Open Sesame!


January is one of the greatest month’s foods wise. It is a period of plentiful colourful vegetables that are often available at bargain
prices but also because of  Sankranti- a festival
celebrated across India albeit with different names in different states. So
whether it is Lori or Sankranti or Uttarayan or Bihu the vital ingredient of
the key preparations are Jaggery and Til (sesame).
Sesame sweets whether known as Revadi, Gajjak, Laddoos or Pitha are delightful. In Maharashtra we exchange Til laddoos always accompanied
by saying “
तिळगुळ घ्या गोड बोला”
(Accept this Til and Jaggery and speak sweetly!)

I am not really sure of its origins but it’s a sure fire
ice breaker and a good means to renew strained relationships. To facilitate
spreading bonhomie, the period from Sankranti day (usually 14 January) up to
Rathasaptami is considered auspicious for the same. Ladies are usually busy
with ‘Haldi Kumkums’ an occasion where each one can show-off her black saris. Usually a
no-no, black is a must, come Sankranti! Further we also have a tradition of
making jewellery out of halwa (balls made from sugar syrup and sesame seeds)
that is presented to a baby or at a bride’s first Sankranti.
In Maharashtra we make ‘gul poli’. These are rotis
stuffed with jaggery. To many the concept of sweet rotis is strange yet one
bite of this crisp poli lathered with ghee is sure to remove all doubts. Now
don’t frown at the ghee, its essential; Sankranti is not the time to count
calories.
My first attempts to make gul polis were after I got
married. My ever-dependable guide to home style Marathi food is a book called
‘Ruchira’ written by Kamalabai Ogale. I mustered up courage and decided to make
these polis that are considered to be the mark of a chef. I roasted the besan
in oil, roasted and ground poppy seeds and added them to grated jaggery to make
the stuffing. With the firmly mixed dough I was ready to begin. It seemed
simple enough – roll two small circles of the dough, put a bit of stuffing on
one, cover with other circle, roll out, cut off edges and roast on medium
griddle. 
The first one turned out like a dream. Hooray! I basked
in the glory as my husband polished it off giving me the ultimate compliment-
that it tasted just like his Mom’s.
Mentally thanking Madam Ogale I got down to the task
ahead of me quite sure it would be a breeze. Alas, the celebrations had come
too early. The second one on the pan suddenly seemed to come alive as its
surface erupted into umpteen bubbles spewing steam and hot jaggery droplets. I
got the melting mass off the griddle and began afresh.
Many melting moments and burnt fingers later I finally
got the process right and the last couple of polis were respectable again and
without the charcoal flavour that characterised most earlier attempts.
Several years later, I still pull out my ‘Ruchira’ when
making Gul Polis. It’s now just a collection of pages – the binding having long
given up. I have not invested in a newer edition preferring to stand by this
proven model.
As for laddoos, a special type of jaggery is available in
Maharashtra in this period that is used specifically to make laddoos. The catch
in making these laddoos is to get the jaggery syrup to the correct consistency
else the final product ends up becoming rock hard. Trust me; my dental architecture
has suffered from its effects. Further they have to be rolled when the mixture
is hot but greasing your palms with oil or ghee will keep them from burning.
My Mom-in-law’s recipe is excellent and more importantly
is tooth friendly! It goes like this: roast and grind equal quantities of
groundnuts and sesame (white or polished variety). Grate good quality jaggery
(same quantity as other ingredients). Take little of groundnut powder, sesame
seed powder and jaggery and grind together in a mixer. Ideally it should be
pounded in a mortar and pestle (preferably an iron one). Add cardamom powder
and ghee as required to the entire ground lot. Roll into balls.
As the sun begins its northward journey let us hope that
Sankranti with its rich repertoire of sesame dishes opens the door to lasting
good health and peace for all of us!
This was first published in a now extinct site called 4indianwoman.com

Milk- a difficult choice

Milk continues to a part of human diet right from childhood, for adults and well into old age. Yet few years ago we heard of ‘artificial’ milk flooding parts of India. There are reports of dairy owners giving estrogen shots and other ‘special’ feeds to cows and buffaloes to boost milk production. The substances find their way into the milk and from there into our bodies. It is said to be one cause of obesity in children among others.

