Live From Heathrow

Started out of Toronto on the 29th afternoon. The trip to Pearson airport was uneventful. I was happy to find out that I could get from my address to the airport with only one fare. A normal taxi ride would cost me around $55 easy. So for $2.75 all the way to the airport was amazing. Awesome.

Anyway I checked in and got on into security. These days with all the scares they make you take off everything. Well this was the first time for me. I thought that they were doing this only the States but I was even more surprised to find that after the 2 hour wait at the security gate as I walked into the aerobridge I encountered a CBSA officer who asked to check my passport and the following conversation ensued.

Can I please see your passport and boarding card sir?

Sure.

Are you travelling alone today?

Yes.

What’s your final destination?

Hyderabad.

(Sees the Canadian immigration stamp on my visa pages and..)

Are you permanently residing in Canada?

Yes.

Are you going on business or personal or..?

Its my sister’s wedding.

Oh right. Sir as a rule you have to any (stutters)foreign exchange you may have. Any amount greate than

$10000 or equivalent should be declared with the CBSA.

I have $35 on me.

Is that enough to buy a (stutters)sandwich during the stopover?

Well it’d better be. A sandwich more than $35? I don’t think so.

Oh well thank you sir. Have a nice flight.

And funny thing was it was easy to see that only the brown men had the special appointment with these officers. Four or five of them standing there conducting mini interviews. This was the first time I experienced openly racial profiling.

I am ambivalent on the need for such inquisition especially after I have proved my credentials at earlier checkpoints. Either they should place a CBSA officer at the check in counters or they should inspect everybody. It is a little annoying when you are called aside. That automatically highlights the differences between people.

What annoys me even more is that these fools think they are doing a good job of covering up the real intent of their duty. You have to be incredibly stupid to think otherwise. Stop a random brown guy and start talking about forex limits and liquor control? What do you think we are, blind?

I think a lot of people do understand the need for constant surveillance. I support it to a certain extent. But it is the farce that they create which annoys me. If you have a doubt ask, I will put my credentials and facts before you and walk away. I have nothing to hide. When they do things like these, it automatically incriminates the persons of unacceptable behaviour in the eyes of passers-by. Or else why would any regular Joe be stopped and questioned by the authorities without specific actions prompting the suspicion. Simply unbelievable.

If you have something to ask, crosscheck or examine, please be my guest. And openly tell me why I have been singled out and the not the white guy next to me. I don’t care. As I said I have nothing to hide. And well seems like times are such that actions such as these are sanctioned in public safety and if scrutinizing me is going to make the public safer, sure avec plaisir. But please, please don’t insult my intelligence and take me around in circles.

Well I guess there is only more to come that way. Later this year a trip to the US is on the cards and more profiling, discrimination and insult.

Anyway the flight from Toronto to Heathrow sucked. Two babies made sleeping as hard as rappelling. Saw Nick and Norah’s Infinite play list. Like that guy Michael Cerra. The characters he portrays be it Juno, Superbad or NNIP, all of them have certain characteristics in common. He is always a docile, chivalrous, unassuming fellow who seemingly is very different from the teenager stereotype of American movies. I like that. I wasn’t a jock, stud or a playa. I was regular guy, may be even a nerd. And having such a character lead a plot is very interesting and easily digestible. Seems like stuff which really happens. At least to guys like me. He is an incredible actor, I think.

Food on BA is a curse. The AVML - Asian vegetarian meal was hot shit packed and served with a bun and some salad. Whoever supplies these damn meals should be shot. Of course after forcing one such meal down their throats. I think it was in Ratatouille, the French chef instructs the his little vermin protégé that a good chef always tastes what he cooks.

And of course the usual Indian guy who has to do everything possible to further downgrade the image we have. So there was this Indian lot at the security gate which was causing a lot of ruckus as it is, but after boarding the plane a dark desi bong guy with shitty long locks of hair falling on to his face ending in the aisle seat across and a row in front. Unbelievable this guy! He just wouldn’t stop staring. Next to me was this white girl with her English dad and of course ample cleavage to show. Not that it was worth boasting, I’d seen better, but still. Anyway so this horny bastard would find every reason to stare at her and the shameless uninhibited manner in which he did it embarrassed me. Yes I have checked out girls, and I checked this one out too. But then you stop. Not with this guy. And then of course the drinks. Already downed 3 or 4 Johnny Walker Red Labels. Any dumbass would know that this fellow was drunk. You had to see the disgusted look the cabin crew shot him every time he asked a different member for another drink. Yuck! Again intense disgust. When you are in the aisle seat you have to accommodate requests from the passengers on the other side when they want to get up and may be relieve themselves. But not this guy he lay there sleeping, dead as a log. A man on the inside gave up and propped himself up on the seat and leapt for freedom in the process almost cracking a guys laptop screen. And this wasn’t just once either. It is a pretty long flight, Toronto to Heathrow, and a young guy like me went thrice. So you can imagine what those 45-50 year olds with their aging prostates would have felt like.

