Papas Bonitas

When in Tenerife, Spain, ‘Papa Bonitas’ is the tapa that I have always enjoyed. This is the potato snack served in bars. With a small dainty toothpick, you pick up the small potato and dip into the spicy ‘Mojo’ and munch it slowly savouring the hot and sour taste.

How to make ‘Papas Bonitas’

You take 1 kilo of small round potatoes, prick them with fork and boil them in 2 glasses of water and 6 tablespoons of rock salt. Discard the water.

How to make ‘Mojo’

You have to grind together 1 big green capsicum, 10 green chillies, and 10-12 pods of garlic to make coarse paste. Add 1 teaspoon salt and 1 tablespoon lime juice. For extra flavor, I add herbs like basil leaves and  spice powder.Heat 4 tablespoons of mustard oil and pour the steaming oil over the coarse paste.

While you enjoy your drinks, dip the boiled, salted potato in the mojo and masticate on pungent taste. When you are not concentrating on the conversation, it is natural. The snack is too distracting and tasty too.

ps: I used Snapin's Basil Flakes and Marks&Spencer's Mixed Spice

'The F Word' by Mita Kapur. (book review)

The

'The F-Word' by Mita Kapur is the book I am reading during my weekly bus trips from Bandra to CBD, Belapur (at home I am too obsessed with twitter n facebook, visiting links and blogs which hardly leaves me any time to read the printed hard bound book, Alas!) and Mita takes us through her food journey with memoirs that are delightful to read.

Excerpt

*"You are greying at the temples. Shouldn't you color your hair?"

"No. I want my age to show. It's about growing old gracefully"

I looked at him. "that quite an bulge in your middle" I saw the picture in his eyes- a girl in a floral white skirt and a flimsy blouse, waiting on the steps of her house. He would arrive the moment Ma left for the hospital.*

Memoirs like these and those of her trips through Lucknow/Jaipur streets savoring the kababs or her trips to Amsterdam, talking about her experience during her travels and their signature cuisine is what makes this book interesting.

*A warm aroma of cocoa beckoned to us from the cocoa-making factory, along with sink-into-the-mouth cream puffs at the charming local bakery. We saw different types of cheeses with their odours and overpowering tastes, and a live show on how wooden clogs are made. We tried them all, the cheese and the shoes. The cheese won, obviously.*

There are many recipes that I have book marked for future use and am planning to try some day, when I have some guests, or maybe when I am invited for 'Share a plate' party.

One another blogger, Monika Manchanda, who is now my friend after our Lavasa trip, also wrote a review at her blog, saying that she heard about this book from her friend Kiran, she quotes

“The first time I heard of this book was from Kiran who said that this book got her into kitchen she was all praises of the book and being a foodie having cooking as one of the hobbies it promptly went into my must reading list…”

But Kiran responded on twitter by saying “I was very upset because I mailed mita kapur a gushy gushy letter about how it had inspired me to try cooking & got no reply”

I had met Mita Kapur during the Jaipur lit fest and knew that she is quite busy woman and she must have recieved lots of fan mails after her book was launched but not replying to her fan mail is quite rude. I think so too.

Anyways, everybody have their own reasons for not replying to fan mails. *Pinching myself to reality*

Where was I?

Ah..this book on cuisine…I was impressed....

Just few more pages to go and then I shall be in the kitchen trying some of those recipes…..come over if you wanna try..I intend to follow the recipe and cook those Mita’s words that skip out from her book into the hot pot….of tasty meals

Kalaghoda workshop 'Eat, Write, love'

“Eat, write, love” conducted by Rushina Ghildiya during Kalaghoda festival was interesting and promising workshop that I wouldn’t want to miss. Having a wedding in the family had kind of tied me up with shopping and visit to tailors, but somehow I excused myself from other important things, (postponing it to some other day) and I managed to attend two-day workshop on food-writing during the morning hours from 11am to 4pm.

And I was glad that I did.

During the two day workshop I learnt about the different literature/cookbooks that are available in the market and how I could make my contribution to new frontiers of food writing.

Food writing is basically an art of writing in such a way that it creates enough desire in the person to go out and taste the food. It could be by reporting, writing memoirs, history or review, but all food articles place importance on preparation, consumption, nutritional values and recipes.

Rushina spoke about her experience as a published food writer, giving us great tips on the type of articles that find their way into print, giving us pointers which could be expressed through food news, travel stories, trends, essays, product review, restaurant review or interviews. She suggested that we maintain a diary of taste which could list the flavor of particular food with defining words that could make our writings interesting.

