All Along The Watchtower

I was lucky enough to catch a talk by Ramachandra Guha the day before.

Worship them or hate them, but you've got to love the IIT guys for giving us non JEE crowd the opportunity to watch such greats speak 10 feet before you, at MoodI.

The second time I happened to stumble upon his name with the help of this post. I remember spending an entire evening on the Ray and Keshavan website, and admiring the brilliance of his brand designer wife, Sujata Keshavan.

They talked so fast, and they talked so true, it was hard for me to not be in a total awe of them.

It was during one of those early school days Sundays, when I used to be glued to the sofa in my pyjamas all day, that I heard Sookie freaking about how her risotto was sent back by a customer. She then went on to make risotto for the rest of the episode. Back then, I thought "Wow. Such intricate things people eat. There is so much of sophistication to be experienced in life."

6 years later.

"Oh pish posh! Let's make risotto today!"

You can say I have started my sophistication journey earlier than I had expected, or that engineering has made me become more fearless to try out supposed 'intricate' food. But the explanation I like best is, I have a 2 month break, I want to cook and Italian food for the win. :P

So here it goes.

2 tb spoon oil and butter each, 3-4 cloves of grated garlic, 1 chopped onion (maybe more if you'd prefer), about a cup of rice, 4-5 cups of chicken/vegetable stock, 3 tb spoon of cream, salt, pepper, and cheese svad anusaar!

Heat a pan, add the oil and the butter.

Once it heats up, dump in the garlic and then the onion. And watch them sizzle, and give out one of the best aromas imaginable.

Once it all starts looking greasy and translucent, pour in that cup of rice. Coat the rice with this oil, butter, garlic and onion mess.

Once this is done, start adding small cups of the stock into ze rice.

If you want, you can pretend the rice are people and have a loud sadistic laugh pretending to be an evil clown drowning a city full of people.

(Though it is advised that you skip this step if there are people at home. Else, you will be at the receiving end of uncomfortable questions from your mother. Er, um. No. I have never done this.)

Keep stirring the stock and the rice. Within a minute or so, you shall see that the rice has very conveniently absorbed all the stock.

Is i just me, or does this freakishly look like the Yeti's paw? Subliminal messages, you say?

*shudder*

After all the stock disappears, add another cup full. Keep repeating this, till the rice is soft and cooked. That will take about 20 odd minutes.

You'll also notice, that the rice will have grown. It's absorbing all that chicken stock no?

The little rice people will be fighting for space.

While this is happening, keep some grated cheese ready.

If you show great self restraint, and don't steal a few bites of the cheese at this point, they say you go straight to heaven.

So of course, I am going to hell. (I mean, look.at.teh.cheese!) *drool*

Anyway, once the rice is cooked, add the cream and the cheese, and stir it around for 2 min or so.

Just, the creaminess and the smoothness of it all makes you want to cry a bit.

Now, don't forget to add salt and pepper in the end.

Serve it out. To feel extra Italian, sprinkle on some mixed herbs or any herbs that you have.

It's all about the taste really, who cares about precision?

And, the final touch of coriander will make it look oh so pretty.

And you're done.

Now, please. Do yourself a favour, and go make yourself a plate.

Fearlessness is the only quality you truly need to in the kitchen :)

And now, please excuse me, while I scrounge on left overs.

Mumbai weather has been unusually kind to us city folk.

When your bare feet hit the floor in the morning, they are icy cold. The blanket has become a life support of sorts. And of course, jackets and hoodies are making their appearances after being stuffed at the back of the wardrobe for months.

I feel the 2007 winter rushing back all over again.

The only thing that can make you enjoy this winter better is that mug of coffee. And if you crave some umami, you better reach for that reassuring bowl of Onion and Cheddar cheese soup.

2- 3 tablespoons of butter, 2 medium sized chopped onions, a clove of grated garlic, a bit of flour, chicken/vegetable stock, milk and cheese (Cheddar preferred).

It's simple as hell really.