Anyway I whiled away the remaining time watching The Matrix Revolutions. I can never tire of that series.

Down in Heathrow we were going to be ferried in buses to the terminal. The weather, it was around 3 deg C, was amazing. I just wanted to run around like it was a spring day. Anyway back at the terminal some more lines and checking. Up an escalator into another line. This was another first. I had never been security checked while on transit. Apparently at Heathrow they do the whole deal again. Before you are let free into the terminal, once again you pluck out those shoes, unbelt and de-pocket yourself to have a gloved man frisk/grope you in full view of everyone else. And what I saw here was just not the customary frisk they made sure all nooks and crevices had been palpated for negative findings. Luckily for me, the metal detector did not go off, so I was spared the honour.

Anyway after dressing up again, I walked around for a while familiarising myself. First times at transit terminals can be pretty flustering. Anyway went downstairs called dad and then CCR. The chat was interrupted by a Bangladeshi man who couldn’t figure out how to make calls. I tried explaining in Hindi but he still couldn’t understand and he gave up on me and left. After, I made a beeline to the place I had predecided on gracing.

Plane Food. Gordon Ramsay. Heard, seen and read enough about the guy to not risk letting go of a chance to eat at one of his spots. 9.30 am. Only breakfast was served. So have to leave my main course reviews for the return trip. For now it was Egg Florentine.

Eating begins with the eyes they say. And that’s the beauty of these hi-fi places. Eggs and spinach on half a toasted bun with some pepper and butter on top. Just the ordinary but made to look regal. Well I would be exaggerating if I said anything more than what was. It was eggs on toast and there are few ways any genius can reinvent it. But still got myself a window table overlooking the tarmac, pulled out Beach Boy and started reading. Well complete picture isn’t it. An English breakfast at Ramsay’s with a good novel. Only no one was taking pictures. I am brilliant act you see.

More damage to Indian reputation downstairs at one of the duty free stores. A sales girl just pitches a discounted chocolate box from Butler’s. Handmade, vegetarian, alcohol-free from a traditional Irish family business. Sampled a praline and moved on. Three desis, her next target, were ogling/orgasming while they asked the most ridiculous questions to make conversation with this agreeable lass. Will my girlfriend get fat if she eats these? Are there any nuts, my girlfriend has allergy? Ever heard of an Indian with a nut allergy.

May be but not the way this guy was asking. Anyway it was going to be Godiva gold ballotin for me. I had someone in mind.

Wi-fi. Isn’t that the norm? Internet access at places like the airport should be complimentary or at least dirt cheap. Not at Heathrow. I didn’t buy an hour at Pearson thinking $6.99 was a lot. But 5 quid for an hour in London. No thank you. So this has been blogged in word and posted at the earliest.

11.15 am. Another 2 hours to burn. Hopefully should go by quickly. Haven’t been allotted a gate yet. Gee I am tired, got to pee and crap. Pee I will. Crap we will see.

Next: Rendezvous with the Motherland and the brother-in-law.

Don't Forgive The Impotents

Members of a self appointed moral police Sri Ram Sena barged into a Mangalore pub and beat up eight women on Sunday.About 40 activists allegedly from the Hindu fundamentalist group Sri Rama Sena gatecrashed into a Mangalore pub and thrashed up people inside. Eight women were injured two of them seriously."There are some activities going on here that spoil Hindu tradition. We've just shown our frustration at that assault on Indian tradition. We don't like such indecent behavior and tried to stop it," said Sri Rama Sena spokesperson, Dinakar  -ibnlive.com

dear women of mangalore

i am immensely pained to see what has happened in mangalore at amnesia. i saw the videos on the internet of how the girls were mercilessly beaten and molested. it got my blood boiling enough to wish death upon every man who participated in this atrocious act of barbarism.