What was fascinating about this workshop was that we actually got to eat some of the food stuff and the painful part of this workshop was the assignment after tasting the food. After a delicious meal, instead of stirring myself with food writing, I would rather sleep, er...well.... at least for some time... till all the juices have melted completely through my gullet into my tummy. no?

On the day one, she brought food stuff like kafir leaves, Kafier lime, heart of palm and yellow and pink dragon fruits.

I picked up the dark green, round fruit, probably a close cousin to our Indian lime but with rough body and distinct nipple at the stem end. As I dug my nails into the Kafier lime, there was high concentration of aromatic oil, whose fragrance seeped through my nostril reeling me to heady nostalgia about my Bangkok trip where almost all the traditional food have this flavor, in soups, in fish recipes and in red/green curry. Unlike our Indian lime, this kafier lime was dry and had no juice at all, but its rind could be used in most of the recipes.

There was another plate of ‘heart of palm’ an ivory round slab which she had cut into small pieces for us to taste. It was delicate in flavor, had a kind of sweet and nutty taste. The plate was kept close to where I was sitting and I picked up quite a few pieces, savoring it during next one hour of the session.

Dragon fruit which I would never buy from any market since I would never know what I would find inside was a pleasant surprise. It turned out to be a relative of our Kiwi fruit that I have enjoyed so many times, but while Kiwi is sourer, this one was sweeter and tastier. There was pink and yellow dragon fruit but I liked the pink one which was much sweeter than the yellow bland one.

Rushina made a salad from all these three ingredients adding salt, red chilly powder and lime juice. Our assignment was to write a small paragraph on these ingredients.

Some of those present did complete the assignment, writing about the food stuff and whatever it inspired them to write and they read it for every one’s benefit. Great talent there!

At the end of the session we got to try some pastries and macaroon which we had to write again, but like I said earlier, I digest everything……hahaha!

The day two of this workshop was on serious writing. Rushina gave us more information of different cuisine books available online and the kind of style and content on food writing that one could use and how one could benefit from this literature to augment our-day-to-day writing.

The interesting part again.. what else?? ..yeah eating

Godrej Nature Basket, my favorite super store where I normally do my weekly food shopping, has generously shared a variety of chilly (my favorite ingredient that I cannot do without) products from around the world for us to try.

And thus began our tasting session…

Nori Japanese seaweeds coated with chilly flavor were wafer thin dark greenish strips with a fishy smell. It had a crisp texture and a sweet, slightly salty and pungent taste, I have tasted these seaweed strips wounded over Shushi but having them as a snack was good too.

Next was the mayonnaise with Mexican jalapenos ‘La Costena Chipotle Peppers in Adobo Sauce’. This made the beautiful combination with mayonnaise with crunchy smoked, red peppers and the sour taste of vinegar and tomato sauce.

Harissa (Morrocan chili sauce)The sweet chilli paste with aniseeds and ginger tasted like the Indian version of sweet chutney which reminded me of the sauce that mom would make during my growing up years. It had Indian spices and could be enjoyed best with Indian rotis or puri. We could also use it for stir fries for rich flavors. (pssss! on my next visit, I might buy one)

Lemnos Sweet Chili Cream Cheese had a crunchy taste of capsicum and I was mentally making a notes of must-do-shopping-of-this-product-for-quick-food-snack-days

Lindt dark chocolate had a chilly flavor for a change. It has unique and sophisticated taste. At first it was just sweet but the chilly flavor creeps in as soon as the chocolate has melted in your mouth giving it warm and chilled finish to your palette.

It was a fiery afternoon with so many varieties of chillies from all over the world, most of them I had tried during my travels but had never heard of chilly chocolate…have you?

Sniff! Sniff!

I needed a tissue.

And then it was time to write an assignment…tough part but some of the writers in the group surprised us with their most descriptive memoirs that they were inspired to write after eating so many chillies.

Me, I collected lots of ideas by just listening to their ranting…thinking of becoming a food writer…maybe I should try……some day.

come home

You never found time to visit me, although I hear that you have travelled far and wide, stop being stubborn and come while I am fine, don't blame me else if my eyes sight soars, blue age sets in and you are greeted by just an ivory plaqued dentured smiles

Yay! Award is an award, and I won…..

I was qualified for Grand Prize Judging of my Quatrains and I receive a new year gift..


Okay 2010 was not so bad afterall, cause I won the poetry contest and received a prize too. What else would I want?