You heat up the pan. Add the butter, watch it melt furiously. Dump in the onions, and saute them. Here, you are recommended to stop for a second and just smell the brilliance of butter and onions.

Once the onions become a bit translucent, add a bit of grated garlic. Then, shake it up baby now, shake it up baby. Twist and SHOUT! Twist and shout! C'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon baby now, c'mon baby. C'mon and work it on out, work it on out!

Ok, sorry. I think I lost track there somehow. *mutters**stupidbeatlesplaylist*

Coming back, add the tiniest amount of flour to this mixture. Maybe a tablespoon or so. Any flour will do. (Even if you don't, I doubt the Earth will blow up) You see that this soaks up all the butter. It's the funniest thing. Anyway, just plop in the stock at this point ( It depends on the amount of soup you'd want to make) and cover it with a lid for a good 5-7 minutes.

Once you take of the lid, the most gorgeous smell will hit you. Don't panic. Such levels of awesomeness in food, do occur.

Add salt, and pepper. Taste it.

(Don't you love the fact that you get to keep tasting the food at stages to "check the flavours"? Who cares if it brings down the final amount to half the originally intended amount!)

Stir it up. And finally, add milk. Not a lot, maybe half the amount of stalk you added. If you have an urge to be extra unhealthy, and desperately want to make you jeans feel tight at all places, add cream as well. Two minutes more on the stove, then tip it over in your bowl and you're done.

Refrain from slurping still. You need to add the final crumble of cheese (Cheddar preferred. It's not too salty, and just perfect), and another dash of pepper.

And there it is, winter bliss in a bowl.

Good ol' toasted bread goes perfect with this. Garlic bread, even more so :)

So do yourself a favour, and make this steaming reassuring bowl of soup already.

You know you want to.

For me, it always starts with that inexplicable widening of the eyes and a 'I need to do this right now' message running through my head.

If I fall in love with the idea of a particular book, I will drop all and run to the bookstore to get a copy. And of course, I wont sleep until I finish it. If it is a random song I fall in love with, I shall listen to it on loop until the lyrics are embedded in my memory. If my mum asks me to clear the table on a 'Monica' day, I shall not rest until the kitchen and the fridge is spotless. Well, you get the picture.

It's with every little thing I do. It needs to happen that very instant, or I shall die a restless soul.

This is the incident of 2 days before I had to leave for Kolkata. I woke up in the morning, dragged myself out of the covers, switched on the laptop and sat with my orange juice to decide my IMDb Top250 movie of the day. It was precisely at that moment the 'ping' of my feedreader caught my attention.

A few hours later, I was dazed and wide eyed. Total credits to the food blogs of course. These images of food later overflowed into a lot of conversations I had that day too. Many people accused me of making them hungry minutes after they finished lunch. I got a bunch of angry phone calls from a couple of mothers too. It seems they had to cut short their afternoon nap, to feed their kids for the second time. I was talking of food in THAT much detail.

This one particular recipe caught my eye, and looked fairly simple to make. So I decided to take the plunge.

Spicy Honey Chicken , they call it :)

A bowl, a spoon, boneless chicken, vegetable oil, grated garlic, cumin powder, coriander powder, red chili powder, salt, (and anything else you have at home, which would make sense. I tried to be cool and added something on the lines of a pinch of 'Chaat masala', and something brilliant smelling called 'Meat Masala' :P ), and honey.

Apparently, all you need to do is mix everything in the bowl minus the honey. Check for the taste, balance it the way you'd prefer (Extra spicy, lemony, whatever) and just marinate the chicken in this mixture for 5 minutes. Place it on the grill for 20-25 minutes.

Voila!

Oh wait, and finally, just coat on a layer of honey on the chicken which looks and smells gorgeous by now. Let it be on the grill for another 5 minutes. And then truly,

VIOLA!

(Can you believe how ridiculously simple this is?! Of course I had to drop everything else and make this! )

Lets take a closer look, shall we?

