Rose-milk!

“Rose-milk” runs in the family’s genes. No wonder, the tastebuds are so strikingly similar…spanning multiple generations! When the family folklore is written down one day, Rose-milk will surely occupy a place of pride!

The story goes back to pre-independent India…to the temple town of Tiruvidaimarudur. That’s where father and uncle grew up. In that idyllic township, a veritable “Malgudi”, was a tiny shop called “Ganesh Cooldrinks”! Ganesh Cooldrinks served the best “Crush”, “Sharbat”, “Badam-milk” and “Rose-milk”. No one served Rose-milk as tasty as Ganesh Cooldrinks, or so it seemed, after father’s narration.

“Did you and uncle drink Rose-milk every day at the shop? Everyday…you drank Rose-milk? Everyday? What was the color of the Rose-milk? Was it deep-rose in color or was it light-pink? And…and…was the Rose-milk topped with ice-cubes also?”- you could not curb my childish curiosity!

In another incident, uncle was apparently tempted by Rose-milk sold at Chengelpet station and forced father to buy a glass. One sip and uncle gave up! It tasted horrible, far removed from the delicacy served at Ganesh Cooldrinks. Father had no choice but to drink the rest of it, though it tasted yucky!

When there is so much build-up to Rose-milk…as a child, I had no choice, but to fall for it. Rose-milk was the most fascinating drink on the planet. Even the name “Rose-milk” was so compelling! I could drink Rose-milk thrice a day, perhaps more. When we visited a relative’s home and was offered Bournvita or Horlicks, I quickly turned it down, with a forthright counter question, “I hate Bournvita! Can I have ice-cold Rose-milk instead?”

Certain pleasures are uniquely Indian. When the sun beats down in the summer months…scorching the earth and whipping up a cloud of hot dust…man, animal and bird, everyone runs for cover. The throat is parched and bone-dry. You long for some instant relief.

Imagine ice-cold Rose-milk served on such a fiery afternoon! The feeling is unmatched. The air is redolent…with the fragrance of rose…and with the aroma of “Gulkand”! The glass is full…up to the rim! Ice-cubes float…in the crimson tinged…Rose-milk concoction! As your fingers grip the glass, beads of water droplets condense on the outer walls …and gleam like fine-cut diamonds! It looks so delicious that you gulp and swallow inadvertently, even before you’ve taken the first sip! And the moment you raise the glass to the lips, sweetness fills your entire being! If there is Amrta, if there is Happiness…it is here and now, right in this glass!

Ironically, you do not want to take another sip! The Rose-milk level is sinking; it is such a deflating feeling! A few gulps and it’s over. Once the glass is empty, you tilt your head back and hold the glass vertical! Rose-milk is too precious- not a drop…not a trickle…must be wasted!

The other day, I spotted Rose-milk syrup at the way-side grocery store. Needless to say, I bought the syrup instantly. Sometimes, sitting a work, right in the middle of a deep, technical meeting, the Rose-milk thought will suddenly flash across the mind, bringing an instant smile. It is the smile of anticipation- you look forward…to rush home and drink some ice-cold Rose-milk!

Life is like a glass of Rose-milk. It gives nuggets of happiness…that may be few and far between. But no worries! The remainder of the time, we recollect and relive those special moments…a second time…this time through memory. That reminder is enough… enough to light up the face.

Memory serves as the pleasant aftertaste; the aftertaste that lingers…well after the Rose-milk is over!

The bread winner!

Sometimes, I seriously feel, I would have been a baker in a past life! Nothing else can explain the absolute delight, I find in bread! It is tough to explain the feeling to a non-believer. I can eat bread for 365 days of the year and more! Even the word “break-fast” is a misnomer- it should have been “bread-fast”!

The peculiar fascination for bread can lead to tricky situations. When you go on a trip, you often wake up in the morning, in time for “continental breakfast” at the hotel. There is an entire “spread”, arranged in buffet style. In India, you cannot beat the variety at breakfast. There’s steaming Idli and spicy Sambar, delicious Upma and sumptuous Pongal. You open the next casket on the breakfast counter. Once the mist of the emanating steam settles down, the eye comes face to face with golden Vadas. And yonder, there is crisp Masala Dosa, inviting you with the shine of burnished gold. For a foodie, this is heaven. Full-stop!

