To be or not to be...

A vegetarian. That is not even a question. Whether tis’ nobler in the mind to suffer...

Nevertheless, I don’t suffer. A happy vegetarian is what I am. I've often been asked why I'm a vegetarian, whether I've ever eaten meat or seafood, and other questions in the general nature of the entire purpose of my existence if I won't eat meat.

There are all kinds of vegetarians. Some people are vegetarian only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, others are vegetarian but eat fish, and yet others are almost-but-not-quite-vegetarian, non-vegetarians. I am a lacto-vegetarian, meaning I have milk and milk products along with my veggies. Not egg mind you, thats an ovo-lacto-vegetarian.

And I'm happy. I've never, not once regretted it. I'm a little overweight because I eat too much and don't exercise enough. I eat too much because there's a lot of nice veg out there and I like to experiment with my food. I don’t look down on others who arn’t vegetarian and don’t force my views upon anyone. In return, I don't like being scoffed at for my dietary choices or having non-veg pushed upon me inspite of my vehement protests. I'm not going to turn to meat or fish unless I'm stranded on a deserted island with nothing but my wits to keep me alive (and even then, I'd like to think probably).

And I'm ranting (or venting) because my favorite restaurant served me chicken momos instead of veg momos tonight. 

It doesn't sound like a big deal. Why the fuss, after all? Its only once. But think of it from my perspective. Put yourself in my shoes. I've always been a strict vegetarian. After all the explanations I've given people, the countless times I've turned down non-veg (and it can get very awkward at peoples' homes, inconveniencing those who prepared a meal), the endless discussions on the subject and my own philosophy on life, vegetarianism has become a part of me and my identity. You could almost say I'm proud to be a vegetarian. That was probably the first time I had any proper meat in my mouth. 

Always look for a silver lining though. Now I know what it feels like in my mouth. And I'm certain I've never had it before. I knew the difference immediately, before biting it. It was too hard. That's not something I've ever eaten before. I wonder, is all of meat that hard?! No wonder meat eaters have such sharp teeth!     

---X---

Dogbert: You mean, why don't I take dead animals, cook them until they become carcinogenic, then eat them instead of something nutritious? Is that your question? 

--Scott Adams, Dilbert

The End of the World #1

Many doomsday prophecies predict that the world as we know it, shall come to an end on December 21st 2012. This prophecy, attributed to the ending of the Mayan Calender, Nostradamus, Edgar Cayce and some scientific cosmic alignment of the earth with the centre of the galaxy, has been given many interpretations by scholars on the subject. Two schools of thought emerged dominant among these. Some say that it means that the world will end, whereas others believe that a great change is coming.

Not one to believe in doomsday prophecies and end-of-the-world propaganda, this writer has always been quick to dismiss the December 2012 prediction. At the most, she has been willing to concede that it could refer to a great change, but only because its fun to think about it.

Now, however, I find my mind changed on the subject. December 2012 is doomsday month. For TAX is upon us (or well, upon the unfortunate 5th year students of a certain university of law and some unlucky repeaters from previous years, if any). It may not be doomsday for you but it is for me. Only, its not December 21st, 2012, but December 14th, 2012. And if by some miracle, I survive December 14th, then I would almost be happy to welcome doomsday on December 21st so as not to witness the results of December 14th.

*sigh* May the force be with you! 

Life of Pi

Saw 'Life of Pi' today. Beautifully made and very well acted, although nowhere close to the book (read three years ago). Nonetheless, I'm sad that a larger part of the world now knows about such a wonderful story, like my own secret treasure has been revealed to the world.

(As I wrote this, I realized that it would be bad for the author if his work was not popular, and also that I am ridiculously possessive. *sigh*) 

The Jeans Resurrected

My mother wore Jeans today. She was so cute >_<

This is the only pair of jeans she owns. Belonging to a generation that is more comfortable in salwar suits than saris (which belong to an even older generation) or denims (more for my generation), my mother bought this pair six years ago, before our trip to the West. The unlucky pair of denims saw the lights, streets and sights of Paris for a day before being relegated permanently to the bottom of the suitcase and then, the trunk at home. 

By some unknown miracle of God, the Jeans have been resurrected tonight. All doubts ('I look so fat', 'People will laugh at me') were banished as my mother bravely put on the Jeans with a simple kurti and dupatta. All wishful ('I wish I could wear such simple clothes. Rimi looks so comfortable.') and envious ('She's my age but carries those Jeans so well') thoughts were cast aside as mum took a bold step into a new world (or so I hope...).