Seventeen individual “Quatrain City Poetry Contests” were held from the end of March through November on Ryze network at forum called ‘Wordmeisters, Poets and Writers-Unite!’, where by a picture was posted and members would post a quatrain inspired by the picture. I had participated in thirteen contests and had won six of them. Quatrains were judged on creativity, poignancy, format (if applicable) and content. Each Contest resulted in a winner and runner-up, both of which qualified for Grand Prize judging.

In Grand Prize judging, my poem was qualified as second runner up.

For my quatrain called ‘Criss-Crossed’

Hushed voices trapped behind colored frames
Criss-crossed, the thoughts rotate from side to side
Silence speaks under the pillars of courage
Whispering gently under its beams with joy.

Inspired by this picture

picture by Jack Huber

Now awaiting anxiously for my well earned gift: a copy of "A Poet's Primer" and one more book which will be either paperback copies of Jack Huber’s "Aspects Long Forgotten" or an electronic copy of Diane Tegarden's excellent "Light Through Shuttered Window."

Details of all winners here http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm

Sweating over 500-rupee-note

source: banknotes

I was in two minds today, either go to ‘Arena Animation Class’ for Flash practice or go to school for some updates.

I am all ready at 12 noon, I wanted to go to ‘Arena’ but I know that the instructor may not even bother to teach me any new tricks on animation because he does that only every alternate days and today is not that day, so by the time I have walked out of my gate, hailed an auto, I say ‘Bandra Bus station’

I am lucky that the auto overtakes my bus in time for me to board it.

I settle in the front seat just behind the driver all set for the 90 minutes trip, the cool AC breeze just above my head has no regulator. *Oh dear*! I have my BlackBerry to keep me away from other distractions.

The conductor comes to my seat and I give him 500-rupee-note and tell him “Belapur, CBD.”

“Give me the change, I won’t take your 500-rupee-note” he says

*What the hell* the bus ticket is Rs60 and he wants a smaller note? How can he not have a change?

“I have no change. My journey is long, you may give me the change at the end of the journey, and there is lots of time.” I say, as I fumble with my reading glasses.

“We don’t accept 500-rupee-notes” he says

Now this is news for me. A public bus does not accept big notes and they have no change? Are they afraid of fake notes that are doing the rounds in the city nowadays?

They want no risk.

*Thinking if those Babus will also stop accepting Rs500 in bribes*

“So what you want me to do? I don’t have smaller notes.”

“In that case you cannot travel in this bus.”

Huh? He is asking me to de-board the bus because I have bigger notes? *I have heard about people being asked to de-board if they have been pickpocketed and are not having any cash on them" but this? This is ridiculous.

I ask the girl sitting next to me to move over so that I can get off the bus. She is sorry for me and asks me to request the people in the bus for a change of 500-rupee-note.

*How silly it will look if I flash my 500-note, seat by seat, asking each commuter for a change?*

I am in no mood to draw the attention to myself, the bus is moving quite slowly, actually crawling, and there is too much traffic jam. I ask the driver to wait while a get the change from the shop outside.

None of the shops oblige. Nobody has 500-rupee change!! I never knew this was such a big note!

The driver is getting restless and refuses to wait.

*Go to hell* I wave out to him and he drives away.

Now I am desperate. I enter a fast food kiosk and he is willing to give me the change but, only if I give him some business.

I am not hungry, nor I am thirsty but order a bottle of orange juice.

With this unnecessary extra baggage of this juice bottle dangling by my fingers, I am too lazy for a long trip, I decide to go to ‘Arena Animation class’ instead.

Furious Critter

Last night my room-mate Smitha, came running into my room, screaming, “There is a flying cockroach in my room.” She said

“Kill it”, I said

“No! I am afraid, Please come and you kill it” she said

"What are afraid of such a tiny thing? If you were in China you could have sold these by dozens" I said

But actually, I am afraid too. Its very sight is so disgusting, That chocolatee brown body with those menacing whiskers, more ferocious than Ram Gopal Verma film heroes but I was not to show my cowardice in front of my room mate who had great faith in me. She trusted me to solve her problems so I bravely went to the battle field. The cockroach was flying in all directions, a tiny helicopter type species. I armed myself with pesticide spray and stood at one corner of the room, and sprayed from a distance. The spray filtered through my nostrils, I covered my nose and didn’t see cockroach getting furious. It flew in my direction, I heard the whoosh closer to my ears as it brushed against my ear-lobes then flew back in opposite direction and Smitha screamed. I threw the tin on the floor and climbed up on the bed, covering my ears, hopping on the soft bed, lost my balance and down I was on my butt, unable to move. The pesticide was playing its tricks on cockroach too, it fell down next to me on its back with his feet doing the latest aerobics, swinging its tiny feet in the air and spinning round and round.

