Pick Your Food

image from here

Toddlers fussing over food is no news for anyone. As they enter the wonderland of solid foods, they are bound to get lost. They will be picking some as favourites and will be turning up their tiny noses at others.
Little K has not been very different, but I must say he made weaning more easy than tough.
Neither C nor me are fussy eaters - we eat what we reasonably can from our plate; so probably K took it from us. And I would like to brag that I do care to cook fresh meals everyday, so may be that helps too. All proud mums can raise an eyebrow,  and say "Big Deal! every mum does, and should!".

K hasn't been a difficult child on food front (well, on any front really, says the very proud mommy in me). He has slowly built a respectable list of veggies, fruits and other stuff that he readily eats, which as most mums-to-toddlers will agree, is something worth a pat on back. His, and mine.

Over the last month I have noticed that he happily and willingly eats most veggies like cabbage (!),beans, beet root(!),peas, parsnips (!), sweet potato, potato,cauliflower(!),spinach (!), methi ( fenugreek greens) (!), gourds, pumpkins and also raw ones like tomatoes, carrot, cucumber sticks even lettuce!.
I haven't seen much liking for eggplant ( unless well disguised), bhendi (okra)( again, should be accompanied with potato) , bell peppers and mushrooms ( unless on pizza).

He likes Indian food so can eat these in his daily meal -all daals ( lentils)  like toor (split pigeon peas), urad (black gram), moong (green gram), masoor ( red lentils) ; all usals (chickpeas, black eyed beans, kidney beans, moth beans etc) ; roti / chapati, bread, rice, semolina upma, broken wheat porridge / upma.


He also eats a variety of dry powdered chutneys very common to andhra and marathi cuisine. Loves metkut.
He is happy to eat regional dishes like poha (beaten rice), thalipeeth (a kind of bread made by mixing a variety of flours like wheat, sorghum, rice etc) and idli ( steamed rice cakes), dosa (pancakes with a fermented batter).
He eats fruits happily too, and if he is in no mood to eat anything else fruits always come handy.He is OK with most of the common fruits here - bananas, apples, pineapple, strawberries, raspberries, kiwis, oranges, grapes, pears, watermelon. Some exotics like papaya, guava aren't very well received. I have tried mango here a couple of times and he didn't seem keen. But a proper Alphonso mango is still elusive, and I have my hopes pinned on it, that one day K will have his own moment of epiphany.

We cook vegetarian food at home, but he has happily tried chicken and fish elsewhere.
Though he is still not keen on drinking milk, he eats his breakfast cereal well with milk.
He does love eating cupfuls of honey-yoghurt or paneer (cottage cheese), butter and he adores ghee ( clarified butter).
He likes his eggs boiled or fried. Even omelettes work well.

Every time I make a trip to India, I look around just to see what snack or tea-time stuff kids eat around me. I take a trip down memory lane to remember what we ate as kids during those 'neither lunch nor dinner' hunger pangs.
And then I bring it here so that little K can eat it here in London.
Some favourites are rolls - tup-sakhar-poli or gul-tup-poli ( flat bread smeared with ghee, sprinkled with sugar or crushed palm sugar), lahya cha peeth , nachnichi kheer, ravyachi kheer,  bhadang, different types of wadis, ladoos, chivdas.
Biscuits, bars, munchies like crisps weren't very omnipresent then, and snacking would mean eating phutane, or peanuts and a piece of jaggery, sprouts etc.
K is OK with it. He likes chikki, peanuts, soaked almonds, cashews etc.

As happy as I am with his eating habits, he is still my little baby, and I don't mind spoiling him once in a while with treats. Biscuits (cream biscuits please), pastries, chocolates, ice-lollies are firm favourites and greatly relished. The trick is to keep them just as a once-in-a-while treat; if he can have it easily,it loses the appeal.

There are some simple rules that both C and me follow. We don't eat so called junk food in front of K ( well you can't just give it up in a night, can you?) , at least at meal times. We hardly buy crisps any more. Or all the deep fried goodies we were used to, to go with our tea. Or the lovely cakes that you can eat with a scoop of ice cream. No frozen meals, no heat-and-eats. Heck, C even gave up jams on his toast, lest K gets hooked to the sugar-high it brings!

But we are no food police, and we do give in to our temptations once in a while. Just that eating has been consciously more healthy since little K has started joining us at the dinner table.
And no one is complaining!

Never too late, to be a bit better!

The blog needed some TLC - and a revamp. The millionth in a month if you may - but as the philosophy of the blog has been, its never too late.
And since its never too late, there are currently new philosophies on-boarding.
First, the blog needed a good url, so now its a bit better - belittlebetter.blogspot.com
Secondly, it needed a connect, between me, the blog and its title.
As I am trying a little bit harder, to make this blog better, Voilà! new title, new description, but same blog and same (ole) me!

There is much more to do and what needs to be done,  should be done.
Try a little harder, and be a little better.

Keep Calm and Carry On..

Lil K soon turns three.

He is quite a handful.. and born to a temperamental ( C would rather just say MENTAL ;-) ) mother, we clash often :)

He has gotten into terrible twos ( that's the only sane justification for the tantrums these days) a year late , and I am driven to the edge of hysterics when C isn't around us to keep peace.