What then are mothers to do? Is organic milk the answer?

A 2004 study by the University of Aberdeen found that organic milk contained 71% more omega-3 fatty acids than regular ‘non-organic’ milk. Another study by the Organic Milk Suppliers Cooperative confirmed that organic milk had 68% more fatty acids. Read more about this news here. Being organic, this milk is free of estrogen and other substances.

Yet organic products are much more expensive than inorganic produce, at times up to 70%. Organic milk is no exception.Quantities available are often limited. Yet there is an increasing trend among urban consumers to buy ‘organic’ milk, as described in this article. Further, some experts say claims of higher nutritional content depend on what comparisons are based on. Here is another article that discusses if organic milk is worth its higher price.
Consider what this price could do to the budget of a home maker struggling with soaring prices and a limited budget yet keen to offer the best to her loved ones. Her position as she makes a choice is not enviable.
What does she do?
What would you do?

Does Mothering Ever End?

Every mother will agree that she thinks that the ‘next’ phase in her child’s life will be better or easy on her. Easy in terms of her worries, stress…

Ask anyone who has stayed awake at night when her baby was crying or bit off her nails when the ‘apple of her eye’ was in a school interview or tied herself in knots when her kid’s school bus was unreasonably delayed or has had high decibel, lachrymose arguments as the children grow up for not seeing eye to eye about the colour of the nail polish or site or type of the strange tattoo …


Yet when that ‘next’ phase arrives she finds that the maternal stress never ended nor for the phase thereafter…

There is much written about Motherhood and all it stands for. Selfless Love, Sacrifice, Teaching (customs, traditions, manners, family religious rites and so on…) to name just a few things a Mum is expected to do and do well. Naturally this ‘mothering’ takes a toll in the form of worrying and becomes a second nature to her, especially whenever her child is in front of her. 

This is the crux- the child (son or daughter) always remains a child in her eyes. Whether the baby is now school going or a college or post grad student or when about to get married and to top it all… when her ‘child’ has one of his own…

So now she is worrying for her child and the child’s child. There are many Marathi Moms who baby sit their grandchildren as their own children are working. So the grandmother manages (ignores) any of her own age related ailments and plunges into nurturing the young ones… This process continues for the next generation as well, trust me… I have experienced it!!

Here I have to admit that I know a few Moms who have not gone down this “babysit the grandchild” Street but that doesn’t mean they don’t worry.

I think Moms must learn to mentally stay aloof so that they can give sensible and practical advice – IF its sought- to their children (now adults) about their children. Sounds complicated? No one said Motherhood is easy… This strategic mental aloofness is vital so she continues to have time for her own hobbies/activities/friends, devote time for exercise/health and so on…

All this sounds easy to write, or agree to but when put in the actual situation, I am not sure…
Honestly, Does a Mom ever retire? Can she?

XX

The XX chromosome is the genetic characteristic of a
woman.
She has to juggle several responsibilities both
at home and at office. She needs superhuman strength to do so.

Here is a message forwarded to me some time back which
aptly covers all I have to say. I do not know the source but would love to
attribute the author.


As someone said, “Every man wants a girlfriend, wife, mother but many don’t want a daughter…”
In
India, having a son is given huge importance and women who have only
daughters are often ‘looked down upon’ metaphorically speaking of
course.  Female infanticide following prenatal determination of the sex of the unborn child still occurs in many parts both rural and urban among educated and uneducated people. 

This post is dedicated to all women…

Someone asked a woman: 

Are you a working woman or a
house-wife?
She replied:
Yes I am a full time working house-wife,
I work 24 hours a day..
I’m a “Mom”,
I’m a Wife,
I’m a Daughter,
I’m a Sister,
I’m a Daughter-in-law,
I’m an Alarm clock,
I’m a Cook,
I’m a Maid,
I’m a Teacher,
I’m a Waiter,
I’m a Nanny,
I’m a Nurse,
I’m a Security officer,
I’m a Counselor,
I’m a Comforter
I don’t get holidays,
I don’t get sick leave,
I don’t get day off,
I work through day and night.
I’m on call.. all hours
 

And I get paid with a sentence…

“WHAT DO YOU DO  ALL DAY?”