The first time my passport was made, was in the year 1993. Baba had just almost taken up a job offer which asked him and his family to move to Kuwait. In all the hurry, I had my passport made. Apparently, it had taken my parents quite a few hours to get me to hold the pencil straight, remind me of my sleeping and slanting lines for me to sign my name on the rectangle slot. (I just realized, why couldn't they have just made me ink my thumb print? Oh. Maybe they expected me to be more than a angootha chaap even at that age! *tongue in cheek*)

Well, the result? The letters of my names we're all jumbled up and at opposite ends of the rectangular slot. Thank God, baba didn't take up that offer and I didn't have to use that passport then.

I finally ended up using this passport of mine in class 7, when I made a trip to Malaysia with my family. Mind you, this passport photo Ashmita looked nothing like the then class 7 Ashmita.

Here, have a look. (This photo was secretly stolen, uploaded on facebook, liked and then ridiculed on by my absolutely lovely classmates! Hmph!)

The guy at the Immigration Counter had the time of his life chatting up this kid for ten minutes, about how the person in the photo was nothing like me, that I didn't have a coconut tree pony tail, and that I was cheating him and things. All with a smirk.

It took me a while to explain to my parents he was joking.

When my first passport renewal was done, I remember being rushed out of my prelim exam for a verification. My father, being one of the most law abiding citizens there ever are, was absolutely scandalized when I demanded an explanation from the police inspector as to why I was being referred to as a 'Minor'. I was 15! I knew all that an adult knew! (Or so I thought)

And now comes the latest story of my passport.

This time I was all pumped up, as my dad had told me the last time around that I would have to handle my next renewal all by myself. I did as much as I could. My visit to the Regional Passport Office, and my wait there even contributed in adding a last minute question on my Quiz that very day.

And then, Murphys uncle came to play. I am currently sick, and unable to ingest anything(to put it in pretty terms). It just had to be today the Police had to summon me, for a verification. After a two hour wait with the dog outside the cabin, I was signaled inside the cabin with baba.

"Naam"

"Ashmita Sengupta"

"Haan. Form idhar hi hai.....Call aaya tha aapko?"

"Haan. Kal shaam ko. Par abhi tak ghar pe..."

"Kitne saal?"

"Unees saal.."

"Nahi. Iss address pe kitne saal se ho?"

"Che saal"

"Hm. Birth Certificate kahan ka hai?

"Calcutta" ( My dad intervenes)

I look at him with 'Kolkata-has-gone-out-the-window-in-front-of-the-Marathi-speaking-Policeman-what? Look.

"Hm. Or yeh?"

"Yeh mera HSC ka xerox hai"

"Mumbai mein kitna saal se ho aap?"

"Unees- Bees saal"

"Haan. Toh aap kitne saal se iss address pe hain?"

"Che saal"

"Aas paas koi rehne waala?", he asks my dad

"Haan. Prabir Das. Unka naam aur phone number yahan likha hai"

"Kyaa? Praabir kya?" God. I feel bad. No one recognizes Oriyas

"Prabir Das. Hamare Upar waale flat mein rehte hai"

"Theek hai. Aur unke saath? Verification ke liye koi gaye toh? Rahega koi?"

"Haan. Unki wife"

"Unka naam?"

"Ranjita Das"

"Ranjitaa kyaaa?"

"Daaas"

"Unki kitni umar hogi?"

Dad is stumped. 'What? I am being asked of my neighbour's wifes age?!' look on his face. Herecovers quick, makes a quick calculation under his breath.

"Haan kuch 49 .. 50 age hoga unka"

I see him scribbling down her name and age on my application

"Theek hai. Toh kitne saal se rehte ho aap idhar"

"Che saal"

"Theek hai. Do photo de do"

He efficiently staples my photo my form. Looks my dad square in the face and says,

"Aapko house verification ke liya ghar bhejoo, ki idhar hi karlenge ?"

"Idhar hi kar do aap"

"Theek hai. Toh aap 300 de dena. Unka chai paani. Aur mera bhi"

*This is where baba asks me to leave the room while I see him take out a 500 note*

On our way to the car, I clarify. Will the police actually be showing up at our place now?

