your deep connection with them to the world with a brave smile or calm tears.

I've thought about Death every time I encountered it in the vicinity and over time, I've found some solace in mellowing the face of it. When I first chanced upon it in my family, it was a dark-faced stranger, inconsequential to my scheme of things at large. Its face grew more menacing as it paid us more unwelcome visits and I started dreading about whom it would claim next in its creeps. I still shake involuntarily when I hear of somebody else drowning in the unknown, leaving the other dots in their life circle to deal with the complications of life, that will only move on in uncaring gusts and torrents. I've thought about Death a great deal and learned (the hard way) that perhaps, it'd make it easier if we could give Death a more solemn, and I dare say, a less spine-chilling appeal.  I sometimes look at Death not as an impenetrable black shadow but as a gentle, Gandalf-like, white wizard dressed in opulent veils coming down on his white-horsed chariot to take you on another road, parallel to life, equally intoxicating and riveting, anything but ordinary. Maybe it's just more exciting to visualize your loved ones in an alternate world than to think they've turned into unchangeable stars. Maybe it's just comforting to think that death is merely a change of location that cannot be geo-tagged, isn't it?

Today, when I talk about my mum and brother, I notice I don't break into inconsolable tears but reminisce them fondly; probably that is the blinding effect of time over grief. I realize that without knowing, I've moved on. However, their worth in my life remains unfazed. I wear my mum's gold bangles and I carry one of my brother's last gifts to me, a pearl choker, in my purse. I finally know that I've reached a place where I can look at their memories as worth celebrating and smiling about, as was their life. As is LIFE. I may still look for traces of them in everyone I get attached to. I may look at old albums and wonder about how much I really knew them and grieve over pieces of them that I've lost forever. Some of their memories are still strong, clung to an old habit or mannerism, a brand of soap or the smell of food. It's strangely true then that while I have come to terms with my sense of loss, their worth in my life is immortal.

To all those who are experiencing the grief of loss in some form or the other, there's a passage that I came across that seems so true:

“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
- Anne Lamott

Here's hoping we learn to dance with the limp.

XOXO

Remember the Time - The 2010s Special :)

It's a funny time we live in. I look at my three-year old daughter and she's already surfing you tube for Peppa Pig by seasons and episodes. I type keywords for her to get to her source of five-minute undivided attention. One swipe of finger and lo behold, the world of short cartoon snippets and DIY playdough projects is unveiling before her. (Who has the time and attention span for the classic half-hour episode now, right?)

And I can only gasp and wonder what this generation will be all about. It'll be radically different from the world we grew up in, no doubt. As I wait for the slow miracle of water-heating in my bath, I catch her lounging on the couch, seemingly engrossed in saving the world from her phone.

I briefy lay down with her and look at the view from her eyes. (Oh but first we take a selfie.)

I see a kid whose vision and curiosity for learning is instantly gratified, thanks to magic crystal ball-like gadgets, assuring her of a less than ten-second waiting time. Hmm...no wonder then that patience has died a sorry death in the waiting line of virtues to be recognized by the 2010s born, or the Alpha generation.

The Daddy Dearest Selfie

Back in the day, when we were little—oh yes, I'm already saying these things—remember how electronic gadgets still had that exotic bird sheen and were completely off-limits? And you couldn't even rewind a videotape without supervision and when you were finally allowed to talk on the pricey cordless phone, you kept doing that goofy, enraptured hop to see how far your cordless phone would get reception outside your home? So of course it's still unimaginable to me that a three-year old can use my phone with an air of authority, talk to her grandparents at length, knowing fully well which window she needs to lean on to get network. She switches channels on TV, surfs youtube and dictates on-point wardrobe choices based on her whims and fancies. And she's already expanding her working vocabulary with an occasional  heavy-word shocker like "frustrated" and "tepid". And if I raise my eyebrow, she always has one retort. "Caillou says it." Psstt...[Caillou is an annoying cartoon character who makes me want to smack my phone to pieces every time he speaks in his whiny voice.]

Ok, not to say that our childhood didn't have any 'OMG, really" edges of its own. Sure, we didn't have Skype chats and virtual reality. We grew up playing the same games as our older siblings even though they were all about mass-homicide and getting pulped to death for no damn reason. (Umm...what else did you think happened to Mario every single time?) Coming from the age of free-range childhood when our parents really had no geo-tags telling them where we were all day, I can already see that there are some things that our kids could never claim to have that we did.