Something is clearly amiss. I summon the hotel manager and pop my question, “Where is bread?” He takes time to respond, as though, he’s taking time to process the word.  Totally puzzled, he fumbles, “Bread? Bread?”  Even my family is aghast, “There’s so much variety! Why would you eat bread? You can anyway eat bread at home!”

A bread lover has no explanation. It’s like the episode from the Mahabharata. Before the war, Krishna gave 2 choices to Arjuna and Duryodhana. One choice was to opt for Krishna’s entire Yadava army- all his soldiers, his infantry and cavalry, everyone armed to the teeth. The other choice was to opt for one individual- a non-combatant Krishna. Arjuna made the first choice and chose Krishna. Duryodhana couldn’t believe Arjuna could make such a ridiculous choice! When there was such abundance of power and might in the Yadava army, how could Arjuna opt for a measly Krishna?

For some of us, bread is like the choice Arjuna made! It is a “no-brainer”- there is no choice really.  It does not matter…what else is pitted against bread. Bread wins, hands down, each time, every time! The non-believer scoffs at bread as “tasteless” and “food meant for the sick and the convalescent!”

Father, forgive them, for they know not, what they say! Bread has infinite variety that a non-believer fails to see. We have “bread with jam”, “bread with butter”, “bread with ketchup”, “bread with cucumber and tomato” …what to talk of more exotic concoctions like “bread upma” and “bread pakoda”!

Plain bread is comfort food- soft and fluffy with its unique, subtle taste. Toasted bread, on the other hand, is a completely different breed. The moment it pops off the toaster, it is irresistible- tasty, crunchy and crispy!  Your finger runs after even the crumbs that scatter around with each bite! And then…when it comes to “Rusk” with hot masala tea in the late afternoon- the combination has no contenders!

Bread is your all weather, all-day friend!

These days, there’s a bewildering variety within the bread kingdom. We have “white bread” and “milk bread”, “wheat bread” and “muti-grain bread” and even “sweet bread” and “fruit bread”.  Bread’s close cousins, the “bun” and the Mumbai “pav” are undeniably important players in bread’s dream-team!

In the 1970s, the film “Deewar” had an iconic dialogue between Amitabh and Shashi Kapoor. Amitabh taunts Shashi Kapoor, “I have everything! Aaj mere paas…gaadi hai, bangla hai, bank balance hai! What do you have? Kya hai tumhare paas?” Shashi Kapoor looks at Amitabh in the eye and answers softly, “Mere paas maa hai! Mother is on my side!”

In my version of “Deewar”, this dialogue will get a complete makeover. Amitabh will spew venom with, “Aaj mere paas…sab kuch hai…Idli hai, Dosa hai, Samosa hai, Pongal hai! Kya hai tumhare paas?” Shashi Kapoor will now answer, “Mere paas bread hai!”

Bread is the ultimate winner. No wonder, we still ask, “Who is the bread winner of the family? We do not ask, “Who is the Idli winner or the Dosa winner?” Do we?

 

The book-browser!

Yes, I am a “book-browser”. I browse through books at the bookstore, but I never buy a single book! My defense is this- my wife and children have bought enough and more books from the same bookstore, for over a decade. Those purchases should surely give me some additional perks, shouldn’t they? Why can't I be a book-browser then?

Every evening, I walk to this bookstore at the mall. The only variable in my daily, well-oiled routine is to pull out a book at random! Yes! Open a random book to a random page. That done, I will carefully browse through that one page, as though, it has a specific, pointed message meant for me, for that day! It takes me exactly 10 minutes for this entire exercise. That done, I will place the book back in the shelf and leave the bookstore.

It is a routine that I have followed for months, may be, years. About 2 weeks ago, an attendant manning the aisles, accosted me as I read my book-for-the-day. He said, “Sir! 5 minutes!”  I was puzzled. Never has someone delivered such a pointblank, abrupt message to a book-browser.

After all, a book-browser is well-versed with all the tricks that storeowners use to evict him. An attendant will suddenly appear out of nowhere, to re-arrange the books on that one shelf, against which, the book-browser is leaning. But a book-browser knows how to deal with these attempts to thwart him. He side-steps the attendant and walks away, carrying the book in his hand. Standing at a different corner of the store, he continues his browsing.