I slowly crawled a bit further away, so as not to disturb the spinning cockroach. “Your hours are numbered” I told the cockroach showing my tight fist and slid away on my bruised butt away from this critter.

But this one belonged to some Pathan species, very, very strong, had a great will power to survive and would not die easy. It kept swinging its eight arms/feet in such a way that it suddenly turned over and started walking, like a drunkard. Smitha screamed again, “look, it is not dead” she said

“Okay, bring the slippers and kill it now, just crush it under your feet” I said, gritting my teeth, feeling the genes of Naxalites crawling under my skin.

“No! I shall not kill.” she said wriggling her nose, very devoted to her PETA clan

“Kill or it shall walk up to your bed and come and sleep with you” I said trying to instill the fear in her.

“No!” she screamed again as the cockroach turned to walk towards her direction.

She waited far away and watched attentively, following its every movements. TV programs forgotten, hunger vanished and internet was idle. Such undivided, focussed concentration! I think if she meditated on the cockroach for next one hour she might have reached Nirvana.

The critter walked slowly, aimlessly, its wings loosely dragging from its flesh. It seemed like it had wardrobe malfunction. It walked from room to room, parading with caution, until it went under the bed in the living room and disappeared.

Smitha spent the restless night unsure of her safety. When she slept for a little while, she dreamt about the cockroach that had come back with the army of hundred critters to get their revenge.

Early morning, I swept off corpse.

How they make perfect omelets

Do You know to make an omelet? Ask the professional to make it for you. Smart move!!

If you can read the pictures you may follow the procedure.

During my recent trip to Darjeeling, mornings I looked forward to ‘live’ breakfast…haahaha. That’s what the food counter said…’Live Breakfast’ and live was that chef would make for you the omelet the way you like…half fry-sunny side up or plain omelet. I would always ask for same omelet with lots of chillies and onions, although there was a great variety of food on display, I had no appetite to eat any other spicy, heavy stuff like puri bhaji, idli sambar, or any other delicacies so early in the mornings. Normally at home, my breakfast is just a glass of fresh juice. But since I was on holiday, and since I didn’t have to make the breakfast for myself, (yeah, I am too lazy sometimes) I was okay with having breakfast in the mornings. But everyday I stuck to the same menu: egg omelet, baked potatoes, salad and fresh juice; and that kept me cheerful till the lunch time.

While I ate, I couldn’t help looking at other tables and would be surprised with the amount of food that people could eat at every meal. Their plates would be overflowing with food and it got me thinking that must we abuse our stomach just because we have paid for a buffet meals??? Is it so important to taste every dish on display at every meal??? I would watch them help themselves with assorted meals second time, and sometimes third servings!!!

One of our friends in the group was a Jain, and her strict diet of ‘no root’ vegetable restricted her meals. She would order special meals for herself and while she waited for those special meals, she would start munching on bread, jam, sweet dish, fruits and everything that was permitted by her religion. When the food arrived, it would be of big quantity and although she would over eat, still most of it would go waste. At every meal, she would attract attention to herself and throw temper tantrums, (much to our embarrassment) if they didn’t provide her food on time.

I fail to understand why people give so much importance to food. For me, food is just a necessity to remain healthy. If chanced upon eating good food in a fancy restaurant, I might relish, but for me, simple home cooked meal is a delightful treat.

What If?

What If

What if I unscrew that mystery box
To find your heart tied within
Could I pluck it
Keep it
Next to mine
And hear its soft upbeat rhythm

What if I touch your song of love
As it slips
Through my train of consciousness

Could I cuddle it closer
On cold winter nights
And find some moments of coziness

What if we heard them in chorus sing
Those bluebirds
Rhyming all the strings

Would we flutter our blinks
Like butterfly wings
Dancing in trance to melodious rings

A secret crush, no more you can be
Possible things
Don’t end in a dream

Your heart whispers closer
I for one
In love, I float in ecstasy

(c) Pushpee

Birthday Cake

I have never ever cut a cake for my birthday in my life. It’s the thing that I would hate to do, actually it is quite embarrassing for me to do, I have always asked a child standing next to me to cut it for me. But I love baking and decorating cakes. I have decorated cakes with creams, fruits, chocolates and they have always been traditional round or square in shape. Sometimes I have tried few innovative kinds like 2-tier or 3- tier and sometime chopped them into different shapes before icing. But I have always baked them for kids,

But now the kids have grown up and they are no more amused by simple shapes. I was surprised today when I saw this cake

Wow! A cake in the shape of boobs, covered with Bra and tits visible !!! hahaha!, and mind you, it is a vegetarian truffle chocolate cake, specially made for two taureans who are celebrating today. Oh why wasn’t I there to see their expressions, this is something I wouldn’t like to miss., I am sure that these boys who are going to cut these boobs will get naughty and for all we know, they might even enjoy a facial with this one.