Reuse, recycle

Recycle, reuse… a couple of words that are part of the ‘save our world and environment’ mantra.
Staying true to that, here is an article I had written a long time back about my tryst with golf. It was first published in the April 2008 issue of Windows & Aisles, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airways.

Fore Sight!

I sat sipping a tall delicious drink on the
verdant green lawns of the WGC (Wellington Gymkhana Club at Connoor, The
Nilgiris), at peace with the world in general and myself in particular. The
harmony was broken with a sudden urgent cry of ‘ball’ as the object obediently
fell with a huge clang, almost on top of my head. Soon a gentleman raced up
enquiring about my well being. I reassured him and he set off swinging a
curiously shaped steel rod in his hand and called out to a young boy who
tottered under the weight of a huge bag with more similar sticks.


That was my first brush with golf. I looked
around to discover that the WGC was a popular and full-fledged golf course.
Till that moment, my knowledge of golf had been limited to computer games. In
the real world, I knew someone called Tiger Woods was (I am talking of 1996) an
upcoming sensation on the circuit.

So here was a good opportunity for me to
rectify the deficiency. My husband too apparently had the same idea as he began
taking lessons from the local coach and equipped himself with a basic set of
clubs and a large number of balls.

Suddenly a whole new world opened up for me
via ‘his’ lessons. The ‘rod’ I’d mentioned earlier transformed into a club and
were either labelled as an iron or wood of a particular number. Instead of
these humble materials, I learnt that clubs were made of high tech carbon
composites each of which could easily burn a hole in one’s pocket, costing up
to thousands of rupees. Words like Birdie, eagle, hole-in-one, handicap took on
new meanings! Further one always played with a caddy, who carried your set. In
the PGA-tour, a caddy plays an important part in the player’s victory, perhaps
as much as the player himself!

When I proudly boasted of this newfound
hobby to my friends I was surprised to be on the receiving end of many a
pitying look! Now that should have set alarm bells ringing but I ignored it.
They were just plain jealous I said to myself. Golf is the game of CEOs and
rich magnates. The pros make quite a packet I remember vaguely reading
somewhere. I had visions of my hubby being a part of this elite club and me-
his spouse swathed in Kancheepurams and dripping diamonds! Hence I did not
grudge the huge dent that the equipment purchase, green and caddy fees made to
our budget.

And when my husband set off for WGC post
lunch every afternoon I was almost angelic—not even uttering a word of protest.
He would be there till sundown, practising hard after the hour-long class was
over. He would return home with tales of how his swing and range was improving.
A new full set of clubs that were more expensive than the last were absolutely
a necessity now. 

As days turned to weeks, I realised with a
start that I was alone throughout the day. Weekends meant hubby dearest devoted
the whole day to golf! I was soon doing all home administrative jobs, attending
PTA meetings, organising parties. Movies, shopping and other such stress relieving
activities (for me) all took a back seat. Golf was fast turning out to be worse
than the mother-in-law from hell!

Months sped by and we soon left Wellington being posted
to a distant base, which did not have a golf course. I gratefully heaved a sigh
of relief and handed over administration and more to my husband. After all he
had to make up for all duties shirked in Wellington!
But my joy did not last long and we moved again, this time to the Far East, which I welcomed with a groan as a golf lover’s
paradise!

The game threatened to
take over hubby again, body and soul, but this time I was prepared. I appointed
assistants for all sundry jobs and decided to take matter in my own hands.
Quite literally! I brought out the now unused half-set
from the store. It was not really my size but I was undeterred.

I expected to find it an excruciatingly
easy task to hit a stationary ball down the fairway into the ‘hole’ at one end,
but to my utter shock, this was easier said than done. Initial efforts to
strike the ball ended with me taking a huge swipe with the club. At the end of an hour’s sweat and effort, the ball would
quite wickedly stay where it was! My respect for
all players who dispatched moving balls in other sports went up exponentially.
No more criticism for Sehwag or Sania from me! In better moments the
ball would obligingly take off and fall a few feet ahead or zoom towards the
trees alongside. Many were the days that I played from jungle to jungle!

As if these striking troubles were not
enough, the ball often took a fancy to all ‘hazards’ on the course like water
bodies, gur (ground under repair) or even bunkers! Bunkers may protect soldiers
on a battlefield but here there were more like minefields that sucked my ball
into them as though they’d been ridden with invisible magnets. With my game
standards, entering one was an extremely risky affair. The lakes that looked so
beautiful on National Geographic were now a blot on the landscape!