Soon, someone comes along and pops a question, “Can I help you sir? Is there a specific book that you are looking for…sir?”  The book-browser is a seasoned campaigner. Experience has taught him to respond with an evasive answer, “No! Thank-you! I can help myself!” and buries himself back in the book.

Next, a security man comes his way. The trick is to avoid eye-contact with any security person.  That singular act renders the security man defenseless. You casually turn around and face the other way, till he goes past you. In some time, he is sure to appear from the opposite end of the aisle. You repeat the same tactics- turn around, face the other way, and continue your reading.

The other nasty methods that bookstore owners use…is to switch off the fan and the lights, in that specific section of the store. Or they broadcast the recorded message, "The store is about to close in 10 minutes!" Why do bookstore folks harbor such obvious hatred for the book-browser, we wonder.

The book-browser is often asked, “Why don’t you buy the blessed book?” People miss the point. The book-browser is not a book reader. A book-browser has neither the patience nor the attention-span to read a book. He is incapable! He simply likes the company of the book.  He likes the feel of the book resting on his palm, he likes to twirl the pages a few times and perhaps read a page or two. And yes, he likes to flit from book to book, like a bee stopping for a moment or two, at each flower! He feels erudite, informed, and knowledgeable in handling the book, without reading it ever…in its entirety! Why can’t we allow the book-browser this innocent pleasure, I say?

“5 minutes only!” the security person curtly repeated at the bookstore. I asked him, “5 minutes for what?” He replied, “For reading the book!”

Strangely, ironically, the book in my hand was a copy of the Bhaagavata Puraana. As per tradition, this book had a timespan associated with it. King Pareekshit had exactly 7 days to internalize this material. The story goes that the king successfully completed the study in those 7 days. And here was this security person saying I had “5 minutes” to read the same book!

I read the book for the full 5 minutes. And once the 5 minutes was over, I placed the book back in the shelf and headed home!

Running errands- techniques to never run another!

Let’s face it. No one wants to run errands. However, you are coerced into this activity, with no wiggle-room whatsoever. Here are some time-tested techniques. If you follow them to the letter, rest assured, you will never have to run another errand.

The first technique is simple.  You wear down the errand-assigner by asking questions and more questions. Let’s say, as a kid, mother asks you to buy 500 gm of sugar. You start a questioning trail as follows- “Which shop should I go to? What if “Kani stores” is closed? What if “Chhada stores” is also closed? What if the shop has run out of sugar? What if he has run out of powdered sugar, but carries sugar-crystals, should I buy the crystal-sugar? What if I forget "500 gm" and say "500 kg" instead? What if he has no sugar, can I buy salt? What if it costs more money than the amount I am carrying? Ok. I will buy 250 gm instead of 500 gm. How much will 250 gm be? This big? What if the shopkeeper has run out of change to give back? What alternate knick-knacks should I buy for the extra change? What if I drop the money…accidentally…before going to the shop? What if I buy the sugar…but there’s a hole in the packet, so much so, by the time, I get home…it’s all gone?” The errand-assigner will eventually relieve you from the onerous task with the following closing remarks, “Instead of answering all your questions, I would rather do it myself! It will be much faster!” That said, you can still go to school, and in the “good deeds done for the week” section, write out a sentence in all seriousness, “Helped elders at home to run errands!”

The second method is to commit mistakes.  The blunder must be of such gigantic proportions that the errand-assigner should never assign you the next task! Most errand assigners will start with one item. It will be something simplistic, “Can you buy some bread?” Obviously, there is no need to write down “buy bread” on a piece of paper. That is plain silly and a waste of paper (and yes, trees also).  By the time you get ready to run the errand, one more item will be added to the list. While you wear your chappals, two more items will be added. And, as you step out of the door, the total number of items will swell to 9. Since you never started out writing the items on paper, the 9 items will all be in your head. By the time you reach the shop, 7 out of 9 would have evaporated! Yes, evaporated into thin air! You recall “bread” and “rice flour” and no more! It’s like the sudden amnesia Karna suffered on the battlefield. What can you do now ? (Remember, there was no cellphone back then). You buy the bread and rice-flour and return!