Curse of the Great White Flake

The Great White Flake is the moment you discover that you have a problem, that black clothing has become your enemy, that your hair is about to start abandoning you and that your monthly expense on basic necessities is about to rise three-fold. The discovery of the Great White Flake may occur as you comb your hair, as a friend or family member oils it for you, as your stylist is about to cut it or simply when you wake up one morning with an itchy scalp. Yes, those stricken with this curse will have recognised what I am talking about. For they would have remembered their own difficult struggle, a life-long battle for many, with dandruff.

For as long as I can remember, my family has been plagued with the curse. Grandparents, cousins, aunts and the father all subscribe to it. Many of my friends too show signs of the white flake. It seems almost natural for this writer to suffer from the curse too. It would almost be strange if she didn't. 

Many remedies have been tried and many cures been tested. Yet, the white flakes come and go as they please. Anti-dandruff shampoos only cause further hair loss, homeopaths rob us of our money while dermatologists consider the white flakes the easy solution to (in my opinion) allergic reactions. Even combing the hair regularly only increases the quantity of the flakes. Not combing it is out of the question: a shaggy, long-haired ghost is not my ideal me. Home remedies such as applying some curd or lemon juice have failed, leaving the (how I wish lustrous) mane dry or smelly or even more itchy. Oiling the hair before a wash provides only temporary relief. A hair spa regularly every month from one particular L'oreal outlet on Camac Street worked  wonders but was quickly abandoned as being too expensive for this unemployed law student and too time-consuming.

However, those cursed with the flake need not despair! Even if all remedies fail and it seems as though the war as been lost, you WILL emerge victorious in the end. If you live long enough, your hair will all fall off with age and those accursed white flakes, with no home to go to will fall away with it. My grandfather's experience is testimony to this fact. After four decades of battling the curse, he Won. Unfortunately, as a woman, I cannot place much hope on this last resort, but male readers must keep the faith. Live and you will have won.   

All said and done, one should always look for the silver lining. Perhaps the cursee can turn the curse to his/her advantage by viewing it in a different light. Want to test if someone is a true friend? Check if they come close in spite of the curse. Want to cause harm to your greatest enemy? Send the curse flying in their direction (studies estimate that people are concerned not about the condition but the low confidence levels dandruff brings; they also estimate that dandruff isn't contagious, but one can always hope). You can hog the pillow at a sleep-over (with people that arn't your true friends as concluded above) or use it as an ice-breaker at boring parties ("Oh my! Is that dandruff I see...").

While we wait for the great minds of this world to stop scratching their heads and design a cure for the great white flake, this writer only has one message for those under the curse: You are not alone. 50% of the world's population suffers from the curse at least once in their lives. Be proud of your endurance and do not be cowed down by those clean, shiny, free-of-the-white-flake manes that TV models possess. May the force be with you!

 Note: The author is a very credible authority on the subject. She has been battling this curse since her recovery from the Pox for some reason associated with chickens, 11 years i.e. exactly half her life ago. 

Thought for the day #1

Could it be that some men are afraid of homosexuality or other gay men because they (the ones who are afraid) know how a guy's mind works, and know just how dirty their thoughts can get? This makes me think that the ones women should be wary of, are the aforementioned scared men. After all, arn't they the ones with minds so perverted that they run at the very thought of someone else eyeing them in the same way they eye women?

The Cat Named T

There was once a cat I loved very much. For the purposes of this blogpost, lets call her 'T'. 

T came to us on a rainy night in Bombay, curled up over an identical sibling and shivering on our porch, seeking shelter from the ruthless rain and strong winds. I don't recall why I opened the door of our ground-floor apartment that night, but I thank God for letting it be me that did. We gave them some milk and a dry cloth to sleep on and next morning, found that only one had remained on the porch that night. I've always wondered why the other left.

T was a beautiful light grey, with darker lines running horizontally and hesitatingly across her upper body. On the underside, she was soft and a dazzling white. Strong and nimble from her wild life in the city jungle, yet reflecting the peculiar grace that only those animals who have been loved and cared for, possess, T was a picture of elegance.

T took over my nine year old self from the day we first met. As the years went by, my family and I grew  increasingly attached to our Queen -- we fed her, vaccinated her, washed her, played with her, gave her shelter when she had her litter and over time, fell in love with her. T had free reign over the house and unlimited access to food. My memories of T are wonderful -- sleeping next to me on the bean bag while I read a book, chasing after the rope while I ran as fast as I could, lording over my lap while I watched TV, being yelled at by mother because she (T) had peed in the house ("pitegi mere se!"), giving birth to her kittens (named Erie and Mints) and then cleaning them thoroughly with her tongue. I cringe when I remember the day we dabbed the stinging ointment for tics. She yowled and mewled and scratched and fought with all her feral might.