sadly we men of india are impotent. we are mentally troubled. we are perfect examples of displacement and projection as defence mechanisms. i am no different. my words sound premeditated just like that of your chief minister yedyurappa, brimming with impotence. time and again we see these incidents, may be even once or twice a year on such a scale yet we shout and cry and soon we forget, they forget.

sri ram sena? i pronounce that ram, wherever he is, stands shamed for all he tried to be for these people. righteous? respectful? rational? let it be known that in this era or yuga as they would have it, ravana is the new ram. yet sadly the beauty of ravana was that though he eyed another's wife, he was honourable enough to believe that it was to be his unconditonal love that would make sita yield. may be it is time to rewrite our stories. let sita be dishonoured, disrespected because that is the ramayana i see more apt for india today. our gods, our traditions, our belief systems are nothing but a whole load of shit. because if it were any different we the men of india would not resign to such incredulous acts in the guise of protecting our culture.

it was not far off in the past that we prided ourselves as a people who respected the paramount importance of our women to our society. but in less than sixty years of independence we have managed to rid ourselves of the pride of our culture. we now are nothing but a bunch of culture-less brutes for whom money is god, greed is religion and violence strength. we the men of india cannot bring home a decent meal but are in the forefront to execute the fancies of any disillusion sociopath. i denounce my religion, my values if this is what it they make me do. india is fast turning into a country of retards.

we are all criminals, either by acts of commission or acts of omission. criminals are above the law. rest assured, we all are.

it cannot be a thinking man who perpetrates violence on a woman. we are degenerate. in our history, time again it has been proclaimed and there are plenty evidences :

curse those sons who see not their mothers in the eyes of the helpless women they violate.

karyeshu dasi; karaneshu mantri;
rupecha lakshmi; kshamaya dharitri;
bhojyeshu mata; sayaneshu rambha;
shat dharmayukta kuladharmapatni

a society that fails to respect its women is a society doomed.

i pray to the women of india, please dont forgive us, the men who sit and express our sorrow as you are left victim to our ineptitude.

and as for the guilty, kill them.

with deep regret
sy

Predictable Choice

so here i was talking about random things in life when i went into a soliloquoy. the subject of my angst this time dealt with directions we "choose" to take in our lives.

like take the example of the cohort that graduated in the summer of 2008 to which i belong. a 150 fresh  mbbs graduates came out into the real world. so it was yet another crossroads and time to make choices again. what gets me thinking is how many of us actually stop to think of what we are to do next. the obvious choice for many would be to move on to postgrad in a specialty and further training to be a specialist doctor. and there is nothing wrong with that. i would love to be one too. the problem arises with the way we think that we choose to do it. 

i have often observed that we dont have to do too much to live life well. life has a way of taking care of you. all you have to do at your end is perform life's current task well enough. thats all and everything else is taken care of. i finish mbbs and the obvious questions arise and life has an answer. do a pg. there is not so much thinking involved in the choice, ofcourse the details are different. 

when i say life, i mean what you have around you. you have a certain upbringing in a certain household with a certain way of life in a certain society with certain social, cultural and economic sensibilities. and if you choose to sit back and relax, then these have a way of being your cushion. they have conditioned your behaviour enough to make whatever is next obvious. just dont ask too many questions and everything will be laid out in front of you. 

your life is the environment around you. it is the nature around you not your nature. it is what nurtured you, not the ideas you nurture. every idea you have, every trait you claim has litttle to do with you. it is a response you have conditioned to an external stimulus. and the beauty of our societal environments is that there are inherent feedback mechanisms to keep track and if necessary weed out the unwanted. and may be even recondition a response into a more suitable one. thats the purpose of your society. the thinking has been done for you. you have a role to play. just do what you have to well enough and everything will show up in front of you. its almost like life is offering you a step at a time what you need . you could be blind to where these steps lead and still you wont be lost. and if you were to deviate and sidestep, there are inherent protector mechanisms in this society that will try and bring you back to the mainstream that life has charted for you. if you persist, then you are marginalized, obscured or even ostracized. every once in a while there are few who can reach the destination through their own charted paths and they stand out. society explains them to you as extraordinary or freaks. its almost like they are pushed into being the cases falling outside 2 standard deviations of your normal gaussian curve. even maths is taught to teach you the oddity.