The other day K insisted on walking to the supermarket instead of a ride in the buggy, to which I happily agreed ( on after thought , I don't know why).

A short walk further to the supermarket is a small bridge, which runs over a train track. K knows these routes by heart. He hears the train whistle from miles away.

I keep supermarket shopping to bare minimum when K is with me. So that I have a hand free to grab his and keep him from straying away. But, that fateful day, though I just shopped 1 bagful, the bag was a tad heavy.

We finished with the shopping, K being unbelievably cooperative.

As a thank you gesture, instead of just giving him a few hugs and kisses, I agreed to walk him to the bridge to see the trains - he loves to run from one side of the bridge to other, and wave to the trains till they disappear.

He did his routine 30 mile run on that small bridge waving to a million trains. ( these are daily commute local trains fondly called the tube, which run every few minutes)

Then after a couple of pleads, bribes and threats on my part, I was able to head back home, with the bagful and the handful.

House is a short walk away - 5 mins on my own, an hour with K - OK , not being OTT its half an hour with K.

After about 10 mins, when the house was a few blocks away, K realised he was tiered.

As is the rule, he stood in front of me, and lifted both his hands up.

So did I ( in my mind ,I threw them up in defeat!) The bag was heavy, almost bursting at its seams, and I was flustered and crabby with the infinite amount of babbling and ( pretend on my part and genuine on K's ) excitement at each passing train. ( Seriously, how can kids jump in joy for the same thing a 1000 times in quick succession?)

I said NO. I can't lift you K. We are near to the house, the bag is heavy and YOU wanted to walk ( this I will use in my defence once he is old enough to understand)

He realised that being cute and small isn't helping.

So he started to cry and clung to my legs. I kept walking with the bagful, and lil K trying to climb up his way into my arms.

He realised that this isn't working.

He let go, and started to call me names. ( lil K has a vast vocab of 'naughty mommy' and 'I don't like you')

Ears burning with shame (thankfully no British passer-bys to nod in disarrangement) , I inched towards house, still a painful few blocks away.

Now K had had enough ( gahh!) - his lil hands balled up in fists he screamed his face red, tears streaming down his face. To add insult to injury - he interspersed it with a pitiful ' Daaadddddyyyy'

I was witnessing lil K's début performance of throwing a tantrum.

Don't ask me how I controlled the rising urge to smack him. I almost smacked him.

I held his hand with my free one, and dragged him all angry and red and teary eyed the last few steps into the house.

Keep Calm and Carry On - was what I was reminding myself through all this.

At home, with K fed and tucked in with a lot of extra hugs and kisses and heartfelt apologies, I went on a guilt trip. Atonement would only come after narrating this to C in the evening and make him say what I did was right.

yes, parenting is not easy. It does push you to the very end.

At times like this, I seek solace in Google search. And it comes to me in more ways than one. I am not alone, I am not the only wicked mom in the whole world wide web.

Finds like this help me keep calm and carry on!

You Are Awful..

Sweetest , sweetest song ever!

(Frank Sinatra, Betty Garrett)

HE:

You're awful,

Awful good to look at,

Awful nice to be with,

Awful sweet to have and hold.

You're nothing,

Nothing if not lovely,

Nothing if not dazzling,

Nothing but pure gold!

You're frightening,

Frightening when you say that you might go away;

You're boring,

Boring into my heart to stay.

You're cheap, dear,

Chap at any price dear,

Cheap for such a diamond,

Cheap for such a pearl.

What I said before I'll say again:

You're awful,

Awful nice to be my girl.

SHE:

You're old, dear,

Old with worldly wisdom,

Old like Gorgonzola,

Old like vintage France champagne,

You're so-so,

So-so kinda charming,

So-so kind of witty,

So I can't explain!

HE:

Can't stand you,

I can't stand you to give some fellow the eye;

Can't see you

In the arms of another guy

Who needs you

Needs you to distraction,

Needs you till he's crazy,

Needs you rain or shine.

BOTH:

I'm the one who needs you and I think you're awful,

Awful nice to say you're mine!

lyrics courtesy http://www.metrolyrics.com

Confession

My up bringing imbibed on me to not ask for anything from anyone. If you don't have it, deal with it. [ I did deal with it, and sometimes not in a very ladylike way, I must confess.]

Enjoy what you have, don't fret for things you don't have. [But fret I did, I must confess].

If you want something, don't borrow it, don't beg for it. Be patient [ha! me? patient? whats that now?], and it will come to you.

And if you want something badly, then work hard and earn it!

I try and follow it even today.

And there is another side to this.

This is something am not proud of, but its there. hence the confession.

The way I don't ask for things from people, I don't like it when people ask for things from me.

People I barely know, or have just known or the few whom I don't know very well. I feel as if I can't trust them enough to take care of stuff they are borrowing, or even return it at all.

I have worked and earned my things, let others do it too!

Well, I think I can't trust people very freely.

Unlike C. He is, as I call him ' Santa Claus on Prozac'. ( quoting Phoebe from Friends )

Ever cheerful, positive, warm and friendly - as if on a drug induced stupor which compels him to be good all the time!

He sees everything that is good, and ignores whatever is bad. He is like that .. no really, he is like that!

