Twenty- five Seven

Personally speaking

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  • Post Script to a strange Saturday in Mumbai

    My father whose boss gave us the dog, sent me the following story . It seems that I had got the time line wrong and the Boss didn’t lose an eye in battle. 

    This is what he had to say
    “I didn’t realise you were so close to the riot area !
    My boss didn’t lose his eye in 8th Army. He got his MC. The story he related was that he injected morphia to a Brit soldier pinned under a tank. As it was not possible to reach him my boss had devised a mechanism with a bamboo at the end of which was attached a syringe with injectable Morphia. When my boss prepared to prick the unfortunate suffering Brit, the wretch had the gall to shout at my boss” Nigger don’t touch me !!” (Incidentally the practice of giving morphia to a shocked accident victim has long been given up by Military surgeons.) MC was pinned on my bosse’s tunic by “Monty” himself in the field.
    My boss lost his nose and one eye in a car accident at Chandigad. He was going to the airport to catch a flight to Delhi where he was going to meet my boss to arrange for my posting. At a road crossing his car was hit bang on throwing the boss out of the car. After the initial instant shock boss realised that he had gone blind with one eye and his nose was lying beside him. His liason officer who was travelling with him picked up the injured boss and his nose and instead of flying to Delhi he was rushed to Bangalore where they had planned to stich back his nose. This was a failure and his nose had to be restored by plastic surgery.
    During this traumatic experience boss became a pethidine addict. This led to marital discord and his wife who already was grief stricken after the tragic death of her final year medical student daughter who died of post mumps encephalitis. Boss’s wife left him to marry her son’s classmate !
    Son and boss threw out the unfortunate lady.
    Soon therafter boss retired from the service and took up an assignment at Muscat. A few years later while in Muscat in a souk he bumped into his ex and her young husband. In a fit of anger boss slapped her and got hit back by the youngster.
    Next morning the boss was found dead in his bed !!
    This is a true story.”
    Thanks Dad, for sharing this great story……..

  • Tugging away tears through Swiss Patented Technology

    Español: Cebolla siendo cortada.

    Español: Cebolla siendo cortada. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    “I hate tears Pushpa, I hate tears”

    These distinctly corny words from Rajesh Khanna‘s classic of the 70’s “Amar Prem” always come to mind when I  am chopping onions through an endless stream of tears  hoping  and praying that I do not nick off a nail or slice a bit of finger. All the while I console  myself with the old wives’ tale – that tears while chopping onions indicate good vision. ( Is it because if you don’t chop your fingers while crying, you obviously DO have good vision grandma??)

    Well, whatever be the truth of that tale, I have always tried to minimize my onion chopping by either asking someone else to do it or using a food processor or a grater. However on Saturday I was stuck inside a shop while waiting for the Govindas to bring down a Dahi Handi when I spotted a strange looking contraption in my favourite shop – Arihant a tiny little hole in the wall owned by a goblin of a man selling the most up-to-date kitchen ware at the most competitive prices in the most unlikely of lanes in the heart of Mumbai. With Pappu his  son doubling up as manager, salesman and general dogsbody, the wily old man has kept his costs to a minimum which is why he can offer his customers the best discounts in town. He also offers free advice which is most often invaluable. Whenever I want to check out a new gizmo in the kitchen, I drop by for a chat despite battling with “his fall in your face merchandise”, mainly because this old man has seen it all: from the old fashioned gadgets in my granny’s kitchen to the newest kids stepping out on the block. With all this wisdom behind him and all the time in the world to answer my inane queries, I much prefer shopping here than the glitzy new stores in ritzy new malls. Unlike the salesmen who are more interested in ringing up a sale, Mr. Arihant often advises me against several new gadgets/pots dismissing them as old wine in new bottles – ones that were likely to break faster than I kept them away.

    So when I spotted this bright object that looked distinctly like a toy, I asked for it to be brought down. Pappu  immediately brought it down and proceeded to show me with great enthusiasm how I could mince an onion in seconds and all by tugging a string. That was all it took to convince me and I quickly whipped out a thousand bucks and came home dying to chop my next onion.