Like Goldspot. (Remember how good that was?) Like making pen-pals from another country and losing touch abruptly and wondering whatever the hell happened to them. Like getting blisters on your hands and feet from playing in the heat in the dead of afternoon without so much as a dime-size portion of sunscreen and day-time mosquito repellents to save you from radiation and dengue. Also, remember playing with a bunch of kids and bringing them home for snacks without even knowing their names? Best days ever.

Even then, I'm halfway through this decade and doing more double-takes on the antics, quick wit and observation power of my three-year old daughter than the number of times my dad threw his hands in despair at our practical jokes. His favorite lines were "Kya hoga tum logo ka" and the house-favorite "Apne bade bhai behen se kuch seekho". In my dad's defense, we were his second batch of kids and naturally his proclivity for dealing with our shit had deterred in quality, kinda like the latter seasons of Full House.

All these yesteryear reminiscences has got me thinking about how the children of 2010 — sounds almost as menacing as the children of the damned —  or the alpha generation, would recall their childhood.

So I thought I'll go ahead and create a list that stereotype a kid (and a parent) from this decade, one which Saanvi can read some day in the future and LOL at. But she'll probably say, "Mom, why couldn't you just use memes instead? Yea, I really have a lot of spare time.

Hey, remember the time:

1. "We played football all through recess...in the rain! And remember how you loved sneaking up behind me to splash mud balls at me. And then we forgot all about the game and just kicked mud at each other! Man we'd be so ewww if we were playing for real. Maxim Knightnemesis is still showering dude!"

2."Mom invited you for lunch and she had this epic menu planned out. But she kept torturing us by making us click pictures of tomatoes and some gluten-free crap. When we finally got to eat, after clicking a selfie with our little portions of pretty food, we figured there was no salt and the pretty goat cheese was pretty prett-ay stinky! So we ate take-out pizza instead, but pictures of our happy faces drooling all over little plates of food made it to Mom's instagram with hashtags #foodpornforkids and #theywipeditclean.

3. "We were forced to read the classics so we got hold of one of those travel-around-the-world books that sound exciting. Moby Dick, right? He lost me at Massachusetts dude... I mean who in God’s name refers to their friends as chums? Ewww... And why does everything have to be symbolic? Uggh...Bottom line: You should totally read a book by its cover. (The book jacket was f-in' dull and dated!)

4."We went on a roadtrip and dad gave us this whole long speech on how we have no taste of adventure cos we've never been lost. So he shut the GPS lady and off we went. And then he kept asking people for directions, and once we came round to ask the same guy twice and he said, "Dude, don't you have GPS?" I still don't get the point. But going on that isolated trail with a dead end was so badass!"

5. "Oh we were planning my ninth birthday and mum said she was out of themes. We'd already done superheroes, avatar, jungle book, the underwater thing, cars and everything. So mom said, "You know we really didn't have any themes when we were growing up." And bam, I got my next theme! It was the 90s. Everyone dressed up in tacky clothes with shoulder pads and dorky hairstyles and listened to awful music that we couldn't stop humming in class the next day. It was epic! Well for everyone except mom who wasn't too pleased about having to bake a cake by herself and cook all the food. How else would it be convincing, no?"

6.

"I think I was seven and we were at the airport waiting to board a flight to Bangkok. I went to get myself some water and saw a friend's dad from school and we started talking. He bought some cake for Sasha, who was waiting at another corner. I was about to walk up to Sasha with him holding my hand and leading the way when mom jumped out of nowhere and started yelling at my friend's dad on top of her voice. She talked fast berating me for walking off with Sasha's dad, who was a stranger to her. After she was done recapping all the horrifying viral videos she'd seen on social media thereby establishing Sasha's dad was a perv who'd spiked my cake, I told her in a soft voice, "Mom, you remember Sasha?  Sasha's dad." And then I watched her face go from white to red in under ten secs. Weird mom alert!"

7. "We went to a cousin's for a week and they didn't have Netflix and our laptops and iPads were off-limits. And by the time we got back, we were lagging behind eight episodes of GoT and when we got back to school, everyone started giving away spoilers, like really meaty ones involving Jon Snow.  That's a week of my life wasted watching commercials and women in Halloween costumes! I can't even...."

8. We were having a party at a friend's place and somebody sneaked in alcohol. We were 12 then. Neel's mom got home before time and complained to everyone's parents that we were drinking. We were all collectively grounded for two weeks, cut off from our cellphones so no whatsapp, insta and FB. On the fourth day, Neel got hold of his iPad from his dad's room and created a petition on FB to explain the situation and how we've been unfairly punished. And somebody shared that petition on his dad's wall saying "Please share if you agree that these poor victims of circumstance should be un-grounded!" Ofcourse, Neel was grounded for a whole month after that. But his petition got over 3000 likes!