Well being his better(!) half, I somehow can't appreciate - or I can only begrudgingly appreciate and approve of it.

You see, he is the good cop, and am left to be the bad cop. Always.

Anyway, I digress.

It so happened that C lent someone money, and we both very well knew that it won't be coming back. But still he did it. His philosophy being, 'if we can, we should.' And also, 'if we give, we will get back in more forms than one'.

But I could not take such a holistic approach to it, and we had a fight.

Not because he lent the money ..how much ever I like to stick to my 'never ask for anything, and stay away from askers' motto, I always relent and join him on his charitable pursuits.

We fought because he didn't tell me about it. Again, the good cop that he is, he thought that a few grand spent thus should not cause any distress to me or to him, or to both, thus preserving the calm and peace of our days.

But I found out , and hell broke loose.

After numerous arguments, counter-arguments [ but, My Lord, he didn't tell me!] and a burnt dinner later, the storm died down, and things returned to normal. [Though the money didn't, and won't return. That's all My Lord.]

On introspection, I know I come out looking that bad cop again, but may be he was not wrong.

I read a sermon by Osho in a news paper few days ago. It narrated a story in one of Rabindranath Tagore's poems..

A beggar sets out for his daily alms. As is the routine, he puts a few grains of rice in his bag, just so that people will see those, and be compelled to give, thinking 'Someone has given alms to this beggar, may be I should give too' .

No sooner has he set out, a King's chariot comes galloping by. The King alights, and to the beggar's surprise, asks for alms from the beggar! The King says that a holy man has advised him to do so, and in doing so a great calamity on the kingdom can be averted.

The beggar, who till now was anticipating generous alms from the King, is bitterly disappointed. Very reluctantly, he takes just 2 grains of rice and gives it to the King. The King thanks him and gallops away.

That day, the beggar receives a lot of alms from various people. But, he is still grudging those 2 grains he had to part with for the King. At the end of the day, his wife is delighted to see her husband's daily earnings. He bitterly tells her that she does not know what they had lost.As they empty the last of the grains from his bag, they find 2 grains of rice made of gold. He is now even more bitter, thinking had he given more to the King, he would have had more golden grains of rice!

What you give, turns into gold, what you guard, turns into dust! If one gives away everything, everything turns to gold.

Now , again, am not the one to take a holistic approach - but for all things intangible, I confess that there is a lesson to be learnt here.

Rumi

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

From Essential Rumi

by Coleman Barks

Knock, And He'll open the door

Vanish, And He'll make you shine like the sun

Fall, And He'll raise you to the heavens

Become nothing, And He'll turn you into everything.

― Rumi

silence is the language of god,

all else is poor translation.

― Rumi

Everything in the universe is within you. Ask all from yourself.

― Rumi

Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.

― Rumi

Losing Oneself..

Losing oneself is defined as 'Become deeply absorbed or involved in. This expression alludes to becoming so absorbed as to forget oneself'.

Recently, I came across an article in a regional newspaper, where the author, a lady, looked back on her past and rued.

It got me thinking.

Times have been innumerous, when I lost the sense of time and place , so engrossed I was with what I was doing.

Repeated calls by mom, unanswered , as I drown in the plight of poor Oliver Twist ..

The lost track of time while listening to Sanjeev Abhyankar rendering a splending Kalyan..

The most unladylike screaming and pumping of fists as the cricket match inched towards a nail biting finish..

Dinner time, long forgotten amongst the hours spent chatting with friends outside our school-gate, holding our bicycles by the handles and shifting weight from this leg to that to relieve the stiffness building up for standing too long..

Such were the pleasures of being a much doted upon girl of the family - a carefree girl, with no weight of responsibilities bearing on my shoulders.

My head used to be filled with things like school and studies, friends and picnics, songs and books..

Free abandon, recklessness came easily, well , I never noticed that it was there in first place..

So was I lost in these happy pursuits - ignorance was bliss in the truest sense!

And then, this girl grew up, got married, became a mother.

The girl who used to wake up from bed and walk straight to the table for breakfast now plans all three meals in her head as she brushes her teeth?

The girl whose weekends were one slumber fest to another now spends the good part of a weekend on household chores, to be ready for the working week?

The girl who spent late nights reading, talking or watching movies, now tucks in often while reading a bedtime a story to her little one?

Who would have known?

The old me is lost in myself, and I've become a new me..

Somehow, the free mind is reigned in..

Now between the notes of the favourite song in my ear, floats the sound of the hissing cooker ..'remember to turn off the heat after third..'

As the IPL match draws claps and cheers in the living room, I hover on the boundary of the kitchen - half mind tuned to the TV, half on the simmering sauce on stove..

As I skip a meal on a lazy day, to wolf down few more chapters of the un-put-downable book, the return of a hungry toddler from school looms large on mind..

Thus has become the way of life - measured, calculated, always planned and safe.

Noone asks you to be this way - but you just mould your life around these daily things.

I think about that girl I used to be, and the woman that I have become.

And I silently thank my parents and friends and teachers for giving me a childhood that I can very fondly look back upon - a place where I indeed lost myself and became a new me.

Food Blogs and Fund raisers..