now when you do dare to sidestep, you are making a choice. now what governs this choice. the reason you chose to sidestep is so that you can take the reins into your own hands and lead life the way you want it to go. but then if you were to chart the new directions based on previous conditioning of the very same society you come from then how far are you really stepping out. all you know is what you have learnt, that is responses to those stimuli your environment has given you. the eyes can see only what the mind knows holds true here. the limits of your thought are more or less defined by the boundaries of the stream you are hoping to leave. then what do you do. do you even have a true idea of your own that can help? is any response your own as all the stimuli coming are that from an environment you are trying to abort and therefore detrimental to the search of your new direction?

society teaches you to dream of a destination. the final outcome of your efforts. yet it very successfully limits them temporally. therefore any average joe being led down his path sees satisfaction in stepping onto the next step. but he fails to realise that the next step will always be there. there is no stopping. whatever your effort, action, there will always be an outcome and you will move on. such a joe will never realise that it is never going to end. walking through the mall he is inspired to dress like an icon and purchase a particular brand. then a car, a house, watches, holidays and the list is endless. he runs after another everytime. does he ever stop and think about what it is about the next thing he desires that will make it all come to an end? i dont know. will he ever realise that such a scramble is perpetual unless he stops it. i dont know that either.

some say it is not the destination but the journey that is important. but society teaches you the contrary. you belong to a certain social class and therefore there shall be certain endpoints that you shall aim to achieve. anything else is crushed. 

we all are eventually aiming for the same thing. yet how many of us realise that we are all conditioned beyond imagination such that we limit our own choices.   

choice is an illusion. they let you pick a flavour when all you know and see is chocolate. 

Abdullah Khan Afridi

There is still some goodness left in the people of this world.

My mom used to say that whenever she came across a good samaritan or witnessed an act of kindness. Today was yet another boring day at the library till this happened.

I just finished a block of questions and decided to take a break with the Economic Times shouting itself hoarse with the whole Satyam fiasco. There was this guy I saw from the corner of my eye but I stuck to what I was reading. A couple of seconds later I couldntt resist lifting my head up as this figure was slowly and deliberately looming in my direction. So as I looked up I saw this guy who looked well South Asian lets say. He came over to the side of my table as I took out my earphones and braced myself for the encounter.

Can you speak Urdu?

No.

Hindi?

Yes.

Well if you dont mind can I just talk to you for a minute.

Yeah.

Bhaijaan My name is Abdullah Khan Afridi from Peshawar. I am an architect. Just got here a month and a half ago. I am living in London as of now and came over to Toronto to meet with my immigration lawyer. Unfortunately though this afternoon my wife lost her purse with all our money in it. We are stranded now as we dont have enough money to get back to London. I have my wife and 21 year old daughter waiting as I am out here looking for help. I am new in this place and I dont know anyone. I tried going back to the lawyers office but found it closed. Someone there said that there was a mosque somewhere nearby where someone might be willing to help me. As I was walking by, you caught my eye and I just thought that in this foreign land I will take a chance and ask you for help.

Yeah, I guess. What are looking for?

I am short of exactly 35 dollars. Thats all I need to get my family back to London tonight. I was hoping you could help me out with the money. I promise I will be back on Friday, not this one but the next, and I will come back and repay you. Trust me brother, I know its awkward like this asking around for money but I dont know anyone else here and there is nothing else I can do. I am Pashtun and mark my word, I will come back and return the money.

I think for a minute. The man seemed honest and well as always in these situations, I am easily persuaded.

All I have got with me are 15 dollars and thats what I can give you.

The man hesitates and looks at me for a bit.

Bhaijaan I am not here to ask around for money. I promise to return it all. I wish that you could please help me out. There is an ATM just outside. I would be very indebted to you.

Alright I was going to give him the money. I just was going to. Sometimes I am just sold on certain things. There needn't be any particular reason. I just do it anyway. And this was one of those. I got up and walked out the library.

Allah, Subhanawata'ala will keep you well and will never put you in bad times. I will pray for you my friend. Thank you. Thank you so very much. I walked all the way from Union to here. We havent eaten all day.

Well you should just take the subway to Union on the way back. Its too cold.

Brother that would cost money too. I couldn't. All I need are 35 dollars.

