Recently life gave me a bunch of lemons.
I was at my friend Ramji's farm outside of Auroville less than two weeks ago, and as we were touring the place, he asked me to help myself to the freshly fallen lemons from the trees. So with an (unused!) garbage bag in hand, I began collecting beautiful organic lemons. On the way Ramji even plucked me one of the best tasting papayas I've had in a very long while as well as a bunch of bananas.
I had a party planned for the day after I was returning back to Bangalore, where I was expecting approximately 35 guests. I had asked Rajesh, my man-Friday to buy some lemons/limes, which we would need for some of the items that were being served as well as the jugs full of cocktail that I would be making. Usually he buys fewer lemons than what I need and ends up having to run out for more. This time he did the opposite as a result of which I had a lemon filled kitchen and refrigerator. Although I had no idea what I would do with them, it still made me happy.
I love lemon tarts and lemon pies and lemon cup cakes. All I have to do is ask Rajesh to make them. How much easier does it get? Unfortunately I had promised myself that once the party was over, I was on a strict health regime. Regular work outs and no sweets. Too many holidays in the recent months had resulted in flabbier love handles and my pants being uncomfortably snug.
So yeah, desserts were out. It pains me even to write that as I salivate for excessive sugar filled treats, instead of settling for a bowl of organic granola that I picked up from the Auroville store. Somehow it just doesn't send the same signals to the part of the brain that is looking for a slice of decadent chocolate cake, maybe some pecan pie or the apple strudel cheesecake from Olive Beach that made my taste buds ecstatic. Dammit, I'd even settle for the chocolate eclair from Cafe Noir!
However, I digress here. Getting back to the lemons, I was still in a fix. Whoever said, 'If life gives you lemons, make lemonade' obviously wasn't thinking 'quantity'. I wasn't about to make myself a tub full of lemonade. After much deliberation, I decided that the only option was to pickle them. As much as I am into cooking, eating, feeding, I have never tried pickling. And never thought that I would. Even Jamie Oliver couldn't get me to watch his show about pickling for the winter months.
Strangely enough a couple of weeks ago, I had stumbled across a site that had an easy recipe for pickling lemons. Almost as if I had a premonition about the farm lemons. Once I got back home however, the site was not to be found. I even went through my web history but for the life of me, there was no such link. Had it been a dream? And if so, why in the world would I be dreaming about lemon pickle?
I knew that I had to take matters into my own hands and call my aunt who is famous for her pickles (among other treats). I asked her for the easiest lemon pickle recipe she had, bought myself a couple of jars and gave the instructions to Rajesh! This morning I woke up to find one of the jars filled with lemon wedges sitting in the balcony. It's a multi-part process and right now they're just soaking in the salt. I'll let you know how they turn out.
Moral of the story: When life gives you a lot of lemons, pickle 'em!
Tso Moriri, Ladakh
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Mother's Day
Every year on Mother’s Day I plan to write a piece about my mom. The reason I end up not writing it is I’m afraid that the outcome will be sappy, which I don’t want it to be. Yes, it would be quite easy for me to do a lump-in-the-throat-post that will talk about several tender memories, which will get the reader all emotional, after which they will post a comment saying how sweet the piece was.
Being the youngest of five siblings meant that my mom had me quite late in her child-bearing life. As a result, my dad and mom often felt like something between parents and grandparents to me. I’m trying to come up with a clever name for this relationship but my mind is drawing a complete blank.
My mother, who also happened to be born on this date, May 9th, was all of 4 foot 10 at her tallest. As she grew older, she began shrinking, with the result that I, who by no means am I tall man, began towering over her. My parents used to live with me in Chicago and I remember one time my dad’s colleague came over to our apartment. She took one look at my mom, gave her an enormous hug and said ‘I never thought of myself as a giant!’
The first impression that my mom gave to most people was of a warm and affectionate little lady who cooked great meals, who was a dutiful wife/mother and who lived in the shadows of my dad. Ha! Those people could not be more wrong! And although my mom was sweet and loving and warm and affectionate, they hadn't been privy to the feisty woman behind that calm exterior.