I love reading about food. Thats how I got hooked to bloggers and blogging in first place.

The very first blog I read, was a food blog, One Hot Stove, by Nupur.

Its a delightful read, and I have been following it quite regularly.

Though primarily its a food blog, Nupur also posts on lot of other activities and awareness about food wastage, composting etc in some of her posts, not to forget updates of her mutt Dale, and a cute little recent addition - her lovely daughter Lila.

The last time I visited Nupur's blog, she had linked to Cooking with Siri , to share the fund raising appeal Siri has made to raise a donation to Vaidehi Ashram, a refuge looking after little girls in Hyderabad, India. Its an earnest appeal to raise funds for the food, clothing and education of these girls, and you can see for yourself the generous contributions being made from the blogging community world wide, predominantly the food bloggers' community, in the form of raffle prizes and donations.

Siri herself has visited the ashram a couple of times, and one can be assured that the donations will reach the cause - through safe hands. The appeal is open till 25th of Feb for you to buy a raffle ticket for some lovely prizes, and earn some good karma on the way!

Awesome..

Today is jackpot day or what!!!???

Another lovely blog I stumbled upon. What a brilliant idea for a blog ..1000 Awesome Things ..

just list all things awesome..

the posts can just keep flowing..

Simplicity is just so profound! ( if no-one's said this before, I call it first to be mine..)

What a truely awesome thing to do .. you will definitely have at least one awesome thing a day..

And even that is not there, well the day indeed is a bummer ..

Today's awesome things for me are - 2 posts back to back and a lovely blog to visit !!

PS: this stuff above is too short for a blog post, and too long for a tweet!

Keep Writing..

As I have said time and again on the blog, I love to read, I love to write. I want to write. I try to keep my self going on the writing front with different exercises. Some more successful than others. Or I just hunt around and find out how other people keep their creative juices flowing. And then try to bring that into practice.

The idea of being a writer, an author perhaps is very romantic. But it does not just happen. Many people who are successful writers have made it happen. Here is how.

The famous blogger turned bestseller of The Happiness Project has this to say about her writing practice.

How I wish these tips would work for me. A few would I guess ,

like #9 Have something to say!

That's very clever I think, what you want to say, you write. And there is always something you have to say. About a news article you read, about a film you watched, about the argument you had, about the new restaurant you tried, the new dish you cooked.

Or sometimes its just those really smart retorts you wished you should have given, but swallowed them up to avoid an argument blowing up into a fight!

Well, there you see, I already have skeletons of 5-10 posts ready. That's inspiring.

And, as I type this, another rule comes to my mind .. 'Think Loud! '

I have noticed this, say when I am reading a book - there is this parallel stream of thought running along in the mind, which is like a reviewer - a real time reviewer of the stuff you are reading - and you sometimes go 'Oh shut up you ( the other me that is) , let me ( the first me ) read!!' . These are the times when I wish I had a notebook handy, so that I can jot down these thoughts, and then flesh them out to make a writeable post. ( wait , didn't rule #5 say the same?)

May be I should try that.

PS: I have managed myself another post - yeeeee hay!

Konkan - at long last again!

I have visited Konkan quite a few times since childhood.

Its been a much cherished holiday every single time I've been there.

The earliest memory is of visiting Ganapatipule with my parents. I was barely four at that time , and still recall my first rendezvous with the sea. Not very pleasant. I was scared by the incessant rumble of the waves - building into a crescendo and then crashing at our feet. I feared that if we didn't step away from the waters, we would glide all the way to the horizon and coming back would be quite some task!

I also recall mum n dad sitting in the sand, or walking bare feet by the beach.

And the pooja my dad did at the temple, sitting right in front of the ganesha idol. I remember watching the waves from the safe sanctuary of the temple - from a distance they looked quite harmless and even beautiful - small frothy rows rushing towards the shore, all neatly framed by the pillars of the temple verandah.

The beach as I remember was isolated - hardly anyone on the beach, miles and miles of soft fine sand, and tiny white crabs scampering sideways. The joy of finding shells of all shapes and sizes that the sea left behind, and watching the sun turn everything pink at sunset!

The next trip I remember was with my grandmom, aunt and cousins. I was the youngest of the lot, and had a great time with everyone fussing over me. But of the beach, I remember not much. Though I do remember collecting red seeds called goonja under the trees that lined the far end of the beach.

Another trip was with my classmates, soon after our 10th grade exams got over. It as a school excursion. We all travelled together in a big bus, and it was one joyride. Few places we visited were Lote-parshuram ( remember visiting a factory there - I think of Kokam products), then Guhagar, Dhabhol, Pawas, Chiplun. All these were in the proximity of the Dabhol area. The purpose of the trip was to meet the activists who were concerned about the environmental impact of the Enron power project coming there, and were working with the locals towards a possible solution.

In Pawas we visited the swarupananda math. Me and my dear friend V were in charge of the breakfasts I think, and we had good fun going about the arrangements. A few vivid memories are of early morning prayers (upasana) and moonlight walks by the beach - it was surreal! By this time, I had grown fond of the rumble of the sea, and found it rather soothing to ears - no longer an incessant noise.

