• Amsterdam Airport Schiphol (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    I can never forget that flight out of Amsterdam’s Schiphol airport in October 2009. This was not the first time that I was travelling out of Amsterdam and I had our young friend Sjoerd accompanying me. Sjoerd had stayed with us a year earlier and was like part of the family. I especially liked his fresh look at my life through his eyes and his interesting approach to everything new and unfamiliar and looked forward to spending the next eight hours in his company.

    The hours went by soon enough and we were busy playing games on the small screen in front, watching movies, chit chatting and just catching up with news. Suddenly there was a bit of turbulence and Sjoerd and I like everyone on the plane felt our stomachs lurch.

    “We’re over Afghanistan,” Sjoerd informed me as he was studying the flight path . ” Just imagine if a terrorist missile hits us we’re doomed! No one will ever find us.”

    “Don’t be crazy,” I admonished him, ” How can rebel fighters have such sophisticated equipment?”

    ” Ya, ya, but you never know,” he said shrugging his shoulders and reassured me by adding ” Just joking!”

    At that time I dismissed it as an over active imagination of a young lad whose artistic temperament made him more imaginative than most.

    Nevertheless, I took out my book of prayers that I always carry when travelling and began muttering the mantras superfast all the while we were flying over Afghanistani air space. I can’t tell you how glad I was when we landed home safe and sound with the terrifying prospect of being shot down over Afghanistan blighting the last few hours of our journey.

    Yesterday when I  heard about the Malaysian Airways plane being shot down by a missile, I realised that Sjoerd’s comment in jest did come true! I can’t even begin to imagine the terror that gripped the passengers of the ill fated plane as they met their horrific end.

  • The angry young man of Indian Television

    ( Image sourced from Net. Origin unknown)

    Like most Indian women who nod off to bed listening to the drone of Arnab Goswami‘s voice getting louder by the decibel as he out-debates his panelists on Times NOW‘s Newshour Tonight, I always wondered what it was about him that appealed to all the men who religiously watched him night after night and what on earth his wife saw in him. I must say, I was pleasantly surprised with the side of Arnab Goswami I got to see yesterday evening at the Bombay First talk held at the BSE‘s International Convention Centre.

    It was a pretty glum and wet afternoon when Arnab addressed an audience ready to hear his views on how the media could contribute to the growth of Mumbai a topic dear to the hearts of all Mumbaikars who are frankly too tired to even feel tired of the ills that have beset this city. Year after year, as the potholes get deeper, the water cuts more frequent, the trains more crowded, the taxi drivers ruder, the police more indifferent, the traffic more congested, the buildings more dilapidated, the “system” more corrupt and a once wonderful city more mired in decay and decrepitude anyone who can promise some relief is worth listening to. Hence this talk was not only well attended but also well listened to.

    Humour and Geniality

    And it proved to be an interesting talk for not only was it informative but also entertaining with a touch of humour and geniality I never knew Arnab possessed. Modestly and frankly admitting that he has no blueprint for contributing to Mumbai’s growth being neither an engineer nor an urban planner, he suggested making Mumbai into the media capital of the world to make it a better place. Audacious as this sounds, according to him (and many will agree) Mumbai is indeed the only city in India with an enviable work culture and ethic with everyone willing to work 24×7 in a professional manner. In addition, its multilingual and multicultural population gives it  a distinct advantage over several global cities. But what really clinches the argument is the fact that India has the largest news audience in the world and with digital media the future of news, it makes sense for Mumbai to invest in making it attractive to multiple media organisations and establishing Mumbai as the intellectual nerve centre of the country. Apart from nurturing talent, confrontational journalism as invented by him inspires fear among potential wrong doers thus ensuring that the average citizen is heard and his grievances a chance of redressal.

    Convoluted as this argument sounds, it was a typical Arnab response: turning the proposition on its head and showing how Mumbai could help the Media grow and consequently contribute to the growth of Mumbai!