Any time there was an ugly situation that involved anyone in the family, she would be in the front, fighting for one of us. When my dad, who owned a factory that was heavily labor intensive, ran into financial trouble and wasn’t able to pay his employees, my mom was the one who broke the news to them, built a case and asked for more time. When she didn’t have enough money to run the house, she was out there, pawning her jewelry , borrowing money and never letting us feel like we were in any kind of trouble.
Not only did she bring up five children in her home, for many years she even managed a couple of hundred more as the Principal of a school. In her fifties she studied Homeopathy and began working in a charitable clinic.
She threw great dinner parties, right from intimate meals for a few to catering for a hundred people on my tenth birthday and a hundred and fifty guests at her own daughter’s wedding! Now that you have to admit is unique!
My mother was the most social person I knew. Growing up in Calcutta, she knew everyone that lived in our neighborhood and if she didn’t know them, they knew her. When I bought my home in a primarily white neighborhood in Chicago, it took her no time to get to know the neighbors. She never got fazed by her accent, the fact that she was the only saree wearing woman or that even ten year olds were taller than her. One evening when she and I were out for a walk, I was amazed at her being greeted with a ‘Hi Champa!‘ by both children and adults. Not just amazed, I was impressed and proud.
I could keep bragging about my mother but I don’t want to overdose my readers!
My mother went through a very hard time the last three years of her life. It was a big chore for us to get her to eat anything. Anything besides puchkas/pani puris, which was something that would always light up her eyes!
I’m celebrating her birthday this evening with her favorite treat. And I’m pretty sure she’ll be out there watching and getting a taste of it too!
Happy Mother’s Day to all you lovely, feisty mothers out there!
Being the youngest of five siblings meant that my mom had me quite late in her child-bearing life. As a result, my dad and mom often felt like something between parents and grandparents to me. I’m trying to come up with a clever name for this relationship but my mind is drawing a complete blank.
My mother, who also happened to be born on this date, May 9th, was all of 4 foot 10 at her tallest. As she grew older, she began shrinking, with the result that I, who by no means am I tall man, began towering over her. My parents used to live with me in Chicago and I remember one time my dad’s colleague came over to our apartment. She took one look at my mom, gave her an enormous hug and said ‘I never thought of myself as a giant!’
The first impression that my mom gave to most people was of a warm and affectionate little lady who cooked great meals, who was a dutiful wife/mother and who lived in the shadows of my dad. Ha! Those people could not be more wrong! And although my mom was sweet and loving and warm and affectionate, they hadn't been privy to the feisty woman behind that calm exterior.
Any time there was an ugly situation that involved anyone in the family, she would be in the front, fighting for one of us. When my dad, who owned a factory that was heavily labor intensive, ran into financial trouble and wasn’t able to pay his employees, my mom was the one who broke the news to them, built a case and asked for more time. When she didn’t have enough money to run the house, she was out there, pawning her jewelry , borrowing money and never letting us feel like we were in any kind of trouble.
Not only did she bring up five children in her home, for many years she even managed a couple of hundred more as the Principal of a school. In her fifties she studied Homeopathy and began working in a charitable clinic.
She threw great dinner parties, right from intimate meals for a few to catering for a hundred people on my tenth birthday and a hundred and fifty guests at her own daughter’s wedding! Now that you have to admit is unique!
My mother was the most social person I knew. Growing up in Calcutta, she knew everyone that lived in our neighborhood and if she didn’t know them, they knew her. When I bought my home in a primarily white neighborhood in Chicago, it took her no time to get to know the neighbors. She never got fazed by her accent, the fact that she was the only saree wearing woman or that even ten year olds were taller than her. One evening when she and I were out for a walk, I was amazed at her being greeted with a ‘Hi Champa!‘ by both children and adults. Not just amazed, I was impressed and proud.
I could keep bragging about my mother but I don’t want to overdose my readers!
My mother went through a very hard time the last three years of her life. It was a big chore for us to get her to eat anything. Anything besides puchkas/pani puris, which was something that would always light up her eyes!