Next trip was with my girlfriends, just before we started college. We all had booked with a homestay by Mr. Paladhe in Shrivardhan , all arrangements being made by my friend S. We travelled to Shrivardhan by state transport, and camped at Mr. Paldhe's place. It was a beautiful house, with a big front porch, ample trees and coconut and beetlenut plantations (wadi) in the back yard. Food was awesome, accommodation modest but comfortable and the beach hardly a couple of minutes away. We loved the waters, spent plenty of time on the beach, had great fun. We hired a tum-tum ( a six seater auto-rickshaw) and visited Harihareshwar.

When spend times like these with friends, you know you have friendships lasting for life.

Another encounter with Konkan came when I was studying Engineering. Again, it was an excursion. Being from the electrical engineering stream, we had a study trip planned to visit the Koyna nagar dam. The work for Koyna Hydroelectric project was under way. The ambitious project consists of 4 stages of power generation , with all generators located underground, in powerhouses excavated deep inside the mountains of the Western Ghats. I feel privileged to have been able to visit the project site! (thanks COEP!).

Well after the study of the trip, we had an over night halt , and visited Guhagar on our way back. This again is a much cherished trip, and brings back fond memories of the college years.

Over the years, I moved to the UK with my husband. I must say, I did not find much glory in the English seaside. They are rugged and breathtakingly beautiful ( only in summer!), but for me a beach is where you can walk into the sea, feel the soft sand between your toes, and plunge into the crashing waves - if you can't do this, well what else would you do on the beach then??!! I sorely missed the beautiful beautiful beaches of India and especially Konkan.

And, again after a long-11 year-last, we visited Konkan yet again. This time with my hubby C and our son K. And for the very first time, with my sis N and brother A too! Looking back, am really surprised that we 3 siblings never travelled together to Konkan before, though its one of our most favourite destinations and all three have visited it a couple of times before on our own!

Of course, mum and dad were with us too. The trip was a treat. We had fantastic stay arrangements in Diveagar with Mr. Limaye - again a home stay. They served wonderful home cooked veg food, had modest but nice,big and clean self-content rooms and very prompt and attentive service. Lil K just loved being on the beach and had a field day! Diveagar is quiet and quaint and still untouched by the mad tourist crowd. Its really a tiny village with small dim lit lanes and modest houses with big wadis. No hotels, only messes. Claim to fame is a ganesha temple, the idol being of gold and discovered in one of the natives' field. And of course the beach. Lovely silky-soft sand beach. We ate awesome food - sea food that is, visited the beach quite a few times, also did small trips along a picturesque route along the beach to Shrivardhan and Harihareshwar. We spotted dolphins leaping out of water as we gazed at the sea from the rocky shores of Harihareshwar. It was a very relaxing trip - far from the maddening crowd. we left Konkan refreshed and relaxed, with a promise to visit again soon!

There are still a lot of hidden gems of Konkan to visit - Kelshi, Hedavi, Nagaon, Alibaug, Murud Janjeera - and the whole Malvan region. Am already planning my next trip!

I carry your heart with me ..

I came across this poem first time, in the movie In Her Shoes , where the maid of honour reads it for the bride, who is her sister. There was lots going in there which moved me to tears - the setting (a wedding for god's sake!), the main actors (sisters! duh!) and in general the context - et all.

I remembered the poem with great fondness, and tucked it somewhere in the folds of memory , almost forgotten.

And then I came across it again, this time when a friend announced the arrival of her little one!

La di dah! The floodgates opened again!

This time, I thought , I should share it (source www.poetryfoundation.org), lest it slips away in the memory lane again..

I carry your heart with me ( I carry it in my heart)

E. E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)

i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Apple was just a fruit , until..

The great Steve Jobs passed away today.

Take a bow Mr. Jobs, you changed how the world looks at machines!

A few of his quotes ( as they have appeared on BBC's website)

Commencement Speech at Stanford University, 2005

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything - all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice.

Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.

Interview with Business Week, 1998

That's been one of my mantras - focus and simplicity. Simple can be harder than complex: you have to work hard to get your thinking clean to make it simple. But it's worth it in the end because once you get there, you can move mountains.

AllThingsD Conference, 2010

There's nothing that makes my day more than getting an e-mail from some random person in the universe who just bought an iPad over in the UK and tells me the story about how it's the coolest product they've ever brought home in their lives. That's what keeps me going. It's what kept me five years ago, it's what kept me going 10 years ago when the doors were almost closed. And it's what will keep me going five years from now whatever happens.

Chronicles of Banse Wada - The layout

The structure and layout of Banse wada was quite complex.

Not just the people living here, but the inanimate objects were integral to Banse wada. The Chronicles of Banse wada are incomplete without introducing you to these wondrous characters - they are not just innocent bystanders witnessing the story unfold, they are the ones who at times created one!

We had one common entrance to the property leading straight into the courtyard, which partially served the purpose of parking spaces for two-wheelers.

The mud courtyard had a beautiful parijat tree almost in the center. It has played a very significant part in making Banse wada a cherished memory.

Bottom left corner of the courtyard was the utility area fondly called the haud, and maids ( another post! ) employed by respective families used to wash clothes and utensils here.