9."We went through different selfie obsessions - one with the duckface in different places - at a coffee shop, at the gym, in the closet. And then we shot the duckfaces (cos they were stupid) and moved on to moustaches. And then we started cloning ourselves. What would be without our selfies?  Apple pie selfie. Bae selfie. Cute streetdog selfie. (It bit me later so more like an ouchie.) Selfie's selfie. One time, I felt I'd had enough. I mean what's the point right? Look at me. I'm so cute even when I'm hideous! But I decided to take one anyway. It was the existential crisis selfie dude. Cos life's a selfie! Ooh that should be my next caption. "

10.

"Oh and we were chatting and you said something cheesy...and I really don't remember what. But I remember looking for the cheese emoji and spending the next five minutes looking for it and when I couldn't find it, I googled about it. I even tweeted to get answers.  But whoah! There's no cheese emoji dude!"



Got any fun "Remember the time" to add to the list? Be my guest and write below :).

All My Love for Red Bean Biryani

You know how sometimes kids can be all-so-discerning about food for no reason at all? And while you may give that an optimistic spin and think they're the next Gordon Ramsay or something, may I speak for all mums and say it's not so much fun being around them. For Saanvi, it's the same old story that goes for all three-year olds. No greens, no pasta, no slimy noodles, no chillies....no everything...unless maybe if it's accompanied by Shrikhand. And then you also gotta deal with the toddler fixation. Everything has to be one uniform color. If it's yellow, it's gotta be all yellow. No dark seeds, stringy leaves, mushy tomatoes and other icky-looking stuff peeping right back at you.

That look...it says you're doomed! 

But then I found this magic bowl of rice - food worthy of unicorns and tiny, picky pixies with long faces. It seems to break all the rules of toddler pester- power over eating. It's got longer grains of rice, red beans, muddy brown colored nuts, leafy herbs and a variety of colors and textures. When thrown all together, they made it all the way to my little girl's gut without being contemplated about, tossed around the roof of the mouth for a minute and 'blah-ed' up on the floor in utter rejection. What more, I could  leave her with a bowl of it and she was perfectly good eating it by herself.

Long story short, it was a huge hit. I've been making it almost every weekend and it hasn't gone out of style, unlike Saanvi's former love - her prized corn pancakes and dal khichdi.

It's funny how good food can be a cure for so many life-wrecking problems. Like getting an extra hour of me-time rather than squandering it away on cooking something anew. Whether you're dealing with a notoriously fussy-eating crisis at the dining table or crowd-pleasing party food, this rice delicacy is your go-to recipe!

It's Kashmiri red beans cooked in a fragrant, gently-spiced tomato-mint gravy layered together with long-grained fluffy saffron-infused rice, nuts and herbs. Cynics might say, oh Rajma Chawal! What's the big deal about that? But it's so much more. The variety of textures and flavors give it such an intriguing makeover. Have it on its own or eat it with mint chutney. My daughter, of course, eats it with tomato ketchup and a dollop of ghee. (No surprises there.)

Red Bean Biryani - Serves 2 (and half)

What You Need:

For the Gravy:

1 cup Kashmiri rajma (the smaller, darker variety) - soaked overnight

3 medium-size tomatoes - finely chopped

1 large onion - sliced

2 teaspoons ginger-garlic paste

A handful of mint leaves, torn

A handful of coriander leaves, finely chopped

Dry Spices:

1/2 teaspoon turmeric

2 teaspoons coriander powder

1 teaspoon chilli powder

1 teaspoon amchur powder

1 teaspoon freshly ground cumin powder

1 teaspoon garam masala

Bay leaf - torn

Whole spices - 3-4 cloves, 1 inch cinnamon stick and 4 green cardamoms (slit)

Olive Oil - 3 tablespoons

Salt to taste

For the Rice:

1 and half cups long-grained Basmati Rice

Olive Oil - 1 tablespoon

For Layering:

A few Saffron threads (dissolved in two tablespoons milk)

Dry fruits of your choice - Roasted in ghee until golden-brown (I used almonds, cashews and raisins)

Ghee

Sprinkling of Kewra Water (Alternatively, use rose water.)

Chopped coriander and mint leaves 

Method:

Make the Rajma Gravy

1. Pressure-cook rajma in ample water with a piece of ginger and salt. You don't want it too mushy. Eight whistles on a moderate flame would be just right.

2. Drain the rajma in a colander. Reserve the liquid to be used in cooking rice.

3. In a pan, heat olive oil. Add bay leaf and whole spices.

4. When the spices get aromatic, add onions and saute them for two-three minutes on moderate flame. You want the onions to get a light-brown color - just when they start to caramelize.