I’m celebrating her birthday this evening with her favorite treat. And I’m pretty sure she’ll be out there watching and getting a taste of it too!
Happy Mother’s Day to all you lovely, feisty mothers out there!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Japanese Wife
Last evening I watched a movie called The Japanese Wife by one of my favorite directors, Aparna Sen. Quite honestly, I think Ms. Sen holds that position in my mind, not only for her superlative movie making skills, but also because she’s so stunning, possesses a charming Bengali intellect and finally for a reason that makes absolutely no sense, visited my parent’s home when I was a little boy!
The Japanese Wife, adapted from a short story by Kunal Basu is about Snehamoy, a young man living in small town Bengal, and Miyagi, a young Japanese girl, both of who are manic introverts and who find friendship, love and their life partners without ever having met. Their friendship bonds into marriage when Miyagi sends him a silver wedding band engraved with her name and Snehamoy responds by sending her vermilion for the parting in her hair and conch shell bangles, both of which signify a woman's marital status in Bengal.
The movie reminded me of the play Love Letters, as much of it is shown through letters that the two protagonists write to each other over a period of seventeen years.
Snehamoy lives with his aunt who tries to fix him up with her God-daughter at which point he confesses to her that he is already married. Several years later the God-daughter who loses her husband, comes to live with them along with her young son.
The movie is largely about Snehamoy’s relationships with Miyagi, his aunt, her God-daughter and the little boy. Except for the kite flying sequence, The Japanese Wife is a quiet movie that one has to feel from the inside.
It’s no surprise that the lead characters live in remote towns, where lives are simple, expectations low, dreams free and joys many. I have no idea if such places continue to exist, but to me the movie was set in a different time. A time that, although I’ve never experienced personally, having always lived in a large metropolis, do believe used to exist. A time that Ms. Sen took me to, using all her creative and technical tools of cinematography, music, dialogues, location choices, body language etc.
In this age of instant gratification, can one really fathom a long distance friendship that transforms into love, culminates in marriage and embeds into a commitment that only gets deeper over time? Can love really be built out of words (writing in English, which both of them are not fluent in), photographs and memorabilia? The movie makes you believe in all of the above and that to me is a huge triumph.
In this age of 3D, larger than life characters, over the top sequences, special effects, etc etc, can a small, heartbreaking movie like The Japanese Wife really work? I think we all know the answer to that, but I will continue to believe that it did and it will. And I thank the film makers who bring a small group of people a large amount of joy by believing in the same thing.
The Japanese Wife, adapted from a short story by Kunal Basu is about Snehamoy, a young man living in small town Bengal, and Miyagi, a young Japanese girl, both of who are manic introverts and who find friendship, love and their life partners without ever having met. Their friendship bonds into marriage when Miyagi sends him a silver wedding band engraved with her name and Snehamoy responds by sending her vermilion for the parting in her hair and conch shell bangles, both of which signify a woman's marital status in Bengal.
The movie reminded me of the play Love Letters, as much of it is shown through letters that the two protagonists write to each other over a period of seventeen years.
Snehamoy lives with his aunt who tries to fix him up with her God-daughter at which point he confesses to her that he is already married. Several years later the God-daughter who loses her husband, comes to live with them along with her young son.
The movie is largely about Snehamoy’s relationships with Miyagi, his aunt, her God-daughter and the little boy. Except for the kite flying sequence, The Japanese Wife is a quiet movie that one has to feel from the inside.
It’s no surprise that the lead characters live in remote towns, where lives are simple, expectations low, dreams free and joys many. I have no idea if such places continue to exist, but to me the movie was set in a different time. A time that, although I’ve never experienced personally, having always lived in a large metropolis, do believe used to exist. A time that Ms. Sen took me to, using all her creative and technical tools of cinematography, music, dialogues, location choices, body language etc.
In this age of instant gratification, can one really fathom a long distance friendship that transforms into love, culminates in marriage and embeds into a commitment that only gets deeper over time? Can love really be built out of words (writing in English, which both of them are not fluent in), photographs and memorabilia? The movie makes you believe in all of the above and that to me is a huge triumph.