It had two open sections, one was a stone paved area, generally reserved for washing utensils. Other one was tiled, and had two large square stone blocks, used to wash clothes. This area enjoyed the presence of a 'corporation tap' (one of the 10 in the whole property), which ensured running water at full pressure in mornings and evenings (generally the ablution peak-times) and moderately low pressure in the afternoons (off peak :) ). An open narrow gutter ran along the length of this area and carried water to the drain. It also had an enclosed bathroom solely used by Nimkar family, with tin roof and tin door. The structure was precariously held together with some rudimentary brickwork.

The whole haud area was commendably clean given the volume of activity that took place there everyday.

Nimkars' residence was a modest one room, along the outer wall of Banse wada . It was home for the elderly Nimkar couple, and their 3 children - one daughter, and two married sons , plus it also served as a laundry - Mr. Nimkar and his elder son washed and ironed clothes for a living.

The right bottom corner was the green-space of Banse wada. It was maintained and guarded by the Nimkars.It had a neatly tended array of shrubs and flowering plants , and one huge jamun tree. . This was a mature tree yielding bumper fruits every summer (staining the clothes left out to dry, and causing general mayhem and disharmony between Nimkar and other families now and then.)

Mithu kaka's one room was next to this and was the humblest with one wooden rack, one cot and a stove.

On the right side of this room were the washing lines - one end tied to the parijaat tree, and the other, if I can recall, to nails struck in Mithu kaka's outer wall. Mostly our family's clothes were left to dry here, and sometimes shared by Phadnis family. The Parathe and Kanekar families always kept to the backyard.

On the other side of the parijaat tree, was the parking area. It held three two-wheelers belonging to the two Banse families. Three families owned bicycles, and they were parked in a single row along the narrow passage leading to the common w/c. When I came to own a vehicle, it was parked in front of Mithu kaka's house.

As one walked past the vehicles, they reached the front yard of Kanekars'. Kanekars' house had two rooms. Front room and kitchen. The kitchen opened into the backyard. Phadnis also had a similar layout.

We shared a common wall between our house and Parathe kaku's house. Both our houses were single rooms.

Phadnis and our houses sort of had a narrow slice of private front yard, separated from the washing lines by three rusty barrels, where we tried to grow small plants now and then.

The narrow passage running past Kanekars' house was the common entrance to the common w/c in the back yard. Opposite to the w/c were two bathrooms used by Kanekar, Parathe and Phadnis faimiles. This back yard had a tiled flooring, unlike the mud front yard.

Next to the haud was the staircase leading upstairs to the first floor , where there were two houses in a row for both Banse families, and another staircase running in between. These stairs led to the second floor. Second floor had five rooms, three on one side of the staircase and two on the other. All these rooms served as bedrooms. Parathe and our family rented a room each here as well.

Thus was the total assembly of the monument that played a centre stage to many a bitter sweet events in our lives.

Chronicles of Banse Wada

Since birth, and then through a significant part of my childhood and adolescence I have lived with my family in Banse wada. A name that evokes a mixed avalanche of emotions amongst all those who shared space in this historical monument!

So exquisite and interesting is the tale of community living in Banse wada, that I am going to start blogging about it, episode by episode. This is the first post amongst many to come.

Let me start with what a wada is.

[This property form demands a special post in itself - I will stick to the brief and basic description.]

A wada basically is a huge ancestral property which in old times housed a single large family .

It typically has a large courtyard (front and back) , a central patio, an annex , pantry, kitchen, living rooms, dining rooms, pooja rooms, storage rooms and quite a few bedrooms on 2-3 storeys.

It can also have an outdoor 'utility' area -reserved for washing clothes and utensils.

As it was in olden times, having toilets inside the house was not very sanitary - or as the beliefs go - auspicious, so there would be a set of toilets in some discreet back courtyard location.

As times progressed, maintaining these properties by a single (and mostly nuclear) family became difficult, and sections of this property were rented out.

The landlords graciously made small amends in each room (or set of rooms) to allow the tenants to set up their home. Any more changes than these, were solely made at the landlord's discretion , or by mutual consent between the landlord and the tenant - as the case may be. Typically these arrangements were on a case by case basis.

The tenants mostly had to share toilets, bathrooms, utility and courtyards. Kitchens and indoor utilities generally didn't have running water.

So to speak, only bedrooms and to some extent kitchens provided privacy.

Tenant families lived symbiotically and cordially almost like a functional joint family.

With Banse wada, this was the case amongst most (definitely not all) families.

Banse wada was home for six tenants (five tenants with families, and one bachelor grandpa)

and two main families of the Banse's themselves. I say main families, because there were two Banse brothers from the first generation , one of which was the actual landlord and their sons later tried to setup families in the limited space of their existing house. ( How? well - it calls for a separate post!)

Banse wada was a strange amalgamation of personalities. It was like a rainbow of disarrayed colours, each colour with its own shade of dark and light - none matched the other, yet together they formed this endearing spectrum - which touched the lives of all who stayed here.

..to be contd.

Kindle

For my last birthday, C got me an Amazon Kindle.

Couldn't have asked for a better gift!

The thing is C knows I love reading, but is not sure what book to pick up. So he just picked Kindle :)

Since this wonderful thing came into my possession, I have downloaded about 100 books in 3 months.