Boarders at war

Early morning while brushing my teeth, my boarder says “What time can you be free? I want to talk to you”

Now, I am at home most time of the day, from Mondays to Fridays, unless I have some important errands to do. Nobody needs any appointment to talk to me.

I tell her “Shoot, I am all ears.”

“No, first you get free then I have to tell you something.” She says and she disappears into her room.

I quickly rinse my mouth, wash my face, towel it and walk into her room.

“What is it?” I ask

“Is there no discipline in this house? Don’t you have any rules for your boarders?” she says.

I do have rules for the boarders who occupy my spare room. There are only three main rules which I expect my boarders to follow: Tidy up the kitchen after use, be back home before 12 midnight and none of their visitors are allowed inside my house.

I looked at her in askance on introducing some more rules.

“I am unhappy with my room mate” she says, “She is watching TV late nights, sometimes up to 2am, continuously shifting channels. I cannot sleep with flickering lights. Is there no discipline in this house? I think you should introduce strict hours for watching TV. I suggest that there should be no TV after 11pm.”

Just then her room mate emerges from bathroom and enters the room.

“Look, here is complain, your room mate is unhappy about your late night TV hours” I tell her

“And I am too,” she says.

“Now, what complain do you have?” I ask her

“I am uncomfortable because she is too lazy and keeps her part of the area too untidy. I don’t like clutter in this room but she won’t listen.”

I look around and I understand what she means. The bed-sheet is wrinkled; the dressing table is cluttered with books, water-bottles, combs, creams, medicines, etc.

“Cluttered room is cluttered mind’” I tell her, “Lets make a deal. You keep your room clean and she will put off TV by 11p.m”

Then follows the argument for next ten minutes: insensitivity towards each other’s comfort (you don’t understand my problems), lack of communication (why didn’t you tell me first?), compromise (I will do it your way only if you do it mine)

Today, their room was clean and tidy, the lights have gone off at 11pm.

Silence!

She is a graceful lady

“Can you give me a print-out of that photograph that you just click of me?” said Mrs Tara peeping into my digital camera.

I looked closely at the picture. I was complimenting myself for my photography skills. The deep lines on her face were clearly etched, the silver of her hair and her smile matched ditto to her real self. She looked very beautiful and her smile was an added attraction

“Sure! How many copies do you want?” I asked

“Just give me only one, if you can enlarge it for me, I would be very grateful to you.” She said

“You see,” she continued, “I want to frame it and keep it with other things. When I die I don’t want people to keep ugly pictures of me. I know lots of people and they all might come for my funeral, it will look good if I have this picture smiling at my friends. I have kept aside all the things that will be required to dress me up: one sari, one slipper, one hair buckle and the money required for my cremation, only I didn’t have a good snap of me. If I die suddenly, then I don’t want to trouble my people looking for things for me therefore I have made all the arrangements”

I was impressed by her independence and her self reliant attitude. Mrs Tara has glow on her face. She is fair, short, wrinkled and must be about 75 years (my wild guess) but she is very talented. She is an artist.

Some months ago, I have visited her home and her house was filled up with oil paintings, every area of her small room was clustered with paintings. Proudly, she showed me each and every painting in her room, relating a story behind each one. She lives alone in her small apartment and tutors young people during her free time, conducting painting classes.

Every Wednesday and Thursday, she comes to school to teach mentally challenged children to draw and paint, (free of charge), travelling in public bus and walking the rest of the distance.

Always ready to help, she is very patient with children. I have known many other women of her age, but they have retired years ago, visiting temples instead. Many women, half her age complain of aches and pains and their inability to perform any task gracefully, but this is one lady who never complains. I admire her strength.

I strive to be as active as she is when I reach her age. She is my unsung hero.

Here and There

My friend tells me that she wants to go out of Mumbai with me for few days. I am reminded of the last trip that we went out, and am thinking whether I should go for the next one with her, again?