The next time, the errand-assigner will take no chances. She will hand over to you...a piece of paper with all the items...written down. You make no mistakes this time. When you get back, “What happened to the rest of the items?” Your response- “There are no other items. This is all you wrote out!” “Didn’t you turn the page and look on the other side?” That’s when it hits you! “But…but…you didn’t write PTO at the end of the page! How should I know...the back of the paper also carries items?” The damage is irreparable. You are now stuck with mustard…an entire packet…but not the “rava” to make upma with!

Sometimes, it is a problem of plenty. The errand-list carries a simplistic item- “rice”. When you reach the shop, there is “premium rice”, "raw rice", “idli rice”, “par-boiled rice”, “HB rice”, “basmati rice” and “ponni rice”! There is no hope in hell you can get it right. Whatever you buy, you will be in trouble. You come home huffing and puffing carrying 10 kgs of rice! “Idli rice? Idli rice? Why did you buy 10 kg of idli rice?” When it comes to “dals”, there is eternal confusion. You were asked to buy “tur dal”, but after a lot of deliberation, you carefully picked the packet of “chana dal”! I tell you…the two fellows are identical twins- totally indistinguishable! Or…you were asked to buy “dishwasher soap” and you bought a gallon of “detergent” instead! Logic does not work here. “Sab saabun hi hai naa? It’s all soap only…right? What is the big deal?”- this argument will not work, my dear!

In some cases, you feel you have successfully run the errand. You buy potatoes and cabbage...and return. “Why did you buy potatoes and cabbage? This is what I explicitly asked you…NOT to buy! We just ate potato and cabbage this week!” This is a familiar trap that every errand-runner faces. The problem is with the errand-assigner. Never use negative logic, technically called "neti-neti" logic. “Don’t buy this!” just does not work! It must always be a clear, positive, firm, affirmation…in the imperative mood- “Buy this, buy that!"

I don’t run errands anymore. You can see why!

 

On zips!

Sometimes, you come across the complicated expression- “wardrobe malfunctioning”. Simply put, this expression means some “unintentional lapse” in the dress you are wearing; may be, a button suddenly falls off from the shirt- situations like that!

Among the various causes for “wardrobe malfunctioning”, zips must be listed right at the top. I bought a new sweater about a month ago. It has a zip that runs through its length. I had zipped it till the neck. Much later in the day, I observed that the zip had given way. While the top part of the sweater close to the neck stayed zipped and the lower portion was also intact, it had given way around the belly!

Zips are such unpredictable chaps! At the most opportune moment, they may decide to abandon the call of duty (what you would call “makkar” in Tamil) and take a stroll in the park! And mind you, you have pinned all your faith on them….to guard some of the most sensitive and delicate areas of your clothing.

“Zip” should be an “onomatopoeia” figure of speech in English. I should ask my English teacher. After all, if a zip made a sound when it worked, it would sound like “zip”.  “Agility” and “ease” are embedded in the very word “zip”. We use expressions like “zipping around the city” and “zipline”.  All this is relevant when zips are working in an ideal world.

Quickly, I unzipped and zipped my sweater again. This time round, it was fine. But with zips, much like a sensitive tooth that has just flared up, one occurrence of the problem is enough. You know the issue is festering. It is just a matter of time- the problem will show up again.

These days, zips are everywhere, including backpacks and suitcases. Imagine- you are at the airport. You are already late and have somehow managed to reach the counter. You open the suitcase one last time and are about to place it on the conveyer belt. The zip refuses to close its teeth. The insides of the bulging suitcase spill out, while you watch helplessly, unable to react. What do you do now? There is no escape route.

How you miss those yesteryear robust, steel trunks, fitted with those muscular “navtal” locks! Those trunks were built like bulls, not like these delicate-darling zipped-suitcases.

Sometimes, suitcases have 2 zips that run through the same set of teeth. You can zip the suitcase from either end, so that the 2 zips can meet at the center. Or you can use one zip all the way too. You now have “double protection” and “redundancy”- an idea that can be extended to other zip use-cases.

Zips have many loose parts. In a hurry, if you do not align the prongs to the end of the zip, you will zip it the wrong way. The zip-teeth are now broken…irreparably. Sometimes, the zip handle, by which you hold the zip, is fragile and falls off. From then on, zipping is like a watch-repairer’s job. It is too intricate and delicate a job for your fingers- you must carefully hold the remainder of the zip-handle-stub and push it around each time. Zips also function on the “boolean principle”- either they work fully well, or not at all, there is no “middle-ground”, which is a big nuisance. At least with buttons, when one button falls off, you still have other buttons to save the day.