Read about 20 of those. (I did download over 30 classics, which I have read earlier)

To do justice to these proportions, I am going to list noteworthy books I read, and some small review for it.

A Child Al Confino : Autobiography of a Jewish boy (Eric Lamet) : Eric Lamet was only seven years old when the Nazis invaded Vienna, and five days after Hitler marched in, the family fled for their lives. His father fled to Poland, and he and his mother to Italy. The book is the account of his scared and lonely days as a Jew in Italy, seen from the eyes of a young child, recording the effects of war on a small , lazy Italian town.

The best for me was the relation between Eric and his mother. She is a very strong and resilient lady, and toils hard to give Enrico a normal childhood as much as possible.

The tenderness with which the author recounts friends and foes alike, makes its a surprisingly warm read.

Life From Scratch (Melissa Ford) : Divorced, lonely and out-of-job, Rachel turns to cooking from scratch to build up the flavours of her empty life. She blogs her journey, and discovers love, joy and good cooking on the way. Very simply written, quite clichéd at places, lovely food descriptions , easy flowing book.

Ending very predictable, stretched to make a happy finish!

William Walker's First Year Of Marriage (Matt Rudd): Quite a funny read, again typical clichés everywhere, wife's best friend, not-so-friendly in-laws, ill-advising buddies et-all, still had its laugh out loud moments in it.

Apothecary's Daughter (Julie Klassen): I was quite intrigued by the 'apothecary' bit of this one, and it did good amount of justice to it. A daughter taking up her father's profession and helping him through rough times in an era where daughters of the house weren't really expected to enter house trades. I liked the period feel of the book and painted a nice picture of bygone times. Cleanly written and fluid.

Incidents in the life of a Slave Girl (Harriet Ann Jacobs): Account of a slave girl in her own words spanning decades. Thankfully, Linda, though a slave, didn't go through the atrocities generally associated with slavery. In the eighteen hundreds , she still has to face the degradations and deprivations a slave had to face. Her struggle to bring a brighter, safer future for her children is noteworthy.

Notes From A Small Island (Bill Bryson): First book I actually bought , on Kindle. (all previous ones were free when I downloaded them). Being in the UK, had to read the insider's take on the British quirkiness and all the things British that he loves and hates. Amazingly written, some parts were so funny, I was laughing out loud on the train, drawing stares from other passengers. Well researched, keen observations, and obviously a very apparent love for this island - can see it all in this book. Some of the things in this books are the national traits of England, and you definitely can see it in your day-to-day encounters with all things English. Loved it!

Before I go to sleep. (S J Watson) : Book is about Christine, who suffers from short term memory loss, and can't form long term memories. Whatever happens in her day, is wiped out from her memory once she sleeps. She keeps a journal, which tells her that the person she lives with is her husband, and that she is taking treatment from a doctor, without the knowledge of her husband. One of them is lying to her. Who? Can she find out? and how?

Very gripping book - read it in one sitting (like old times - into the wee hours of night!)

One Day (David Nicholls) : There was a time when I started noticing this book in everybody's hand while travelling on the train. Had to find out what it was about. First book in pdf format that I read on kindle. But suddenly found myself missing the 'flip-the-pages-and-smell-the-book' experience and borrowed it from the library to read it. Emma and Dexter are classmates, who go their own way after finishing university, but keep meeting on one day every year for twenty two years - sharing their lives and finding their place in the world all along.

A nostalgia inducing book. Its a love story, but very differently written from the ones I've read before. Liked it!

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I have read a few more books since this post, will keep updating reviews.

Five Minutes Everyday - Ex. 3

I read certain sections of my regional newspaper regularly.

I must confess, that more than the news part, I like the other sections better.

Sections with articles, short stories, poems, people voicing their opinions, personal experiences, travelogues, recipes, guest columns by artists, celebrities, authors etc.

These are really interesting sometimes, even humorous, thought provoking.

One such section has these

http://www.esakal.com/esakal/20110327/5470334940453845176.htm

http://www.esakal.com/esakal/20110227/4828802106652704133.htm

http://www.esakal.com/esakal/20110313/4887032978112808032.htm

I enjoy listening to music. I love to read through the song in my mind, and delve into the profound meaning of the song. The songs these days lack that weight and depth - they are quite frivolous.

But oldie-goldies are very rich in the 'depth' department.

In my teen years, I was swept off by the magic of poetry.

I enjoyed reading poetry and its interpretation. Many of my language classes in school had these exercises in ample, and we were blessed with teachers who encouraged free thought and individual expression. It was never textbook education for them. I think those years nurtured and imbibed the love of language in me.

Some poems have stayed in fragments of images and emotions in my mind, I am posting them below.

Every time I think of this poem, I imagine lot of colours, lot of sunlight, and laughter.

I Remember, I Remember

-By Thomas Hood

I remember, I remember,

The roses, red and white,

The violets, and the lily cups,

Those flowers made of light!

The lilacs where the robin built,

And where my brother set

The laburnum on his birth-day,--

The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember

The fir trees dark and high;

I used to think their slender tops

Were close against the sky:

It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm farther off from Heav'n

Than when I was a boy.

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The Death Bed

-By Thomas Hood

This is one is the anti-image of the previous one. Earlier one is about childhood, carefree days and bright and light. This one is all gloom , sorrow, old age and the dread and chill of death.