In this age of 3D, larger than life characters, over the top sequences, special effects, etc etc, can a small, heartbreaking movie like The Japanese Wife really work? I think we all know the answer to that, but I will continue to believe that it did and it will. And I thank the film makers who bring a small group of people a large amount of joy by believing in the same thing.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
The Answer
A few minutes into a conversation with someone new, I get asked the proverbial question. The answer to this question could either be potential for conversing longer or could nip this possible new friendship/acquaintanceship in the bud. The question that, depending upon my state of mind or depending upon the person that’s asking, I could respond to in many different ways.
The question of course being, “So what do you do?”
Now we all know that the person with the inquiring mind wants to know what I do for a living. Not what my hobbies are or what I do in certain situations or even who it is I may be doing. He or she may as well be asking, “So where is the money coming from?”
It’s a perfectly reasonable question to ask when one is meeting someone for the first time. I myself have asked the same question innumerable times and got answers like “I work for Infosys” or “I’m a Systems Analyst” or some such thing. Since I live in Bangalore seven out of ten people I run into are working in the IT industry. Just like I used to. The other three are usually either working for an event management company, are healthcare professionals or are running their own business.
So getting back to the question that I have many responses to.
Response to the person I don’t care if I ever meet again.
“Nothing”
The person looks at me quizzically and repeats the word ‘nothing’ with a question mark at the end.
At this point I usually sigh and say, “Of course I do a lot of things but none of them pay me.”
And before the mouth opens again to form words, I say something to the effect, “I quit my job a while ago. Am trying to figure out what I want to do next.”
(Even though I’m actually done figuring out).
Response to the person I definitely never want to meet again.
“Nothing”
“Nothing?”
“Yeah nothing. Excuse me I need to use the restroom.”
Response to the person I’m messing with.
“I travel … and I read … and I’m a big movie buff …”
“No I mean where do you work?”
“Where’s the time for work when I’m doing all this other stuff?”
“So you don’t work?”
“I work out – does that count?”
Response to the person that loves to talk about money and possessions.
“I used to work in the IT profession.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t. It’s been a while since I quit.”
“So what do you do now?”
“Nothing that pays me.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Dead serious.”
“Why would you quit? I bet you made a ton of money.”
“Wasn’t a good enough reason to keep working in a profession I had begun to hate.”
“So where does the money come from?”
“It doesn’t?”
“Are you rich?”
“It depends. How much money do I have to have to be rich?”
“So you have NO income?”
“Well, I lied. I have an apartment that I’ve rented out.”
“You couldn’t possibly live on that.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that.”
“How much were you making when you quit?”
At that point, I decide that I need to use the restroom. To barf.
Anyway, I decided that I’d had enough of these games. There was no way I wasn’t going to meet new people and there was no way I could stop them from asking me what I did. Especially when I know, what it is that I do. Even if it doesn’t bring me any money. As yet.
This morning I sat with my Macbook and designed myself a business card. After I was done with lunch, I drove over to the Printo by my place and had them print 96 of them. I think they look really snazzy.
The next time I get asked the question, I plan to reach into my pocket and hand out my new business card that says “Ratan Sethi, Writer”.
The question of course being, “So what do you do?”
Now we all know that the person with the inquiring mind wants to know what I do for a living. Not what my hobbies are or what I do in certain situations or even who it is I may be doing. He or she may as well be asking, “So where is the money coming from?”
It’s a perfectly reasonable question to ask when one is meeting someone for the first time. I myself have asked the same question innumerable times and got answers like “I work for Infosys” or “I’m a Systems Analyst” or some such thing. Since I live in Bangalore seven out of ten people I run into are working in the IT industry. Just like I used to. The other three are usually either working for an event management company, are healthcare professionals or are running their own business.
So getting back to the question that I have many responses to.
Response to the person I don’t care if I ever meet again.
“Nothing”
The person looks at me quizzically and repeats the word ‘nothing’ with a question mark at the end.
At this point I usually sigh and say, “Of course I do a lot of things but none of them pay me.”
And before the mouth opens again to form words, I say something to the effect, “I quit my job a while ago. Am trying to figure out what I want to do next.”