Baba smiles and says " No. But it makes no difference. Ghar bhi aatein, toh 300 toh phir bhi lete. Chai paani ka. They know we know the drill. So this is just cutting to the chase."

"But any which ways, you verified that form. So if any discrepancies occur with that detail of Ranjita Das and her age, as that is the proof of them making a visit, you shall be beheaded. Not me". He adds with a playful smirk. Rascal.

Still. I was a little confused to see a law abiding citizen, a proud PSU employee to be so cool with under the table money offerings. So I asked him again.

And boy, did the bangali erupt! He spoke about how the guys in the security force are horribly underpaid, and horribly overworked. They pull double shifts without getting paid for overtime. They get paid maybe a 4k -5k to maintain law in a country like India, and not an idealistic country like Japan or Norway. To the people who say "It is their duty", he replies with "Then where are you doing your duty to the nation, boss? Just because your job isnt directly related to the public they dont realize how much you slack off. You don't get to do some fancy sales job and earn 20k a month when these overworked guys get paid 4k to 'maintain the laws in the crime infused Indian society' "

Shameless as I am, I agree, I do not know enough about ANY of this to comment or take sides for that matter. But it does make a lot of sense to me right now, even though it is still odd somewhere on the back of my head.

Just makes me realize how horribly ignorant I am about so many things around me.

Any which way, it's been 7 hours since. And I haven't been able to stop laughing everytime I look at my dad.

My police verification to attain my new Indian Passport depended on my father's knowledge of his neighbors wife's age.

Who could've thunk it?

My first quiz.

I thoroughly enjoyed the whole process of framing questions, and actually standing up and receiving answers and the blatant guesses in room no. 207, although i now absolutely loathe Microsoft Power Point.

Have a look. And criticism is completely welcome.

This is something I would love getting better at :)

Up until 4 hours back, I was even consciously aware of the presence of the red velvet cake/cup cake in the world. Like any other Saturday afternoon, I was fiddling with the laptop and came across this video about 'Re inventing the cupcake', based on this nice female with a 'cupcakery' in New York. Needless to say, the moment I laid my eyes on the gorgeous cupcake she was baking, I knew I had to try it.

Like a tune which is playing in your head on loop the entire day, the image of the cupcake was flashing before my eyes every few seconds. Scanning through the recipe, I realized I could actually pull it off before the sun sets, and before my family wakes up from their 'Saturday - post lunch - fish curry and rice' slumber.

Terribly sorry for the ones who don't stay nearby and can't come over, and bite into the awesomeness this is. The red colored cupcake is a delight to look at, the subtle taste of dark cocoa which hits you at the very first bite, is very gratifying ;and the huge blob of chocolate frosting on the top is just plain sinful.

Look how red!

*drool* chocolate.

So, yes. That. :)

P.S- I mean. Seriously. These things are a pain to carry out of the house with the roads that we have. The frosting gets absolutely ruined. So I mean, call. And come over won't you? And stop threatening me!

Yes, Samata, I mean you. :P

A wise lady once said, "When you look at a cupcake, you've got to smile."

And every time I open my fridge, 'smiling' is the most polite version of what is smeared on my face!

You see those gorgeous things sitting on the counters, jumping out of magazines, staring at you out of the professionally clicked photographs on other food blogs, and you can't help but hate yourself a little bit for not having one in your hand. And the worst of the lot are, the mini cupcakes which inhibit Candies. Little rascals, all of them.

So after donning the hat of improvisation, I decided to bake a few cupcakes myself. Vanilla cupcakes are swell, and the butter cream frosting is heavenly. Thankfully, I had some coloring left over from the cutout cookies ("Raspberry Red" to be precise), so i could end up with a very pink set of cupcakes :P

Oh, and the frosting! Swirling the frosting around with my awesome new nozzle, is just a hoot I tells you.

And, yes, you. A batch shall be on their way to your tummy very soon. You know who you are.

I was scared, skeptical, and tired of sieving icing sugar for a better part of the 2 hours, but at the end of it, I emerged alive with a double layer chocolate cake in my hands.