What pictures can a few words create!

The Death Bed.

We watch'd her breathing through the night,

Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seem'd to speak,

So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers

To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,

Our fears our hopes belied--

We thought her dying when she slept,

And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,

And chill with early showers,

Her quiet eyelids closed--she had

Another morn than ours.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Wish

- By Samuel Rogers

Reading this poem is like looking at a watercolour picture of a idyllic day in countryside. Hills, flowers, brook and water mill, thatched roof cottage, lady in blue apron tending a small patch of land in front of her 'ivied porch' - and yes the village church as well.

I see myself retiring to a place like this with C. *wink*

A Wish.

Mine be a cot beside the hill;

A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear;

A willowy brook, that turns a mill,

With many a fall shall linger near.

The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,

Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;

Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,

And share my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivied porch shall spring

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;

And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing

In russet-gown and apron blue.

The village-church, among the trees,

Where first our marriage-vows were given,

With merry peals shall swell the breeze,

And point with taper spire to heaven.

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The Miller's Daughter

-by Lord Tennyson

And this one is the far cuter and sweeter version of Bryan Adams' 'I wanna be'

Every time I listen to that song, this poem flicks through my mind - same desires, but what a huge difference in expressions! I wonder if Bryan Adams read this poem and thought bringing it out as his song - in a saucier version.

The Miller's Daughter.

It is the miller's daughter,

And she is grown so dear, so dear,

That I would be the jewel

That trembles in her ear:

For hid in ringlets day and night,

I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdle

About her dainty dainty waist,

And her heart would beat against me,

In sorrow and in rest:

And I should know if it beat right,

I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace,

And all day long to fall and rise

Upon her balmy bosom,

With her laughter or her sighs,

And I would lie so light, so light,

I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.

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Readers, what are your favourite poems?

Five Minutes Everyday - Ex. 2

10 Things that make me weep

* Adverts with happy babies.

* Wedding songs.

* Candid apologies.

* Hurt mixed anger.

* Loneliness.

* Conversations that fail to communicate true feelings.

* Self-pity.

* Remembering my grandma , and things I want to do or say again, if only I got another chance.

* Talking to my baby bump.

* Cheesy emotional scenes from dud movies.

Readers, what things make you weep?

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Today's Exercise: Make lists.

Five Minutes Everyday - Ex. 1

Coffees make my morning, but teas make my day - my mid day.

As the mid afternoon progresses, eyes wander to the bottom right corner of the computer screen for time. 10 more minutes.

The promise of a break looms heavy in the air.

Ears are pricked for the familiar 'tea calls' from work mates. As chairs swivel, and stale cups from the morning's brew are lifted, its about time. But hold on. Nope - no bolting from the seat to the pantry. Good things come to those who wait. And so one waits, till someone on their way to the pantry tap at the desk - 'coming for tea?'

Ahh - now is the time. Screens are locked with a flourish, and you head to the pantry.

The warm mist of a boiling kettle, the acrid whiff of coffee...

At the bottom of the cup, place a tea bag, and 2 sugars. And then fill three quarters of the cup with boiling water. You watch as reddish brown tea releases from beneath the tea bag like squid ink.

Time to give a quick stir, and then a dash of milk.

The strict, transparent red liquid transforms into its soft , dense self, as the cloud of milk rises from the bottom.

You lift the cup and smell it. Gently bring it to your lips, and tentatively take the first sip.

Not scalding hot, neither insipid warm.

Not strongly bitter, neither lamely sweet.

Just perfect!

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Today's exercise: describe a ritual.

Five Minutes Everyday

Its been a long long hiatus from blog world (from writing blogs that is, I still very actively read blogs!) .. and I have resolved to break the spell by starting to write again.

Something, or anything in fact - but more regularly. As the blog says - its Never too Late!

I have always loved to write - I love words, I love how we can play with them- or how they play with us!

Its a wonderful channel to direct your energies, your emotions to - no boundaries , no limits.

No thoughts are forbidden, no ideas are impossible, no rants are ignored- everything that comes to mind is welcome.

Its therapy!

Having ranted that - I sometimes don't know what to write.

As has been the case so far.

Am lazy sometimes, and other times its no reason at all.

In a book I read some time back - the author had said about writing her blog - 'you have to need it.'

I miss that gasping need to write - the feeling where you have to write NOW!

I want to write, but what?

When I read a good book or a good blog, I find myself wishing - 'I want to be writing like this..'

I dream of writing a book myself, of becoming a writer - but you see, I am already hurdled by the writer's block!

Some things come easily to you, some you have to work on - you have to indicate it to Coelho's universe so that it can conspire in helping you to achieve it.

And for this love of writing , I have decided to take up an exercise.

Five minutes everyday.

This, has invoked that need to write in me. Stoked the fire.

As I was reading this book , on my train to work , I just wanted to start writing - then and there. It was a desperation to that crazy brink where you just have to do it!

I dreaded reading any further - lest I ruin the joy of discovering yet another inspiration to write, only to helplessly see that urge fade away by the time I can actually put my thoughts to paper.

This, I have promised myself, will give me a blog post everyday.