 “Jip badalna padega!” the tailor tells you when you take your pant to him. “What must be replaced?” you ask him again. “Jip! Jip!” he repeats. Who cares if you call it a “jip” or “zip”! A “jip” by any other name, should zip just as fine. That’s all you want for your pant.

Yes, sometimes, a zip-replacement surgery is the only way to solve the problem. “Can you fit buttons along with the zip...for the pant? Lagaa sakte hain aap…button bhi…zip ke saath-saath? Aur bhaisaab….do-zip chahiye! I need 2 zips. Upar se ek…neeche se doosra! Suitcase jaisa!” you ask the tailor in all seriousness.

I wonder how the tailor will respond to my zip request…to be safe and sound with my pant…and take no chances whatsoever!

 

Cellotape!

With cellotape, you are always on a sticky wicket! The pun is intended! The occasions are many- you need to wrap a wedding-gift or need to cover the notebook for your ward.

You get the cellotape out of the drawer. Yes, cellotape does come with its “dispenser”, but somehow, that avatar has gone missing from the drawer. All that comes to hand is the basic ring-version, with no dispenser.

They talk about the Lord having “no beginning and no end”- “na adi…na anta”. The cello-tape-ring mirrors the Lord- he just does not have any beginning! You run your finger over the ring. You cannot catch the start of the trail. You dig your nail to spot that elusive perforation. There’s none! It seems like a monolith apparatus, smooth as a river-stone. Irritation wells up, “Why cannot someone keep the cellotape *along* with its dispenser, I say?”

Just when you are on the verge of flinging the cellotape, lock, stock and barrel… out of the window, the finger stumbles upon the first ray of hope- the beginning of the ribbon! Excitedly, you peel off the ribbon. Hurry makes a hash of most things, more so, when you are unraveling cellotape. You expect the ribbon to flow out nice and full, but it doesn’t. It tears off at an angle, a total no-no. You know what happens next. You have no choice but to peel off more…with the hope that somehow, it will straighten itself out.

It doesn’t! On the contrary, it’s like peeling an onion. By now, you have pulled out miles and miles of cellotape- all twisted and crumpled, and completely unusable! In the process, your fist is sticky and gooey, and like the proverbial silkworm, you are about to get cello-tape cocooned!

At this point, you give up. You need help. You need to delegate the job. You need an attendant.

There is an unwritten law-the moment you delegate a job, you forget its complexity. The delegator assumes absolute command- “his lordship” orders his attendant about. Let it be amply clear- there is no job as unforgiving as being a “cellotape attendant”. Whatever he may do, he will be faulted, pilloried, and crucified.

“Why did you lose the beginning of the ribbon again? I gave it to you just now…didn’t I? This is too much!” his lordship fumes! If the attendant hands over a big piece of cellotape, his lordship wants a smaller one. If it’s a small piece, he complains it is too small and unusable. “Don’t give me the cellotape by holding the sticky side with your finger. By the time you transfer it to me, it loses all its glue! How will it ever stick?”

Cutting a cellotape precisely is no mean task. If you use a pair of scissors, there are too many things to handle. Two hands just cannot accomplish the job. The scissor is held in the right hand, the cellotape is clasped in the left. What happens to the piece that you have just cut out? Something must give way, and it does. The cut-out piece sticks to your finger, which is good. But in the melee, the cellotape ring rolls off to the ground. The beginning of the trail is erased…and you must start all over again! It is like Bhageeratha, you need infinite patience to get this Ganga to the earth!

You take a firm decision- “No more scissors and the associated tangle. I will use my bare hands, much like Bheema…to snap off the piece!”  For a few tries, this method works fine. The exultation is premature. The next piece just does not snap. On the contrary, it leads you astray, and now, you have inadvertently pulled out many more miles of tape…and still cannot get it to snap!

The cellotape has now reached lands-end! Yes, it’s over…all over!  Only the skeletal shell remains, round and smooth, as you run your finger over it.

“Where did all the cellotape go? Did you eat it? We still have half the gift to be wrapped! What will we do now?” his lordship is evidently…very livid and very angry!