"Where do you want to go?" I ask her wondering why she ever wants to go anywhere. During our last trip, all she wanted to do was eat, shop or sleep. She wasn’t very much interested in looking around. Our taste differs in every way, but she is just content to go out with me and my friends.

Not that I mind, actually I do like it, I do like to spend time with my friends, I like to talk of thing here and there, share some jokes and learn something from each other’s experiences, but what I like the most is the adventure of trying something new. When we go to a new place, I want to visit the museums, see the new culture, taste the local food, and meet the natives to talk about their common issues. There is certain kind of energy that creeps into my body during the trips out of station. I am able to adjust to all the unavoidable discomfort, but not she.

And, my main problem is the time factor. I am not an early bird. When I wake up, she has already finished her morning walk, had her bath and breakfast, is dressed tip-top from head to toe and is walking impatiently in the room, left, right, left, right, waiting for me to rise. Can’t blame her if she is tired by the time I am done with bath. I always skip the breakfast and we go out for lunch. I don’t like shopping and walking aimlessly, but she does.

What we do together is sit and chat till late nights, play some board games or other creative games, and laugh a lot. In the group of eight, if all are not same, we are not annoyed.

But is that the reason enough to plan the next trip???

Shopper's Agony

She told me to meet her at Bandra, Hill road, the big shopping area of Mumbai. One month from now is her marriage and she has not yet purchased her wedding gown. We go to this boutique at Hill road. The sales girl switches on the shop lights and AC as we enter the store. In the times like these, salesgirls are instructed by their boss to sit in heat and dark unless the client enters the store. She is quite pleased with our entry, happy that she will have somebody to chat and enjoy few moments of light and cool air.

There are bright-colored-stone-sequined- clothes on the rack for display. There are brocade saris, salvar-suits, ghagra- cholis. I assure her that this store has reasonable rates and that other well-known designers with branded labels have crazy rates. She believes me and follows me as I sift through the clothes on the rack, one by one.

There are two dresses that she likes a lot. One is the Gagra choli and other is chooridar set. I ask her to try it onto know the fitting. She wants to know the price, its forty-two grand in INR. She is hesitant. She finds the futility of spending too much money for one-day wear. She prefers to save the cash for a rainy day instead. Maybe for a trip abroad? I tell her that she will be somebody special on that day and its one-day affair of her lifetime and she must look her best. She relents and picks up both the sets and enters the trial room.

She has well shaped body with just the right curves. Both the dresses suit her and do justice, the color and the style, both are perfect. But she finds the price is too expensive. I inform the salesgirl that we are undecided and would like to visit some more stores before we can narrow our search. The salesgirl understands our plight. She quotes her last price lowered by three more grand to guarantee our return. We exit.

We visit few more stores, still confused.

Uncrowned Glory

If I count the hair on my scalp, it will be exactly 25 feathers. This has been a topic of discussion with most of my friends and relatives. When they should be asking me about my well being, all they notice is my naked scalp. I wish I could hide it. I envy Muslim ladies who are able to cover their scalp with burqas…yeah it helps to save from embarrassment, also those 1950’s women, who wore beautiful hats to cover their scalps, ,but for me, there is no relief…I cannot wear burqa nor wear any hats (this might attract more traffic of stares on me) I have tried perms, adding curls to disguise my tresses but they have lost their luster over time and are even more straw’ey than ever before.


My recent visit to a hair salon brings me some hope. I like the oil massage and so very glad that such services are available now. (when my niece was a kid, she would regularly massage my hair, oiling it liberally and playing with my hair. I would enjoy her tiny finger in my hair) but, now that she is grown up, she would rather concentrate on her own hair. I have been regularly trying different salon to seek the best masseur. I think I have found it at last.

I went to this hair salon, on recommendation of my friend, who is concerned about my vanishing tresses. She fixed the appointment for me; therefore I am no stranger to them. The best of the clan volunteers to massage my scalp. Gently squeezing the cotton soaked in oil over my scalp, she covers my head with dripping oil. Massage is actually pressing of points, gently with her fingers, followed by gentle hammering with closed palms. I drifted off to sleep enjoying the pampering, awaken only when she moves away.

“Maam, I see you have very scanty hair” says the superintendent of the salon. (as if I don’t know)

“So, what do you suggest?” I say, hoping against hope that there is some remedy.

“We have solution if you are ready to take up the treatment” she says

“Really? And what that be?”