A Pashtun's word? Alright. Lets not talk about it anymore. I am giving you what you want and lets both forget it, I think.

Outside the ATM is a BMO. My bank is Scotiabank. I tell him that. We decide to walk over to Bloor and Spadina. I go inside get my jacket.

It is -22 C. As we walk he asks me if all the buildings there belonged to the university. I tell him they do. Even that most of everything between Queen's Park and Spadina, and Bloor and King are university buildings. He says he has seen Western and it was huge. Well UofT was in the centre of the city and so was actually smaller than some of the university campuses I tell him.

What are studying? Finished medicine in India. Final Year? No I have my degree.

Mashallah! Congratulations brother. It is a matter of great pride.

I guess.

I am an architect. I have two Bachelors degress from the University of Peshawar. But people here tell me that my degrees are invalid, that I am unqualified. It is maddening. I regret coming to this country. My sister-in-law, my wife's sister, would call us from Vancouver every week and tell was what a great life it was and that we were missing out. May be she hated us. My family runs a garment factory in Peshawar, we make leather. I have two brothers who live in Germany. But I dont know why I came here. Once a woman had decided on something, there is little you can do to change her mind. My wife insisted. You get screwed. I gave 47000 dollars US to the immigration consultant to get us here and now I realise its all waste. I wish I never came here.

By this time we reached the ATM. He says he will wait outside. I draw 30 dollars. I think if I should just give him 40 dollars and be done with it. Then again he asked for 35 dollars and thats what I will give him. Money clutched in hand I walked out.

Thank you very much brother. Thank you. I will never forget this.

He leaned forward and hugged me.

I will be back to return this money to you.

Don't worry about it. Its alright.

No brother I couldn't. Atleast on that pretext we will get a chance to sit down for some tea. Please give me your number.

I do. He makes note of it in the Arabic script. And then my name too.

He points and asks if that direction was South.

I pull out my wallet and give him another 3 dollars and tell him to just take the subway.

He hugs me again and walks off around the corner still thanking me.

I walk back.

It will always be tough. One half doesn't believe it at all. The other wonders how many times total strangers have helped me and so may be if I owed it to this man. Well I gave him the money he needed. Thats all.

People will tell me that I got taken for a ride. That I got conned.

I gave the man money, it wasn't so much to make feel the pinch yet quite a sum.

I wish for him to come back, that we do sit down for that tea and that I make a new friend.

I don't need the money.

I want him back just to prove to everyone, to myself that we still have honest good men who will help one another, friend or stranger.

I need that.

On Olfactory Obituaries

Gee! That took quite a bit, didnt it? Well anyway I have some good news and bad news. The quest that almost inspired a copy-cat tome by your truly familiarly title " A Suitable Boot" has been completed. To an exalted Vikram Seth, there shall not be any further need for legal recourse in Boy vs Boot. And thats just the bad news.

After weeks, no months, of idle surfing and contemplation I have finally settled on a pair of boots. Well I had to if I didnt want to be held under the Patriot Act (I dont think Canada has one! But knowing the States and my old Nike shoes the borders would have been blurred.)on charges for conspiring to suffocate innocent civilians and causing havoc. Those damn Air Max 360s got so stinky that after a day of wearing them in the library I had to choose between braving the cold winds from the open windows or suffering the stench. The cold won and gladly so.

So a week ago, with renewed resolve after an self-degrading introspective bitch fest with Tharan on how stupid each of us were, I set out to the Bay as a last resort to find anything that could relieve the suffering of the genteel Torontonians. The store was pretty busy with no salesperson ready to help me right away. Looking around I chanced upon those cursed Timbaerland Chelsea boots. Damn it! $170. Screw that shite. I didnt think I was ready to shell out $200 for a pair of boots. Torontonians arent that dear to me. SO moving on I found a pair of Rockport boots that looked interesting and asked the Joan for a size 10.5 which ofcourse they didnt have. See thats the course of being an average joe. Everyone's got the same size. Not of everything though! You know what I am sayin'. Well anyway the lady had me try a size 10 wide and well they fit alright.