Over a period of time, I learnt the ropes
and soon could finally get the ball by the aerial route towards its target. I
began to enjoy the game. I not only understood my hubby’s attraction for golf
but soon became an avid player myself. The best part, I was outdoors all the
time and that allowed me to completely relax my mind.

We have now moved to Pune and our game is
restricted to a couple of days a week as city traffic exerts a sufficiently
braking influence on our enthusiasm. Though both of us may have some time to go
before we can invest in diamond ridden golf clubs, I am happy to have
discovered this wonderful game that lets me compete against myself. I also
discovered that it gives you a good excuse to innocently whack the man next to
you, without being sent to prison for harassment. Don’t forget to yell, ‘Fore!’
and do set up that golf date with your boss. 
 



Golf, golf course, magazine
Golf article, magazine, article

Nail Paint

Nope, the title is not a typing error and yes I am referring to the little bottles of colour that we apply on our nails. Nail Polish. As I grew up, nail polish was something that was supposed to make our hands look more beautiful, dainty and delicate. It goes without saying that the ‘accepted’ colours were shades of pink, bronze, red, maroon or coffee brown. To me, well manicured and well groomed hands with a delicate polish were and still are an epitome of grace and beauty. Seeing some of the pretty young things around me these days really disheartens me…. Go ahead brand me as being of the old school…
But hear out my reasoning and then decide.

They say, nails reflect a person’s general health. Naturally pink glowing nails are what is expected. Anaemic people often have pale nails. Nails of those suffering from a particular type of heart condition turn blue. In extreme cases, nails turn yellow when a person suffers from jaundice. Folklore may associate green or black nails with paranormal activity. Black nails certainly suggest some trauma to the nail bed. And if you dont believe me, read these articles here, here and here.


Yet I find that cosmetic counters carry nail polish in these very colours that we baby boomers may consider as indicating ill health. You have all shades of yellow, blue, green, silver and golden even black.I still fail to find beauty in nails deliberately coloured thus.

beautiful nails, nail polish, colours, nail varnish

Do you still blame me if call this particular cosmetic product as nail paint?
Oh well, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder…
Who am I to go against the tide…

Loaf cake

To me a cake is not something that is covered in tons of cream but something that can be enjoyed solely for whatever magic the baker can create with the maida (flour). A cake loaf fits these requirements and there are umpteen recipes that are available. Here is my favourite. A chocolate loaf which you can read about in detail here

A loaf is ideal for picnics, to take on a journey or simply tuck into between mealtimes. No guilt feelings particularly if I don’t stand on the weighing scale thereafter.

Here is the recipe that I have reproduced from the above blog with consent.
Ingredients:
2 ¼  cups plain flour
2⁄3 cup Cocoa
½  tsp baking soda
½  tsp baking powder
½ tsp instant coffee
2 cups caster sugar
1 cup soft butter
3 Eggs
1 1/3 cups water – chilled
1 tsp Vanilla essence

Method:
1. Preheat the oven to 180 degree Celsius. In a bowl, add the butter and
the sugar, and cream the two together for about 5 minutes until it is
light.
2. To the creamed mixture add the eggs one by one and beat for about 2 minutes. Then add the vanilla essence.
 3. Sift into this, the flour, cocoa, coffee, baking powder and baking soda. Combine it gently till you get a smooth batter.
4. Add the chilled water to the batter and mix again. Fold the batter slowly, just till all of the water is incorporated.
5. To a lined loaf (or cake tin), Pour the chocolate cake batter. Bake
for  about 20 minutes or until the cake has risen and a cake tester
comes out clean.
Tuck in!

Instantaneous

Say what you will, it has to be admitted that modern life is lived instantaneously.
We have instant foods that are ready to eat in one minute only. Why bother with elaborate preparations and slaving over the gas in the heat when all one needs to do is cut open a pack?? So we have instant coffee, soups, ready to eat meals, an endless array of breakfast cereals, instant energy bars… 
Wow!
Never mind that they may be laden with sugar or salt or preservatives. Convenience wins!