5. Add ginger-garlic paste and saute for half a minute.

6. Now add finely chopped tomatoes, herbs and dry spices (except garam masala). Cook on moderate flame for five to seven minutes until the oil starts to give way around the edges.

7. Add cooked rajma and salt to your taste. Cook it on medium flame for a few minutes. You want the gravy to be slightly dry. Also take care that your red beans don't get mushy.

8. Sprinkle with garam masala. Blend well. Remove from heat. 

Note: This recipe is gently-spiced. Feel free to add slit green chillies and more garam masala to your liking.

Make Rice:

1. Wash the rice. Soak it in warm water for fifteen minutes.

2. Drain the water and put it in a glass bowl. Add three times reserved bean stock and 1 tablespoon olive oil.

3. Microwave it on high for fifteen minutes.

4. Spread it onto a plate and fluff it using a fork so that each grain separates.

Cheffy Tip: 

1. Adding half a teaspoon of vinegar or lemon will ensure your rice grains separate and fluff. And look extra-long. (That didn't sound right for some reason.)

2. If you're making it for a party, you may even put your whole spices such as cardamoms and cinnamon sticks and cloves in a muslin cloth and pound it slightly and slide it into your glass bowl for some extra-fragrant rice.

Layer:

1. The fun part begins. In a deep microwave-safe bowl, start layering. Add a layer of rajma.

2. Next, add a layer of rice. To the layer of rice, add some ghee, saffron-infused milk, chopped roasted dry-fruits and a few drops of kewra water. (If you're using rose water, add a teaspoon.) Garnish with coriander and mint.

3. Continue layering this way, having rice with garnishing as your top-most layer.

4. Preheat your oven to 180 degrees. Pop your biryani bowl sealed with a lid in the oven. (You may seal it with aluminium foil too. I use a convection oven so I can't really do that.) Bake for thirty minutes.

5. Your warm and aromatic rice goodness is now ready. Remove from oven.

6. Mix well before serving. Serve with mint chutney and raita.

Bon Appetit!

The Power of One Is to One

There are times, when you're sitting by yourself in an over-crowded restaurant, that you can't help being dragged into a small crust of other people's lives. I won't call myself an eavesdropper as such but I won't deny, on certain occasions, I've sat silently with my husband at the dinner table, gesturing him to listen on to what other couples have to say to each other. One of my uncles had once casually observed during a dinner conversation - that you can tell a lot about the age of a couple by the way they order a meal. I was blissfully single back then and that statement struck me as odd, like one of those vague, pseudo-intellectual observations one makes at a party in a happy-high state.

What do I think now? Well, still don't know a squat about that, but I do think ordering a meal inadvertently brings out one of the most significant aspects of a couple's relationship - power dynamics. A conversation I happened to pry on made me think in that direction.

My husband and I sat down at our dinner table, uncomfortably close to another couple who seemed downright jubilant to be in each other's company, lighting up at the slightest remark and holding hands from across the table. We were having one of those days when we didn't have much to say to each other but sure, we were beaming at each other at the prospect of being in a swanky restaurant on a weekday. And dining out still had its special-occasion sheen for me, more from the fact that I get to wear a dress and I don't have to cook. Anyway, so as usual, we're mocking the names of entrées in the menu list and giggling hysterically, when suddenly I overhear the husband/boyfriend/fiancée from the other table saying, "You know, I'm really not that hungry. Let's split something."

Now I've been in this interesting predicament several times before. I don't know but there's something about splitting a meal that naturally brings out the push and pull of a man-woman relationship. So again, I gesture to my husband and for the next five minutes, we decide to be that obnoxious couple who dives their ears straight into other people's conversations; you know, just for fun.

This is what I recollect of the conversation:

Man: You know I'm really not that hungry right now. You want to split something?
Woman: Oh! Well, if you're not that hungry.
Man: Anything you want my love!
Woman: You want to split..you decide.
Man [looking furiously into the menu card]: Ok, how about some aubergine parmigiana?
Woman: Ha! Baingan. Predictable! Like we don't have enough of it at your mum's house. Get over it...
Man: It just sounds interesting. Ok, your turn.
Woman:  I'm sick of deciding meals. Give me a break today na, baby.
Man: Fine.  How about your favorite pasta and a soup?
Woman [pursing her lips]: Boring, vanilla pasta! OK, how about some Fois Gras de Canard?
Man: Ya! Pick the most pretentious sounding item on the menu and cough it out loud. Do you even know the meaning of Blah Blah?
Woman: Your ****!
Man: That's all yours to have, baby. [smirking]
Woman: You forget that I took French in school. Besides they have descriptions. See! [gesturing to the menu]
Man: Ohhhh....Miss "I was born French"...Let's be safe and just get some pasta and soup.
Woman [launching into a speech]: So just cos I asked you to decide, you take the easiest choice and shove it on my face. Should I give you dal rice everyday and be done with it? Why should I take the pains to think up a new dish everyday?
Man [ looking utterly confused]: Huh? But I was just....
Woman: Pasta in red sauce...Fine I'll choose. We're going to have Fois Grad de Canard and Risotto di Zuccha. There you are!
Man [looking defeated]: Alright, alright..Either way, I'm not that hungry. I'll just get a soup.
Woman: Oh, don't be such a bore. You'll have what I'm having. And you'll like it!
Man: Mommy?
Woman [smiling]: Waiter!
Man: Hey, I want soup!!!