“First, you must come regularly, at least twice a week” (she is looking for steady clients, I am sure)

“I have come for hair massage, just need to oil my hair, get a good massage and leave it overnight. I shall wash it next day.”

“Oh no, no, you should never leave your hair oily and walk on the street. There is too much dust on the road that will harm your roots. Have you seen foreigners with oily hair?”

(As if foreigners oil their hair. I am not sure. Plan to enquire this quest on my next trip abroad.)

“We will give you hair pack of ‘curd with secret ingredients” (I have heard of face-pack, now what is this hair-pack? Who is this introducing new gimmick every time?)

“Okay and then?”

“Then massage and steaming, long procedure, maam, but sure-shot treatment, believe me; you will find the difference within one month”

Since my crowning glory has limited life, I decide to play along. Aar ya paar….

I confirm the treatments, lay back and relax…..

For another hour, there is massage, hair-pack, steaming, hair-wash and blow-dry.

Three hours of my precious time is lost in a salon which promises me a matted crown, but I am feeling good......

Hope it works. I have fixed the appointment for follow-up next week…..

Postcard from Ganpatipule

Just 375 kms away from Mumbai, and it’s a different world, in complete contrast from high-rise, polluted Mumbai, we enter a small village, serene, sedate, unspoiled, the magic land of virgin beaches, with 400 year old land mark- the Swayambhu Ganapati temple.

Being a holiday season, it was flooded with thousands of devotees and tourists. Moi and my group of eight friends added to this burden of population for three full days.......

Night time is the best time to travel by road, since there is less traffic and the ride is smooth, with the curvy roads giving pleasant swings at regular intervals. We started our journey at 10pm after our heavy meal and dozed off to sleep as soon as the bus revved its engine, only to open our eyes at twilight to watch the beautiful sun rise...... the scenery was beautiful, at some places we could touch the clouds as they floated through our windows....blinding our lens.... We drove through the narrow mud-roads, the earth dark red ....glistening in sunshine... and the roofed houses with clean courtyards that added quaint touch to the panorama. We passed the bridge to arrive at our destination of calm village of Ganpatipule....Yes we had arrived......after ten hours of journey by road...in time for hot breakfast and a cup of coffee........

After breakfast we headed towards the 'Swayambhu Ganapati temple' (Swayambhu means 'self-made', this is a temple of the self-originated idol, Ganapati). A long queue winding from the entrance through narrow bamboo barriers, snaked through the curves, three-folds and it took us more than sixty minutes to reach the idol. The temple here is very beautiful and recently it was renovated. Every year in the months of February and November the sunrays fall directly on the Ganpati idol....( I was told)..... one of persons in our group wanted to take a "Pradakshina" around the hill where the temple is located, she explained that 'Pradakshina' is a form of showing obeisance wherein the devotee walks in a circle around the idol of the lord or around the temple, the house of the lord, The pradakshina or the walk of 1 km is interestingly Ganapati Shaped. ..But I was already too tired walking through those paths within bamboos railings in queue,(of one hour) when we reached the temple, we were allowed only 30 seconds of the glimpse of the idol...."Chalo, Chalo, line bahut hai" said the pundit as he ushers us towards the exit....I wanted to look closely at the self-originated, idol of Ganapati, that is made of copper. .but look at him...shooing us away....not fair...

The rest of the evening we spend at the beach, watching the people in colorful (zakaas) clothes clearly surprising the foreigners, who are used to seeing people dressed in bikini and bare skin in their home town.....

Next day, we rented a private transport to tour around. We started our journey (after a heavy breakfast) at 9am to explore the other areas of the village..... I was attracted by the fountain that welcomed us at our first stop at Malgund village...Malgund village is the birthplace of the famous Marathi Poet Keshavsoot. (Have you heard about him??) He was born here in 1866. He is termed as a poet who heralded the dawn of modern Marathi poetry. The "Marathi Sahitya Parishad" (Marathi Literature Society) has constructed a beautiful monument called "Keshavsoot Smarak" in the memory of the great son-of-the soil. There was even an amphitheatre behind the house...He must have performed his poems in front of large crowd (I am sure) There is also a museum where you can find information on most of the modern day poets of Marathi language. The Memorial is a real treat for people who are interested in Marathi literature. Lucky poet, he had such a big house......I am thinking, thinking, thinking .. if I could invest some time on my poems.....maybe...??? On the second thought, it is understable with all these inspirations of plants, birds and trees...(I am sure if I had a house like that, I would be a famous poet too)..Who wouldn't be???