The first part was bliss. Just mixing the butter, sugar, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla extract, eggs and yes, flour! Easy Peasy! Just plug in the beater and go.

It never filled him with remorse, or anger, when he saw him work all day long to earn such nominal pays. To be very honest, he didn't even like him too much.

He was a bit too much of a hypocrite in his eyes. He saw his father sing out praises about the deity's magical powers, and how she made your wish come true if you pleased her with special puja baskets; while in fact he was, but , an atheist.

At times , he felt ashamed to be living under the same roof as a liar. Somewhere down the line, it had inculcated in him this innate urge, to find a place of his own. Somewhere far away from the place where he had spent every waking moment of his entire childhood.

And then there was his mother. Since as long as he could remember, he had always walked into his hut to see his mother cooking, or cleaning their small abode, in silent suffering. He couldn't help but feel sad and disgusted at the same time. After all, she didn't have the right to suffer if she had never worked against it, did she?

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As me and my father, cautiously made our way down the mossy steps in rolled up chudidaar and jeans, and an empty bottle in each hand; he came up to us midway up the stairs.

"Can I help you with those bottles?"

"How far will you go?" , enquires my dad.

"I'll go up till the middle of the river"

My dad looks convinced, and hands him both the bottles.

"What's your name boy?", my father asks him as we three slowly make our way down.

"Lalu"

"Like Lalu Prasad Yadav eh?", my dad tries to joke.

He doesn't look amused, no crinkle of a smile even.

We continue our trudge downstairs.

I interrupt the silence, "How old are you?"

"15"

"You go to school?"

"Yes. I will be giving my 10th exams this year."

"Oh. Good good"

He barely listens to my reply as he jumps into the cold river.

I soak my feet in peacefully, and splash a few drops on my head. I look out at the magnificent river, to find him out at the middle of the river taking deep breaths and diving inside with two bottles in his hand.

By this point of time, a number of kids are surrounding me with big smiles on their faces as they continue floating in the river, asking me if I need help. I tell them I'm waiting for Lalu. They all go back to their ways.

That scrawny 15 year old returns, shivering out of the river. He was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts in the gloomy weather.

He hands me the 2 bottles.

"When did you learn to swim?"

"I knew it since I was a kid. Since I was 4 maybe."

"So since when have you been doing this then?", trying to inquire further as I hand him a ten rupee note.

"Since I learnt to swim."

And he walked away to help a few more people, without giving us a second glance.

I met Lalu by the banks of Ganga, that day.

And something about him, stuck a different chord in me.

And why wouldn't it?

After all, what do I know of hunger?

Life has become quite hectic since I decided to slack off at my internship, instead of slacking off at home.

It was a pleasant eventful trip to Kolkata. Met some amazing people, saw some breathtaking sights, heard some wonderful stories.

But to be very honest, through out the 7 days, I was utterly miserable on the inside.

I mean, I did my part. I didn't showcase my utter frustration and sadness; instead I smiled around, gave away hugs and touched at least a thousand feet. But really, I was slowly breaking inside.

You see, I've been searching for muffin trays in Bombay for over a year. Ok, now I admit, I never had the time to go out on a full fledged hunt, but I used to do as much as I could. And that search would inevitably always end in the same away, in total and utter failure.

That was the case up until the night before I boarded the flight to Kolkata. Samata, very nonchalantly, mentioned how she got her muffin moulds from this store in IC Colony and how she was dying to buy their new silicon muffin trays.

I mean. WHAT THE HELL?!

I had to wait 7 days and 17 hours till I could hop into the rickshaw, and reach bakers heaven. I went, I saw, and I shopped.

So as expected, after a year long wait, I finally baked my chocolate chip muffins. And boy, were they delicious :)

I have launched into baking overdrive.

The next time you see me, I will, in all probabilities, be at least 5 kilos heavier. So yes, you have been warned.

That is unless, someone wants to drop by and help me clear ingest these treats? :P

*sigh*

Yes, I devoured it. And loved it.

And no, I do not care if I become fat.