All this while, we sat with our heads buried in the menu pretending to make some light conversation and giggling to ourselves. You may think this is such an inconsequential, overblown argument but you'll be surprised at the number of times you've been there before, neck-deep in the battle of power over who resigns first. Over who does more than their share of contribution to domestic chores than the other. Over who makes the infallible mistake of checking Facebook in the middle of a conversation. Over who succumbs into letting the other watch what he/she wants on TV and many such mundane, on-the-surface trivial power struggles that take up a good part of coupledom. I recall the first year of my marriage, where I dished out the silent treatment to my husband probably way more than I should. The first year felt like Groundhog Day; we were having the same fights, tugging at each other's personal space. We took turns to being a stuck-up nag or an overgrown goofball, for seemingly no legit reason at all (OK, sometimes reasons took the shape of biscuit crumbs on the couch, wet towels on the bed or new dresses.)

The thing about marriage is that you see each other everyday - when you're having a bad hair day, when you're sick, when you're feeling blue. Even when you're gritting your teeth, cussing like a sailor while downloading a movie on a slow connection. It sure gets difficult to see each other in the perfect context all the time.

It's no wonder that we're tempted to reform the other. Sooner or later, you start resorting to some harmless power-play indulgences that may start with a passive-aggressive "You can't wear this to my boss's dinner". However, you don't realize that they come with a disclaimer. They can take a pretty ugly turn, spiralling down fast the vile path of pointing fingers at each other, layering arguments with counter-views, working up your individual emotions to a point where the other will be cornered into saying, "Fine, I give up. You're right." But it doesn't stop there. You brainstorm other age-old manipulation tactics to have the upper hand in the relationship. You blow hot and cold to test your partner's devotion to you. I know of couples who withhold intimacy to get even with their spouses. Some delay responses to urgent texts deliberately. And let's face it. Haven't you ever felt tempted, maybe in vexation, to use one of your partner's pet peeves, say wearing an old raggedy tee, merely to exert your pester-power over him/her?

To have power in a relationship is a heady feeling. We vow to share our lives with our better halves in eternal happiness but at times, we also feel the need of fending for our individual desires. At any cost. We defend our interests with all our might. We play the victim, we throw snide comments and we scheme.

And of course, we try in vain to reform the other.  Is it OK for you to try to change the other in a relationship if you're doing it for the greater good?

Maybe. But sometimes it's that tug of 'you vs me' that makes you miss the bigger picture - one that many older, wiser couples talk about. That you're on the same team. That it's not about winning or losing.

This year will be my fifth year of marriage. I can't say I am an expert on the subject. But if there's anything I've learned about marriage in these years is that whether your power-play tricks are aimed at winning an argument, getting TV control, or making your spouse feel guilty, the victory is only short-lived. So the next time you're tempted to try out your genius little schemes into getting your way, try this instead.

Freeze your grey cells right there. Give in. Lay down your weapons. An hour later, it's not going to matter who won.

Take one for the team.

Keeping Up With Diwali

Ah! We're already into that exciting time of the year when our tummies flutter with butterflies, our closets glitter with gold, and our wallets jingle with coins - yea, chillar money is all you have left after shopping for friends, family, family of friends, Daisy Aunty's cats even... (who continue to multiply at an alarming rate). Undoubtedly, it's my favourite time of the year. Our houses go through a delightfully jaw-dropping makeover, our faces are lit with the radiance of golden lights and the hope that the Goddess of Wealth will be prett-ay, prett-ay pleased with us this year.  And our spirits... there's something about Diwali that makes our spirits dance around in a mixed bag of child-like joy, teenage unruliness, and that maternal urge to serve and please. Diwali, in all its grandor and large spiritedness, is pretty much the same in every household.

But then again, we all have our family rituals.