However, T was never once 'our' cat. Owing to certain circumstances, we cannot keep pets at home and therefore, T remained a stray. She came and went as she pleased, often disappearing for days at a time, but always coming back to her territory--our house and the area outside. We were her playmates and the providers of shelter, and sometimes, food. Eventually, when we changed houses two or three years later, we chose to leave her behind because T was not 'ours', we were merely the human occupants in her territory. 

I only hope that T lived a happy and safe life. Were you alright after we left? Did you miss us? Did you resent us for leaving you behind? I wish as strongly now as I did then, that we could have taken you with us. I am reminded of you every diwali-- my strong, brave, wonderful grey-white cat, cowering in fear from the light and sound of the fireworks. Did the coming years bring you any more love?

Perhaps you will be brought to me again in this life, now that I am older and finally in a position to take care of you. Know that you will be loved, always.

---X---

"I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?"

Death thought about it. "CATS", he said eventually. "CATS ARE NICE.”

-- Terry Pratchett, Sourcery

The 'f' word

From the Walking Earth to the Walking Jupiter.

With a little help from some home-made Honey-Lemon Cheesecake courtesy Stella, also known in some circles as the panda. She continues to occupy the bed in the extra-room in the house (zzz).

*Phone-camera photo at night=poor quality
Yes, the cheese-layer is too thin but we ran out of cheese!

Note: The 'f' stands for 'fat' and not the Other Word because children, it is not good to swear.

Note 2: 'f' could also stand for food. However, this may lead to some confusion because sometimes, the two ('f' and 'f') go hand-in-hand. I suppose, in such instances, there would emerge one giant, all-consuming 'F' Word.

Thinking in Points

The secret to a more orderly and punctual lifestyle seems to lie in the ability to think in points. Here's why:

• Everything that needs to be done is clearly noted, demarcated, organised into step-by-step processes, and fit into your schedule. 
• The clear-thinker does not forget any task on his 'to-do' list. If the clear thinker is also prone to sloth, then it possible that days of procrastinating will force him to reflect on his sins and eventually get down to the task.
• The clear-thinker is also forced to face the tasks he/she has so far successfully avoided. Once imprinted into the list in the mind or on that sheet of paper, it takes on form and dimension, instead of a vague, unsatisfied feeling at the back of your head. The clear-thinker i.e. you, must then acknowledge the distasteful task, look it in the eye and beat it down with his/her unwavering determination. 

How to go about thinking in points and getting to that more orderly, neat lifestyle:

1. Make 'to-do' lists (infra above). A list will organise your day, week or month into definite, achievable tasks. Tips:

• Have clearly defined goals.
• Have achievable goals.
• Set yourself a deadline

2. Clear up your room. Clearing up the clutter in your room is symbolic of clearing up the clutter in your mind. It will result in the emergence of an environment in which the clear thinker can set about his/her tasks for the day. If the clear thinker is truly efficient, he/she can compose the to-do list during this time. Note: If you live in a house/apartment, then tough luck. You must clear up the whole thing.

3. Exercise some will power and work.

A tip on going about the above/ Way to make it easier:

It is important to inculcate the habit of thinking in points into your daily, everyday life. The writer has observed a trait peculiar to those who think in points. They speak and write in them. A classmate tends to say. "This is what I thought about what you just said. One, it was true because.... Two, ABC person also said...." These people are organised and focused and had pinpointed their career interests long before this writer had even thought about the word.

It seems however, that thinking in points is harder that it seems. Point 1 leads to Point 2, but in getting to Point 3, a SALE/FLAT 60% OFF in a nearby shop may catch your eye and divert your attention. Indeed, low prices are the least of the distractions available. Point 2 and a half may remind you of the time (2.30) and how hungry you are and of what you would like to eat for lunch. Thus, the writer concludes that will power is also needed to think in points. 

Various studies note that the amount of will power people have is limited. For instance, if you make yourself exercise in the morning, it is harder to say no to the cookie with the tea in the afternoon. Or, if you force yourself to attend three classes in the morning, it is harder to make yourself attend the optional class in the evening. Moreover, will power is like a muscle. The more you exercise it, the more it develops. 

Coming back to the point, i.e. the tip I was giving, err.. the point is to inculcate the practice into your daily life. Speak in points.


Please Note: This post in meant to be a sarcastic take on thinking in points. Its subtle. However, my friends tell me they miss my subtleties. Ah, poor misunderstood me. What i was really getting at was not-so-subtly explained by the panda over here.

Sad, lovely words

hild of the pure unclouded brow 
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet, and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale.