    Whatever may be the outcome of his suggestion, Arnab turned out to be a passionate journalist, honest, sensitive, entertaining and yes even self deprecating at times as he recounted interesting stories of how he unearthed scoop after scoop and and scam after scam. In his own words, journalism, in order to be impactful and have a trickle down effect, has to be  hard hitting and adversarial to the establishment  hence his tendency to make a small story big and  cut a big story cut down to size, in his aggressive, belligerent persona as he faces the nation night after night.

  • Most people wait nine months to have a baby, while some people wait years. I waited for more than ten years to have my newest baby  –  a cookbook which took almost forever to see the light of day.

    Like most things in my life, this started accidentally and went from a simple collection of recipes into a veritable documentation of the culinary traditions of my community. It all began when I mentioned to my mother that my first attempt at a Diwali spread was going to be a Kolhapuri Mutton Curry. Despite being broad minded enough to eat meat, this was something that stuck in her craw. How could her daughter do something so blasphemous as cook meat on an auspicious day like Diwali let alone eat it???????

    Well, being young and foolish and only too ready to cock a snook, I went ahead with my dinner plan but something did niggle at the back of my mind. Was there a connection between God and food? Why was it necessary to have a salad at every meal? And was there really something about the food I was brought up on that I should strive to cook it in my own home?

    Thus began my journey into the culinary traditions of my community, a community that is not only dwindling in numbers but also in danger of  becoming extinct with large numbers of my ilk  marrying outside the community and those marrying within, blithely abandoning their traditions and ditching their puri bhaji for pastas and cheese. I thought I owed it to the spirits of my ancestors to at least record their recipes rather than continue transferring them by word of mouth. So I started recording quantities and measures of ingredients, noting down menus for different days and functions and finally attempting to make a book.

    I came upon Popular Prakashan purely by chance and met with Rita D’Souza who encouraged me with my idea of actually publishing my recipes as a book. Eventually it was Armaity, a young enthusiastic editor at Popular who actually sat me down and sorted out all the ingredients teaspoon by teaspoon and in order of appearance.

    Just as it takes a village to rear a child, it took a whole load of people to help me with this book and without wanting to offend anyone with names inadvertently left out, I preferred to thank all those who helped me with a generic thank you. Undoubtedly it did take a lot of aunts and uncles and friends who helped me with their culinary memories and shared their knowledge of food and festivals to make this book possible. There will be many who will find faults and possibly some omissions but this was an effort to record and not offend. So for all those who have helped and supported me during this long and interesting journey (you know who you are) my deepest and heartfelt thanks for your assistance, tolerance and faith.

    p.s.

    My father who still finds it hard to believe that I can cook sent me this anecdote along with his congratulatory message which I’d like to share :

    Ambadichi Bhaji
    We had an Uncle (Mama), a good doctor
    (he had spent 11 years in medical college), an inveterate bachelor who had no
    home of his own (firm believer of “Vasudhaiva
    Kutumbakam”) and no care in the world. A large part of his life he spent in
    our house and later with our aunt. He used to practice in Mahabaleshwar. His
    schedule was practice from October to June at M’shwar and spend the rest of the
    year with our aunt. He was a great foodie.

    One evening in October 1950  before departure for M’shwar he came to our
    house to bid good bye and have a meal. My mother told him to postpone his
    departure by one day. He was reluctant saying that he has already reserved a
    ticket by the bus next morning. My mother told him to cancel his ticket and
    come over the next evening for a meal where she would serve him Ambadichi Bhaji
    with Lasnachi Phodni and garam garam
    Bhakri.

    He gladly agreed, cancelled his bus
    ticket for the next morning, and had a great promised feast.
    Unfortunately he never reserved his
    bus ticket for the next day. And continued to stay on in Pune at my aunts place
    till 1953 !

    My aunt never forgave my mother for
    tempting the Uncle with Ambadichi Bhaji with Lasnachi Phodni and garam garam Bhakri !!

    Ambadichi bhaji is one of those sweet and sour leafy vegetables that are particularly eaten in the monsoon. You can find the recipe in my book and the Bhaji in the local market. All you have to do is buy both and enjoy!

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