I can faintly recall my Diwali as a kid.  Sitting in a circle of chatty, giggly siblings, savoring my mom's cooking; her trademark balushahi and gulab jamuns served in squeaky, stainless steel bowls; gulab jamuns that my younger brother described as, "When you dive into it, it resists ever so lightly only to unleash all the gooey syrupy goodness on your spoon but it's still laden intact. And when you put it into your mouth it slowly disappears into nothing, leaving behind it a lovely saffron and cardamom infused, rich, sweet and fragrant taste. OK, this wasn't how he described it but it is the gist of it. (I'm a bit of a Masterchef head right now.) That is how the famous gulab jamun test came to be in our family (that was later sensationally succeeded by my talented bhabhi).

I also sort of recollect the proceedings of a Diwali puja and how inattentive and shifty I was during the whole ceremony, as I couldn't hold back the temptation of racing down the stairs and lighting firecrackers with friends and family. But before dashing out, there would be one last chore to do...We would all disperse into different rooms, in our slow and elegant gait, to lodge the lighted diyas in every room, looking on in the little light for a split second, happy to be one big family. Then we went downstairs to be the loud and obnoxious kids that we were. At the end of the night, I got pretty wheezy from all the pollution and my ears got that annoying ring that lasted through the night. But even with all my little issues that sometimes escalated to  being arm-lifted by my big brother all the way to the hospital to get nebulized, it never occurred to me even once that there could be such a thing as a Green, noiseless Diwali. It was pure unadulterated joy all the way back then.

Of course, many Diwalis have passed ever since, in the process of which I've crossed over to the other side to be an adult. And that unadulterated joy as a kid was sometimes dampened with the memory of deceased loved ones, whether it was of a selflessly giving mum, who gave the house her angelic touch, created indelible memories from her culinary wand (and bribed us with presents if we behaved well). Or a brat of an older brother who would lead the way to firing rockets, some of which would land, rather unexpectedly into someone's balcony; following which he'd whizz away from sight, leaving us innocent kids to bear the brunt of it.

Some Diwalis were spent adjusting to the noiseless anonymity of a festival in a new, unfamiliar land. However, the Desi community, being the Desi community, found an epic antidote to it. They decided to collectively spend it in an isolated ground in the outskirts of the city with all the uninhibited pomp of glitter and fireworks.

And some Diwalis, I dare confess, were even, rather foolishly, spent sulking over a badly-fitted outfit.

But then, as life goes, we also found our joy in embracing new family traditions. Of a crossover Diwali moderating its size and decibel levels to fit into an alien culture. Of welcoming a new lady of the house who taught us, despite all our protests, that Diwali also means taking a shower in the wee hours of the morning, before sunrise. Of course, we breezily walked into a loophole there. Who says you can't nap after a shower and that wintry morning cup of hot chai?

That was all before I got married. As you must've gathered, up until the point I got married and became a little lady of our love nest in Mumbai, I was only a passive participant of Diwali traditions, following instructions and spending the day in anticipation of new clothes and fireworks. My contributions to keeping up with family traditions was sort of confined to lighting diyas and cleaning my room.

My first Diwali, as a new bride, and as guided by my new mum (in-law), was enchanting...

Us - The New Couple

And eye-opening. I got all wonder-eyed to learn about the symbolism of cleaning our homes, bathing early, dressing up like a bride, and doing a hearty Laxmi Pujan, more so as a new couple. I also got to learn about how to make gadd badd on Anna Koot, the memory of which has been totally blocked out from my chidhood version of Diwali. The pain of picking out cleverly concealed lauki and torai in a deceptively tempting stew may have something to do with it. Of course, there were moments I recall that I was driven to insanity; either I was struggling to keep up with the monstrous task list that loomed before me or mumbling "WTF!" while tying the six-yard heavy silk round my-then frail waistline. I finally got why my mom and bhabhi woke up in the wee hours of Diwali. But what remained a mystery is how in God's name could they get that slick serpent-like fabric secured on their body in less than ten minutes? I also felt a bit homesick as the noise of crackers in our society drowned the mild-toned conversations between two people, a big cultural shift from the boisterous hulla gulla of an extended family. But, in the end, the anticipation of recreating a new family tradition with a brand new person (who is a constant burst of energy to be around) and the smugness that my new mum had faith in me, a total novice, to carry the torch forward made my Diwali as a new bride really special.

And then came along little Peaches. Which meant maintaining the sort of family traditions that we had as kids and recreating the magic of holidays for my little grubling, exactly as my mum, or for that matter any mum would work her post-baby ass off to spin.