(Even though I’m actually done figuring out).
Response to the person I definitely never want to meet again.
“Nothing”
“Nothing?”
“Yeah nothing. Excuse me I need to use the restroom.”
Response to the person I’m messing with.
“I travel … and I read … and I’m a big movie buff …”
“No I mean where do you work?”
“Where’s the time for work when I’m doing all this other stuff?”
“So you don’t work?”
“I work out – does that count?”
Response to the person that loves to talk about money and possessions.
“I used to work in the IT profession.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t. It’s been a while since I quit.”
“So what do you do now?”
“Nothing that pays me.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Dead serious.”
“Why would you quit? I bet you made a ton of money.”
“Wasn’t a good enough reason to keep working in a profession I had begun to hate.”
“So where does the money come from?”
“It doesn’t?”
“Are you rich?”
“It depends. How much money do I have to have to be rich?”
“So you have NO income?”
“Well, I lied. I have an apartment that I’ve rented out.”
“You couldn’t possibly live on that.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that.”
“How much were you making when you quit?”
At that point, I decide that I need to use the restroom. To barf.
Anyway, I decided that I’d had enough of these games. There was no way I wasn’t going to meet new people and there was no way I could stop them from asking me what I did. Especially when I know, what it is that I do. Even if it doesn’t bring me any money. As yet.
This morning I sat with my Macbook and designed myself a business card. After I was done with lunch, I drove over to the Printo by my place and had them print 96 of them. I think they look really snazzy.
The next time I get asked the question, I plan to reach into my pocket and hand out my new business card that says “Ratan Sethi, Writer”.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
In with the New
2009 was the first full year I spent not working towards making money. It’s been nineteen months since I quit my job. A job that provided me with a monthly salary, health insurance, airline miles, hotel points and the choice to live in New York. That choice of living in Manhattan, having a one-bedroom apartment with a nice address, fine dining, theater, sporting events etc. was lost the day I decided that working in the IT profession was too high a price to pay. I stayed back on for four more months until my savings depleted away to nothing.
Moving back to Bangalore was tough, to put in mildly. Way tougher than I had expected. Way, way tougher than it had been moving from Chicago in spite of having lived there much longer. I was in the biggest funk, completely unable to shake off the Big Apple from my system. In a few choice words, 2009 started for me with a whole lot of whining, complaining, bitching, moaning and groaning.
Thankfully 2009 ended for me in a very different way. The city was the same in January last year, when it had annoyed me to no end, as it was in December, when I was happy to call it 'home' again. Over the course of the year, my many journeys and the experiences I had, taught me to accept my surroundings and focus on what I had, instead of what I could’ve had. After all, no one had twisted my arm and made me quit my job! As much as I wanted to have the most decadent chocolate cake, I couldn’t possibly eat the entire thing too. Something had to give. In this case it was my ‘attitude’!
My time in the Himalayas gave me a better understanding of who I am as an individual. Not as a son, a brother or a friend. It also made me appreciate the little things, through the eyes of the children that lived close by and were pretty much the only company I had. It took three months of solitude for me to be bored with myself. Three months is a long time. I could very easily bore most people in less than a few hours. Or even during the course of reading this piece.
Summer of 2009 in New York made me realize that as much as I loved the city, I missed the proximity of family. My sister who used to live in New Jersey had moved from there and that had created a vacuum-of-sorts. In some inexplicable way, this time I felt a little disconnected. Was it the superficiality or had I really moved on? I know I will never stop loving New York (in fact I’m already planning my next visit there) but it seemed like the honeymoon was over. My next visit will tell for sure!
My ten weeks in Hong Kong reminded me of the importance of being healthy. And as long as we have our health, we must make the most of it. My cousin, who is bravely going through a rough period of illness, is an example of having the right attitude. If she can smile her way through her discomfort, what the heck do I have to bitch about?