The preface to Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass and What Alice found There strikes this writer as being unbearably beautiful. It may be noted that I do not think of children as having 'pure unclouded' brows, 'dreaming eyes of wonder' or 'loving smiles'. Most children are mischievous, over-imaginative and supremely talkative. Nor am I of the opinion that fairy tale romances are the perfect endings.*

However, I do think these words are, as I said, unbearably beautiful. It makes me think of my parents and how much they have given me. I want to give them as much and more. It reminds me of my new-born niece and little cousins for whom I wish the best that this world has to offer. It reminds me of my friends and their hopes, which I hope will come to be. And it makes me sad when I realize that, with the steady and unstoppable flow of time, there will come a day when these shall no longer be. For death may be the leveler, but it is only a natural point in the stream of time. Surely, time is the ultimate  winner and ultimate master.

The concept of 'Kaal', the personification of time and the ruler of the material world, as found in Indian philosophy says the same. For anyone interested in such things, Kaal is sometimes said to be married to 'Maya'  or illusion. This is interpreted to mean that the flow of time gives rise to illusions. This writer understands this to mean that she should be prepared to accept change because soon enough, tomorrow will surely bring something different. And doesn't that make life more interesting?

* On that point, I direct anybody actually reading this to 'Just Ella', a 1999 novel by Margaret Pearson Haddix which picks up where Cinderella (or Aschenputtel in the book by the Brothers Grimm) left off. In this book, Ella finds Charming and life at the palace paradise but boring--if you think about it, paradise is boring--and runs away to find a much more fulfilling life. Its a little in the line of feminism and is definitely written for young girls, but not a bad read simply because the idea is interesting.
Please note that this does not mean I like drama in my life. I like it simple, straightforward and happy, but not boring.  

The Owl on the Sideboard

Because The Owl On The Sideboard is worth it.

And because I'm nowhere close to countering this almost-habit (See two posts below).

About the Owl:
Carved from wood, this hand-crafted owl is a fine example of the famous handicraft works of Shantiniketan. An inexpensive addition to your Sideboard, it will stand as an unwavering guard at your house every night.

While he (yes, it is a him) does not have a name, he is very much a part of the family. Therefore, he is NOT for sale.

Please direct any further enquirers on the subject of owls to Harry Potter, presumably somewhere in London, 19 years from now. 

Banana Fruit Toast

Source: http://www.mrbreakfast.com/superdisplay.asp?recipeid=243

This morning Stella and I made breakfast for my family.

Result: Five Stars from the panda and me. The family hated it--one bite and the rest was rejected.

The quantities given below are for one serving:

Ingredients:

• 2 slices of bread
• 1 large banana
• 10 almonds - chopped
• cinnamon 

Directions:

Toast bread to a light golden brown. Peel the banana, mash it and then spread on toast as if it were butter. Sprinkle chopped almonds on that and then dust with cinnamon. Put the toasts in the toaster oven for 2-3 minutes to bring the flavors together. Serve warm.

Please excuse the quality of the phone-pictures. Personally, I loved the toast. My family i.e. my parents probably didn't like it because their tastes are more 'Indian' than the panda's and my own (or far less not-Indian?). My mother, in particular, tends to dislike things without the usual masalas and can't do breakfast without parantha and hari chutney.

Also, I learnt yesterday that cinnamon is dalchini in Hindi. DALCHINI!!!! All the amazing recipes I ignored because I thought cinnamon was some expensive, exotic thing!  

Ok, so tips to make 'Banana Fruit Toast' better:

1. Add a healthy sprinkling of cinnamon. Its all banana without it.
2. I found the bread was crispier and warmer after being microwaved for 1-2 minutes. However, it is possible that the problem for this lies with my oven.
3. Fruit juice or a cold glass of milk tastes nice with the banana toast.
4. Don't bother with it if you like chili and dislike bland or banana.

I recommend both this recipe and mrbreakfast.com for a day when you wake up early in the morning, have time on your hands and like to experiment with your food.

Finally, a comment on the name of the recipe. In Calcutta, one often sees roadside stalls with 'Bread Tost' on the menu. 'Tost' can also be found at MJ da's canteen, provider of humongously unhealthy food at a certain prestigious university of law (Caveat Emptor!). Perhaps I should rename this post, 'Banana Fruit Tost' because after all, I do live in Calcutta and once you get used to this city, you will find that its charm lies in things like having tost on the pavements.  

This is becoming a habit...

... Six am in the morning, and I'm still opening this blog.