Peaches' First Diwali

So I established a few basics:

1.There'll be no short cuts. Damn right I'll be making gulab jamuns and mathri for my kid. Of course, my gulab jamun attempt failed miserably cos as inviting as they looked, when we went digging in, there was a bit of a crumbly mess on our spoons that felt shy of our high standards. But whatever. Peaches loved them. Thankfully she's got a not-very-discerning sweet tooth.

2. And there'll be absolutely no rangoli stencils. Oh no no no...I'll be making my own art, even if it meant dabbing some blush-coloured powder on a potato, and adorning it with flowers. I did do a bit of cheating though. I traced it out with some chalk and then filled it with all the colors possible. This was what I put up in the last two years and I'm pretty damn proud.

Rangoli 2013

Rangoli 2014

3. The house'll look as festive as a stiff-lipped 2-BHK possibly can. So there'll be a lot of t-lights and candles. But then last year, I burnt my expensive silk while posing for our annual Diwali photo spams. So, this year I decided to be a bit more tactful in terms of the candle placement, considering Peaches has started running about like a wild cat.

4. But firecrackers. Oh, they took a blow! You see Peaches is mighty scared of anything even remotely suggesting of unexpected sounds. So we had to cut back on the light and sound pomposity a bit. Although, we found ourselves exploding every time someone burst those annoying Laxmi bombs, saying sentences that began with, " Aaj kal ke bacche na...". And then pretending we didn't just say that.

Yet, there are still a few traditions to keep.

5. Of wishing everyone in our dispersed family over two continents before we set about our business of playing dress up and posing for pictures.

Those Floral Lights...Through 4 Years

6. Of doing a near-perfect Laxmi Pujan with all the mindful attention to details. This happens to be Saanvi's favourite part of Diwali right now. We sing the Laxmi aarti, we eat the prasad heartily and then go downstairs and act like the wild, party people that we are; only to return home in the next 15 minutes with screeching loud wails coming from a pixie-like creature and someone complaining of shoulder pain. (Not going to say who.)

7. And this year, I've come up with a new tradition. Of recounting the tale of Diwali to my kid/s every year and inviting any questions that they may have on the significance of the rituals that we follow. That bewitching, remarkable feat of good over evil is surely enough to make you realize that if you're true to your heart, life can stun you with the most unfathomable victories.

So before we shut our eyes to the glistening candles of Diwali this year, whether it is lost somewhere in the memories of an ideal holiday of a big happy family or in trivial pursuits of keeping up with our mundane livelihoods, we remind ourselves, "Darkness to light...Good over evil. Always..."

Sitcom Classics and the Happy Family Ideal

 I wasn't much of the outdoorsy type as a kid. I sure did get a good 1-2 hours of stomping, jumping and hopping with my friends on weeknights (and unlimited hours of that on weekends), but the moment they switched to serious sports (such as cricket and football), I'd put on my best whiny face and take the rest of the entertainment scheme indoors.  And my dad loved watching comedy family sitcoms. So by these two benevolent forces of nature, I hopped on to the classic family comedy sitcom bandwagon. Hooked on to shows that would go on to be a part of my psyche, even though some of them seem really dated and shadowy now.

So I thought why not reminisce those lovable, feel-good shows that helped me combat those long and boring afternoons of cricket marathons, an attack of mumps, and that proved to be the perfect antidote to rainy day blues (with french fries and ginger tea).

Anyone who grew up in the 90s will probably recollect some of these shows, have the schedule of these shows still memorized, recite some of their theme songs and maybe still carry a phantom of absurd role-models from these shows.

Here is my list of epic fam-com sitcoms that have managed to leave their traces in my oh-so-fleeting memory (in no particular order):

1. Different Strokes: 
A bold comedy that dared to look at racial issues with a sense of humor. A widower steps up to take guardianship of his housekeeper's children after his demise and they are raised in a pretty much white community of  upper-class New Yorkers.  Add quirks from an eccentric housekeeper to the oddity of it all and you have some hilarious moments. But the heart of the show was of course the little grubling with the chubby cheeks, Arnold Jackson, and his famous tagline, "What you talkin' about?"

I haven't tried watching the show recently but I'm not sure if it'd be as funny today as it did have a bunch of serious episodes and I guess we skipped the later seasons where it went on to tackle some grave issues such as drugs, molestation, and bullying. But still worth remembering.

2. Small Wonder:
Ok, as a kid, I ate and drank in front of the TV, held my pee and shushed everyone (including visitors) while this sci-fi comedy went on. It's about a robot modeled after a real human girl (Vikki) and all the situational comedy that comes out of acclimatizing her with becoming as human as possible. Their trouble is aggravated by snoopy and annoying neighbors (who could use a collective punch in the face). I loved the way that little girl balanced her stolid self with her charming wit and an earnest commitment to mimic. And of course, the loving brother-sister moments with Jamie were cute. Again, I'm not sure if it'd be still as funny or just a bit too familiar.