And finally after bonding with family and friends in Delhi, Chandigarh, Chicago, Chennai and Coimbatore (city names that start with a 'C' were obviously very popular in 09!) over the course of the year, I came back to Bangalore, the city with near-perfect weather and where my year began. I’ve gone from war-zone streets by my previous apartment to torn-up sidewalks by the current one. The street widening, laying new drains and other such projects have a way of following me. Maybe I’m being put to the test except that I haven’t figured out why. I do however know that I’m not going to let it bring me down. Because this is the new me. The non-whiner, non-bitcher, non-complainer, non-moaner and non-groaner.
I have a really good feeling about 2010. There’s so much I’ve planned to do. I want to
Write a lot
Experiment with gourmet cooking
Travel to places I’ve never been to before
Stop Procrastinating
Get fitter
Laugh more
Spend quality time with family
Make new friends and keep the old ones
… more
Not to forget, somewhere along the way, figure out a way to pay for all of this. Minor details.
I doubt if I’ve had such high expectations from any year in the past. And I also know that things don’t happen on their own. So I guess it must be that I feel so ready to make a dent. I’m sure each one of you also has lots to look forward to. So let’s work towards it and make it a landmark 2010.
Happy New Year!
Moving back to Bangalore was tough, to put in mildly. Way tougher than I had expected. Way, way tougher than it had been moving from Chicago in spite of having lived there much longer. I was in the biggest funk, completely unable to shake off the Big Apple from my system. In a few choice words, 2009 started for me with a whole lot of whining, complaining, bitching, moaning and groaning.
Thankfully 2009 ended for me in a very different way. The city was the same in January last year, when it had annoyed me to no end, as it was in December, when I was happy to call it 'home' again. Over the course of the year, my many journeys and the experiences I had, taught me to accept my surroundings and focus on what I had, instead of what I could’ve had. After all, no one had twisted my arm and made me quit my job! As much as I wanted to have the most decadent chocolate cake, I couldn’t possibly eat the entire thing too. Something had to give. In this case it was my ‘attitude’!
My time in the Himalayas gave me a better understanding of who I am as an individual. Not as a son, a brother or a friend. It also made me appreciate the little things, through the eyes of the children that lived close by and were pretty much the only company I had. It took three months of solitude for me to be bored with myself. Three months is a long time. I could very easily bore most people in less than a few hours. Or even during the course of reading this piece.
Summer of 2009 in New York made me realize that as much as I loved the city, I missed the proximity of family. My sister who used to live in New Jersey had moved from there and that had created a vacuum-of-sorts. In some inexplicable way, this time I felt a little disconnected. Was it the superficiality or had I really moved on? I know I will never stop loving New York (in fact I’m already planning my next visit there) but it seemed like the honeymoon was over. My next visit will tell for sure!
My ten weeks in Hong Kong reminded me of the importance of being healthy. And as long as we have our health, we must make the most of it. My cousin, who is bravely going through a rough period of illness, is an example of having the right attitude. If she can smile her way through her discomfort, what the heck do I have to bitch about?
And finally after bonding with family and friends in Delhi, Chandigarh, Chicago, Chennai and Coimbatore (city names that start with a 'C' were obviously very popular in 09!) over the course of the year, I came back to Bangalore, the city with near-perfect weather and where my year began. I’ve gone from war-zone streets by my previous apartment to torn-up sidewalks by the current one. The street widening, laying new drains and other such projects have a way of following me. Maybe I’m being put to the test except that I haven’t figured out why. I do however know that I’m not going to let it bring me down. Because this is the new me. The non-whiner, non-bitcher, non-complainer, non-moaner and non-groaner.
I have a really good feeling about 2010. There’s so much I’ve planned to do. I want to
Write a lot
Experiment with gourmet cooking
Travel to places I’ve never been to before
Stop Procrastinating
Get fitter
Laugh more
Spend quality time with family
Make new friends and keep the old ones
… more
Not to forget, somewhere along the way, figure out a way to pay for all of this. Minor details.
I doubt if I’ve had such high expectations from any year in the past. And I also know that things don’t happen on their own. So I guess it must be that I feel so ready to make a dent. I’m sure each one of you also has lots to look forward to. So let’s work towards it and make it a landmark 2010.
Happy New Year!
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