Wonder what people normally do in these situations. How does one stop a habit before it starts? I suppose one would proceed as follows:

1. Identify the almost-habit. 
2. Accept that it actually is becoming a habit. Denial will get you nowhere.
3. Take measures to lower the incidents of said almost-habit.
4. Fight temptation.
5. If you fail at step 4, repeat steps 2-4 immediately.
6. Try and try until you succeed i.e. stop the almost-habit completely.

(On second thought, I suppose this is how a determined person, with an unbeatable and enviable amount of will-power would proceed) 

Unfortunately, these steps do not work for me: I would like to reduce the time I spend on this page, but not stop altogether. On modifying the steps above, I must also calculate the amount of time I'd like to reduce to and work toward it (i.e. to somewhere in the middle of step 6). 

However, for a precise and accurate determination of the quantity of time I must cut from the time spent on this page, I have to first precisely and accurately determine how much time I do spend on this page. Alas! One day is not enough time to reach the required determination. Statistics tells us that, in order to draw a line on a graph (you know, the X-Y axis thing), we must have at least three points on it. Similarly, I postulate that I would need at least three days for my calculations. The more time I take to calculate, the more precise and accurate it will be. Three weeks, I think, will give me the most precise and accurate answer I can imagine--any longer and my patience and mental ability for calculations won't be able to take it.

So there it is. My self-help guide on countering an almost-habit. I only hope that Robin Sharma's (The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari) 21-day rule--It only takes 21 days to make a habit-- isn't true or else, instead of an almost-habit, I'll be stuck with a whole-habit by the time I finish step 3. 

On the other hand, it could be that I've mistakenly identified a beginner's enthusiasm for a new hobby as an almost-habit. In this case, only time will tell. Relying on this option, however, seems a little risky to me: What if time takes 3 weeks to tell that my identification above has indeed been mistaken? The end-result is a whole-habit, yet again.

And everybody knows a whole-habit is much harder to break.

The Walking Earth

I imagine any new blogger, in his or her (lets be politically correct) enthusiasm, comes up with lots of ideas for posts. Not quite unlike me. (Last post: this morning)

The title to this post may sound like an episode of 'Doctor Who', but is actually a reference to my tummy at this moment. Weight loss, the eternal problem. I guess this will drive away anybody who does not love me unconditionally. As a saving grace, this post is about Stella, temptation and my most recent attempts at fending it off.

Four months ago, the mother (aka the Home Minister) banned me from Kickboxing. The Ban has something to do with her belief that weightlifting is bad news for already weak eyes (the writer is myopic). The sudden end of the rigorous regimen brought in waves of fat deposits. The tummy ballooned as though it were being filled with hot air.

Perhaps if the company I keep was more cautious, I would be too. For good or for bad, my friends (God bless them!) eat with enviable abandon. Indeed, Stella James, Founder-Organizer of this blog, who is presently occupying a substantial space at my house (I love you!), whips up home-made desserts like a contestant on MasterChef. The picture below explains her creation this afternoon:

It consists of heated chocolate cookies, Hershey's Chocolate Syrup, vanilla and strawberry ice-cream and cashewnuts all thrown together, resulting in a spectacularly sinful delight. Trust me, it tastes better than it sounds or looks.

Temptation, thy name is Evil.

As an aside, dedicated to Kriti Bhatia, who is yet to see this view:

Can't wait to have you over again sometime.

A new beginning and my latest venture

Cheers to Stella James for helping me create this blog. To anybody who stumbles upon this much delayed  attempt at a blog: her's can be found at http://thebigpinkhat.blogspot.in/. She says it's personal. I'm advertising it nonetheless.

As for me, technologically illiterate, I decided to start this blog many years after blogging became the thing to do, on a whim this morning. This is in keeping with the trend (my trend) so far of joining popular, technology-related things just a little bit late (read: years after everyone else has already moved on to the latest rage and a kind friend takes the time to fill me in). First email ID, rather imaginatively and embarrassingly titled, 'rimi_darkchocolate', was created in 2006, at age 16. By then, everybody I knew had been chatting away online every night for at least a year already. Apparently, I had been missing out on a number of important developments taking place in that hidden world. The account no longer exists. Facebook account created at the insistence of Aastha Khurana in 2008, first year of college. I say, 'at her insistence...'. To be precise, she made it for me. Twitter--joined November 2011 during exams and have not visited since. Finally, a blog, today: October 2012. With the aid and assistance of Stella James.

It may be noted that the name of this blog is my homage to Bianca Castafiore, the 'Milanese Nightingale' of Tintin fame. On google-ing the name, I learnt that there actually exists an opera titled 'Faust' with a real 'Jewel Song' (Ah! My beauty!). Silly me.

Prayer to self: Be regular with this. It seems fun.