3. Too Close for Comfort:
Not sure if I was too young to watch this as a 10-year old and I don't even remember if I understood all the jokes but the parts I remember were hilarious! So you have a conservative dad married to a former singer. They occupy the upper part of their duplex house. The other half is occupied by their two grown daughters (the stereotypical, inappropriate smokin' hot blonde with the boy issues and a decent-looking, smart-alecky one). Oh, and there's also a transvestite character (Seriously, how were we allowed to watch this?) Anyway, so naturally the dad wants the proximity so he can keep an eye on his daughters and the daughters are always scheming to get away for the sake of their independence.

In a nutshell, the overprotective dad's always meddling in the girls' affairs and also letting his imagination get ahead of him while the mother fruitlessly tries to keep the balance.
FYI, there's a recent show which is sorta inspired from this called 8 Simple Rules.

4. Fresh Prince of Bel Air:
Now, hands down, this is one of the funniest shows on television ever! I have watched the reruns recently and Will's comic timing, Carton's quirky dancing and all his yuppiness, and ofcourse Hilary's delusional spoilt-brat attitude cracks me up all the time! And Geoffrey does complete justice to the sarcastic, disgruntled butler. Add to that an epic cameo star cast- everyone from Queen Latifah to Tyra Banks.

For anyone who's possibly not seen this show, it's about a poor Philadelphia boy going to live with his wealthy uncle and his family and how all their lives get completely flipped-turned upside down  in street slang as Will shatters their old-fashioned ways. It is a laughter riot, y'all!

5. Punky Brewster:
Ah, this girl had spunk! I sure idolized her (way too much to be honest). But you've gotta admire an 8-year old abandoned girl who gets away with everything from crashing in flower carts to trespassing the Chicago Club's dugout. The story revolves around an abandoned girl with her golden retriever who find refuge with a grouchy old man. The irrepressible spirit of Punky Brewster is what wins this show for me as this is a girl who's not afraid to be herself even with her share of misadventures.

I think there are some great value lessons in this show along with all the fun and whimsy. Extremely important lessons about acceptance, respect and individuality! Would definitely have Saanvi see this show. Atleast the good bits.

6. Full House:
Full House gave us the most endearing dad and dad-figures, the Olsen twins (when they were still cute) as the adorable baby Mitchell and all kinds of cutesy-poo situations.

Now I wouldn't call this show hilarious and it kind of did go downhill in the later seasons but then the most important things the Tanner family taught us are how a wholesome family can deal with the horribleness of family conflicts, the confusing gulf between being a child and an adult and how to keep an endless faith that everything will be alright if you just stick together.

7. Bewitched:
The comic premise of this show was simple. Instead of having a grotesque, long-nosed witch, cauldron-stirring, shady-looking character gliding around on a broom, we have a curvy bombshell with a designer wardrobe as an eager-to-please housewife (Samantha) to a charming but goofy ad man (Darin). The episodes would usually have Samantha cast a spell with a twitch of her nose to solve a problem somewhere early in the episode and somehow, the spell would backfire and she'd have to solve a graver problem on account of it.

 I love the episode where Darin sprains his ankle and is confined to bed. Samantha tires of  being at Darin's every beck and call and decides to use witchcraft to get the house to do all the chores for her. Darin goes outlandish with the easy life offered by magic but in time, realizes that things lose their meaning when you don't have to work to get them.

7. 227:
Another popular African-American comedy, 227 explored the routine goings-on and the hot gossips of an apartment building in a primarily Black neighborhood, featuring Marla Gibbs as Mary Jenkins, a no-nonsense, tart-tongued sort of woman, who spends her day sitting around on the stoop keeping tabs on another neighbours.

 I don't remember much about this show but I recall laughter whizzing by every half a minute from my dad, which I thought was hilarious :). Intend to catch this on youtube to do it more justice.

Perhaps this list doesn't comprise totally awesome, "quote from at dinner parties" kind of television. Perhaps, these are shows that have been discarded and long buried underneath for their hackneyed humor and predictable format.

I secretly treasure these shows for all their nostalgic appeal and more importantly, for the reason that they teach us that each family concocts their own formula for happiness, however twisted it may seem to an onlooker. And that if you can manage to laugh off the big and small tragedies together and stand by each other as completely different people, life wouldn't be such a bitch after all.

So there's my list. Anything you'd like to add?