And traveling by roads is an experience by itself. The vast "Konkan" stretch abounds with scenic greenery..... Our next stop was 'Prachin kokan' an open air museum on a hill, showing our old culture, basically old customs of Konkan areas. The museum is spread over an area of 3 acres on a hillside. The museum was constructed by a 27 year old resident of Ganpatipule, (Vaibhav Sardesai). all the statues had great expressions, the path was quite hilly and steep and I needed support to climb those big, huge stone steps...Planners of this museum are quite insensitive...they didn't think of placing some railings on this hilly path...come on, everybody was uncomfortable walking through this hilly path.. having a railing makes life so much easier...I tell you...duh!!

There was a guide with us, who kept rambling (in Marathi) about the history of the statues ( giving me a headache). On the highest peak of this hilly museum, there was a store selling art stuff and my group (always crazy for shopping) give a good business to the store...which later they deposited with me in the sumo, since I was enjoying the privileged, bigger seat in the front, next to driver.... But truly, this open air museum was one of its kind....quite enjoyable......except for railings. .huff! huff!!

We continued our drive through Bhatye beach...that had silver white sand against deep blue waters.... Bhatya is a small village sited at a distance of 1 kms from Ratnagiri. The village is known for flat and straight 1.5 km long beach. The scene along the coastal region was amazing and I could not control clicking shots,( click, click, clicking the boats and the canals on the route..).till we finally reached 'Patit Pawan Mandir' at Pawas.. "Patit Pawan Mandir" is of importance here. It was the first temple built for the non-Brahmins by revolutionary leader, Swatantryaveer Savarkar. ..

Our next stop was the house where the freedom fighter Lokmanya Bal Gangadhar Tilak was born, and is now declared and maintained as a national monument He was born on 26th July 1856 in this house. It was Lokmanya Tilak who gave the slogan that "Self rule is my birth right and I will achieve it. Lokmanya Tilak stayed in the house till 1866. Although the rooms in the house were quite tiny, but, at the back of the house, there was a big open space, large enough for long walks or jogging...

So close to nature, such scenic rides....such clean streams....(unlike our Mithi river) and so much greenery and open space....there were no slums?? huh?? Why must we have all the slums only in Mumbai??? Why is the population of Maharastra not evenly spread out....??? Jobs can be created here too, tourist industry perhaps?? Hello? Is somebody listening???

Our next destination was the 'Thebaw Palace' Thebaw Palace was constructed in 1910 – 1911 when the king and Queen of Myanmar were dethroned and were exiled. They stayed here in the palace from 1911 till their death in 1916. The palace was built under the King’s supervision. The five years of their stay at the palace have been immortalized on the walls of their tombs. There were lots of carved artifacts What I liked was the design and architecture of this palace and the view behind the windows....built in such a way that sun rays filters through palace evenly... those steep wooden stairs leading to the courtyard....everything was so beautiful.... A constant debate is going between the government and private authorities to convert the palace into a regional museum and a heritage hotel.

Next we passed through the busy market place to stop for lunch.....It was 3pm and tummy was complaining.....and the smell of fresh fish was in the air.... after lunch we headed towards The Balla Fort, that is located on a hill by the sea shore.

The fort is constructed in the shape of half Circle like horseshoe. The fort is built on an area of 120 acres and is surrounded by sea from three sides. There is a light house constructed on the western end of the fort. ..We climb up the fort and visited the temple again, once more...The main part of the fort has a Devi Bhagwati temple. There is also a small tank and a deep well in the fort premises. During the Navratri’s a ten day festival is organized at the fort. ....

Next we reached the aquarium.. and 'The Seafood Processing Centre' at Mirya. ...tiredness was seeping in..... we talked with the fishes, although they had no proper etiquettes to stop and talk to us.... they happily swam behind their glass prison, the sea horses in the aquarium had company and were prohably preparing for some concert.... and my friend wanted a closer look....wanted a new friend....to meditate on.. And why not? she told me that you can meditate almost on everything ...just keep your mind blank and shut out the past and the future., just focus on present....I tried, but my mind is too wild and undisciplined...never pauses for a moment....arrgh!!

On our way back, we stopped at top of the hill before descending to Bhandarpule, to watch the sun set.

The next day was reserved for relaxing at the beach, having a note of thanks, getting to know each other, sharing views over the cup of coconut water....and playing some creative games The sun over our hotel 'Sukh Sagar Palace' (where we were staying) reminded us to pack our bags and return back to the rat race of our beloved Mumbai

..... ..till the next long week-end arrives.....and we will head towards a newer destination...once more....