    This morning I finally took down this gadget and popped in a peeled and quartered onion , added three peeled cloves of garlic, tossed in two green chillies , secured the lid and gave it four tugs. Within seconds, the onion was finely minced  so I put it in a pan where the oil was gently heating. With some extra flavouring of turmeric, freshly ground garam masala and red chilli power, I gave the onion mince a stir and allowed it to sweat while I chopped up a big tomato in my new vegetable chopper. Once again, I added the tomato and allowed the gravy to cook a bit before I put in the potato and fresh peas.

    Then, I covered the pot and allowed it to simmer before finishing it off with a dollop of fresh ghee and a packet of Hommade Coconut milk to get a rassa bhaji almost as good as my granny made it.

    I’m off now to enjoy my pea and potato curry with steaming hot white rice, watching the rain come gently down this wet and glorious Sunday.

     PRESTIGE  Veggie Cutter is imported into India by TTK Presitge and retails at MRP of Rs 995 at all kitchen ware stores  and  I can easily see it becoming a great gift item for your favourite sister -in- law this festive season!

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  • A strange Saturday


    “I’m not telling you it’s going to be easy – I’m telling you it’s going to be worth it.”
    ― Art Williams




    After many Saturdays I manged to lay about in bed and got up only at 7. Surprisingly the rest of the household was still fast asleep so I had to tiptoe my way about as I let myself out of the house for an “early” morning walk. Despite the scanty rainfall which has led to our Government declaring this year a drought year, there are still parts of the compound that are slushy with mud and moss – a dangerous combination that can have you slip and break a leg or twist an ankle. But it has been almost six months since my life literally fell apart and I enjoyed my morning walk after a long,long time: a habit which I’d acquired as a 14 year old  when we were gifted witha black puppy from my father’s former boss whose claim to fame was his fake eye which he got while fighting in Montgomery’s 8th Army!

    The dog has long since left my life but the habit still remained . 

    After a cup of Chinese tea and crisp buttered toast, I was glancing through the papers and enjoying the return to normalcy. I twisted and turned through some Yoga poses, did a five minute meditation and spent an hour or so surfing the net for tours to Barcelona and Granada.After lunch we set off for another  “normal” Saturday jaunt that was a casualty these last six months  – visiting the art galleries and hanging out at the Club. 

    As we approached the Club, we saw two armoured vans and a lot of helmeted police around. I asked Hubby dear what it was all about and he just dismissed it as a routine gathering at Azad Maidan with the cops on standby. How wrong he was we found out an hour later.

    We were sitting in the verandah, chatting away watching the skullcapped multitudes walk past the maidan. Suddenly we heard gun shots ( at that time we thought they were fire crackers) and then the stream of people started running and breaking ranks. The police began chasing them flailing their batons. From the far corner of the maidan we could see a thick cloud of black smoke rise up into the grey sky. I ran up to the upper verandah to get a closer look.

    “They’re burning some vans” someone said.
    “It’s a protest gone awry”

    Everyone had fear and anxiety writ large on their faces.

    I went down and wondered how long we’d be locked up inside. A  few men started running towards the club and came onto the football field. Some even made their way to the far end of the club.  For a moment my heart stopped beating. The doors were shut but the verandah was open to the mob. All it needed was a hundred people to come in and we’d have been burnt alive – much like the cars that were going up in smoke.

    We quickly went outside and found the driver bringing our car into the parking lot; he was unusually quiet.

    “I got scare they’d torch the car,” he said” the crowd’s gone quite mad. They already lit up a car ahead of me”. 

    It was strange to find parts of the road barricaded and parts of the road with normal traffic. Along with the regular cars there were bus loads of young skull caps being taken back to the outskirts of Mumbai from where they were herded in – just to create trouble for the afternoon. The television channels reported a movement that was started via  Twitter and Facebook, a call to young Muslims to show solidarity with their brethren who had died in Assam. 

    I found it strange indeed that an incident so far removed from my life could disrupt my ordinary day. 

    Violence is definitely deplorable and the loss of life appalling but  those who fight for a cause actually believe that it is worth it. But then I ask them is it really worth it? Can you really feel happy in your victory knowing that you have destroyed lives and left behind broken homes? How can you live your dream life knowing that you have shattered others’ dreams? 

    Do not delude yourself – is it really worth it?

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