 

Happy New Year!

My earliest recollection of a New Year celebration goes back to the time...when “Hangama-82” was the title for the new year program on Doordarshan. (No prizes for guessing the year!) The title was confusing because at around that time, Sri Lanka had a budding cricketer called “Ahangama”. I presumed the title should be pronounced as “Ahangama-82”. Sister snapped, “Stop saying Ahangama! It is hangama!” “What does Hangama mean?” I asked. Sister replied, “Hangama means fun, frolic and associated commotion!” “Then, what does Ahangama mean?” was my natural question. “How do I know? You go and ask him, whoever he is!” was the blunt response. New year '82 had to be ushered in, with the profound doubt still lingering on hangama versus ahangama!

You just couldn't wait to hit the new year! Midway through the TV program, Hangama-82 announced that the new year had already reached Japan and Australia! The new year felt like an unstoppable ocean wave- on its course to lap the shores of India. “Why is the new year taking so much time to reach India? Why can’t the new year come to India first?” I asked. Sister did not answer. May be, the international dateline and the associated discourse on Geography was too complicated a topic. But I bet she did not know the answer either!

As a kid, you expect some dramatic denouement. After all, staying up till midnight and the eventual countdown 10-9-8-7 must amount to something significant, isn’t it?  Amar Chitra Katha spoilt us with those riveting illustrations.  When Sudama (Kuchela) reached his home after meeting Krishna, in an instant, his entire world had changed. His dilapidated hut was replaced by a huge, golden mansion. His wife and children, no more wore rags, they were dressed in silken finery. You expected the stroke of the new year to bring about such a melodramatic change. “5-4-3-2-1…Happy New year! Happy new year!” the chorus echoed on TV. There was no transformation like Sudama's home! “What? New year has already come? Really? Where is it? Where is it? Nothing has changed at all!” The anti-climax was total!

New year meant breaking old habits. For some time, you continued to write the previous year in the school notebook. “Still in the previous year? Wake up, dear! Wake up! It is 82!” the teacher gently corrected. For some time, the new year looked “odd” on paper. The date just didn’t seem right, as though the numbering lacked a certain grace and symmetry. You got used to it, much like acquired taste, as the days went by!

It was also the time, when you had to recite from memory, Tennyson’s poem centered on the new year. The poem "Ring out, wild bells" was littered with the phrases “ring out” and “ring in” in various contexts. It led to comical situations in class. The teacher had to intervene repeatedly, “It is not “ring in” the grief that saps the mind, it is “ring out” the grief! It is not “ring out” the thousand years of peace. It is ring in!” There were just too many "ring outs" and "ring ins" in the poem!  How we wished...Tennyson could have written his new year poem a little simpler for memorizing!

One particular year, I was in Delhi at the time of Christmas and new year. Each city has some peculiar English pronunciation, that is unique to its soil. Delhi has one too, I discovered. “Merry” was pronounced with a slight elongation on the vowel-sound “e”, so that it sounded more like “a”. “Merry” was pronounced more like “marry”. “Marry Christmas yaar! Heppy new year! Marry Christmas yaar!” was the consistent instruction, across the city! For sure, the matrimonial equation was overly complicated in Delhi, with so many contenders for Christmas!

Wild celebration for the new year is now a part and parcel of mainstream culture. It existed, to an extent, back in the Hangama-82 days too. The partying folks parodied the "passing year"...as though, dressed like an old man, heckled him and drove him out! The enthusiasm was infectious. But at home, the revelry was tempered with grandparents, who sometimes watched the new year TV program, sitting alongside. “You see those fellows celebrating the new year…jumping like monkeys on a tree?  In all that jumping, they forget…that with each passing day, Kaala is cutting the base of the very tree on which they are jumping! What are they celebrating, I say?” grandma made a point. “Who is cutting? Who is slicing the tree?” I asked, wondering how the monkeys will cope with a wobbly tree. “Kaala! Kaala! Don’t you know? Yama…is sawing the trunk of the tree, day by day! What is the celebration about?” grandma clarified. It was sobering thought, but there is one counterpoint- the monkeys could definitely jump to another tree, in the worst case, isn't it?

Hangama, Ahangama, Tennyson, the monkeys-and-tree imagery…all vie with each other to complete my new year picture! Happy New Year!