Messaging is yet another form of communication that occurs instantaneously and which has saved us from the agonising wait for the postman. So now our mail and messages follow us everywhere. So one receives meaningless ‘forwards,’ info about revised deadlines/an absent team member, social network updates in the middle of the night just as we are falling asleep after a long long day at work or when travelling to office horribly still- when on a date or on a holiday. But we accept it all as an unavoidable ‘add on’ to the fat salary that we covet every month.

The list can go on but we need to slow down and enjoy the journey of our life. Try it, once. You owe it to yourself.

Dare I?

It can be considered early days in this April 2013 A to Z Blogging Challenge. I had considerable hesitation before I joined up. Should I? Can I? Dare I?

Actually such doubts have plagued me at almost every important junction in my life especially once I entered my third decade. Should I? was my top question when I quit my job in a top orthopaedic hospital. I never did give myself time to fully answer it but went ahead and resigned. After a gap I began independent practise and that was when I was hit by the “Can I” blues… As it turned out they were quite unfounded as my patients progressed well. Still a few years later, I decided to stop my Physiotherapy practice which is when “Dare I” set in.


You see, that is what I have been trained for, so trying my luck in a totally new stream was something that scared me some what. What if I cannot succeed? What if I end up with a huge loan that I cannot repay? What if this, what if that… I was engulfed by doubts but somehow I shrugged them off.

I began writing and surprisingly I found some success. Ofcourse, my family’s support all through the period was a big boost. Looking back I can see that my doubts were unfounded.

The same ‘Dare I’ plagued me recently when entering this challenge. Travel, domestic commitments, infrastructure problems (we face electricity outages in our part of the world) and so on and so forth the biggest being lack of inspiration!! I initially planned to go a themes but did not. However you will find that many posts are related to plants which was the first theme that I thought of.

I planned the posts but was stumped by “D”.

D

(Btw, that’s the upper case D in the Edwardian Script font size 72 in my MS Word doc)

Yet here I am and hopefully will survive this challenge with some interesting posts!
Wish me luck!

Control Z


For those using keyboard short cuts when on their PCs or
laptops will immediately recognise these words. “Control + Z” is the pair of
keys to be punched whenever you wish to “undo” some written text or erase the
latest action. (It may have more uses but I am not aware of those!), especially
great to save some arm movement!!   

I first learn’t to type on an iron and steel contraption
that occupied the better part of the study table. ‘qwerty’ on the top row to be
typed by the left hand and so on…
I tried not to look down and type but it was terribly
difficult especially as there was no option to go back and correct a misspelt
word or rewrite a grammatically wrong sentence. Mistakes meant having to cover
them up with whiteners (ugly to look at and obviously revealing the cover-ups)
or simply throw the paper away. Those were not the days when we worried about
wasting paper and no one reminded us of how many trees were cut to make one
sheet of paper.
One really had to press the keys down firmly so as to get it to print on the paper. I had to learn the ‘art’ of properly rolling the paper and carbon so I could get copies.  

So I plodded on, eyes firmly locked on the paper to try
to perfect my typing. Afternoons found me clattering away on the machine, as I typed practically anything to master the keys- newspaper abstracts, model questions for my daughter or even got someone to give me a ‘dictation’… No no, I wasn’t training to be a secretary but I just could not give up now that I had begun. I can happily say I succeeded to some extent.
When I started using a computer, writing became a breeze
as I had the “Control + Z” option. I used one of the many ‘games’ to ‘learn’
typing and enjoyed ‘catching’ falling apples with alphabets more than finding
the right keys!! The “upper case A” to swat buzzing flies was not as easy as  “colon sign: ” to snag a flying beetle. The games were addictive as my ‘typing speed’ did not seem to improve but accuracy was
fairly high which I was happy with…

They say old habits die hard which is proved as I still
tend to pound the keys even if gentle touch would suffice. The alphabets printed on them get worn out pretty soon and the keyboards need to be ‘touched up’
just in case I do need to look down at the alphabets!! Oh well, I cant just throw it away as e-waste…


keyboards, computer, typing mistakes
Worn out alphabet markings refreshed with little paper cuttings

Now, we hardly ever see the old traditional typewriters, most probably have been recycled already. Any chance of using the “Control + Z”
command for to resurrect them??