Joan was this nice lady with a crisp British accent, I'd say in her late sixties probably fighting obsolescence and dementia in the shoe store. I just love it how oldies here never settle down and always keep themselves busy. Makes me sad though, to think of the irepparable damage I might have inflicted on her already atrophying brain when she caught a whiff of soggy fungus laden shoes while trying to put down a new pair of the Rockports I'd asked for. See first rule, never buy the piece on display and second rule, never buy shoes if they dont match. Well anyway even the other pair had some minor faults that my OCD brain found. But under intense pressure from the helpless citizens I settled for them.
Ups: Boots, Waterproof(tear! yes they truly are!, Casual look(definitely dont look like them 6" timbas you know, 1 day break-in period

Downs: Not Chelseas, take longer to wear, $170!!!! Damn!

See the funny thing was I have wanted to buy waterproof chelsea boots for a long time now. Just couldnt find them in India. And when I finally can (they were even available at the bay, well only one style, the timberland earthkeepers)in the last minute I applied the stupid logic that the elastic gores on the sides may eventually loosen and the shoe may not fit so well. Stupid I know!

Well anyway after months of research and debate with everyone including Mark, Murali's Russian roommate, I am now the owner of a proud pair, and cause of the celebration of hundreds of relieved snouts.


Obituary: The Hudson's Bay Co. lost a valuable pair of senile olfactory lobes in a show a true commitment to the nation. Joan is a proud grandmother and continues to proudly serve the Canadian people.

(Rajma Mere Aona) "Waise Sharmao Na"

(My Rajma Come to Me, Dont Be Shy Like That)

So its 1 30 am in the morning. Waise Sharmao Na - Shankar Mahadevan crooning to the troubles of Anushka Shankar and Karsh Kale. Fantastic album I must tell you. Anyway couldnt think of a title for the post. So whatever. Anyway just saw this movie called The Life Before Her Eyes. Uma Thurman sees something all the time and I have to tell you though, the intention seems to be there yet one more time execution leaves something missing. I think someone else could have come up with a better direction on the subject. This, as it was, wasnt very impressive. 

Anyway in the humdrum of living in Toronto, I am for the first time truly putting my culinary inclinations to work. And well believe it or not I am surprising myself. See when I cook, I dont have a set recipe or a procedure. I start with a picture in my head. This picture will be of something I know I really want to eat. Like say today it was rajma. I had bought a can of kidney beans a week ago and they were just sitting there while I was working my way with the lentils and other things. Well anyway at Metro the other day I managed to find a can opener like the one we had back home and thankfully I hadnt had to rob a bank. Man sometimes I wonder when such a simple thing as opening a can got so painful that it needed motorized hands-free systems and all. Anyway so here I was with a can of beans and a picture of rajma in my head. 

The other day fooling around youtube, I found this guy's channel. Vah re Vah.com. So its some desi guy with a 'bet your left nut' southie accent making a very genuine effort at rajma made easy. Honestly though, it is a good idea. Most vids are about 5 or 6 minutes long and he gives you the essentials. So this time like never before I decided to follow VrV bhayya or should I say anna. Armed with an allegedly seven star chef's advice, I head right into it. I had it all. I picked up some italian strained tomatoes on the way back with one onion, whipping cream and other essentials. One onion? These damned leaves here are so big. Like a small pumpkin or something. Believe it or not by the time I got cooking more than half the pot was this one onion, and they are spicy too. 

Moving on, I started like a good student of my anna with some oil in the pot. Got to tell you though I washing up afterwards thinking to me my Black & Decker rice cooker and that Betty Crocker pot are like godsend, couldnt do anything without them. Best $50 bucks I spent in this country so far. So with the oil heating up I dumped some jeera and the chopped onion in there. Wait for them to turn golden and then add some garam masala. Well sabji masal was my substitute. Havent managed to go by little India down on Gerrard St so far. Anyway this does it for my buds. Then it was the turn of the ginger garlic paste and the tomato puree. Added some water and set it to gather a boil. Anna said to add some water strained from cooking the rajma beans. I was using canned beans and I wasnt ready to poison myself with all that preservative BS. So tap water it was. 

See around the kitchen I am almost can look like a star. Sometimes I think that everytime I cooked if I had a girl watching, I could do everything right to get her going. You know what I'm sayin'? So while the masalas gathered some steam I washed up the rice and set my B&D to the task. I washed up some corriander and chopped it up. Garnish man! Presentation is the strength of a good chef. By the way, I didnt know it was called cilantro as well. Or maybe I knew it but who cares to remember these things. So the corriander was ready. And so were the beans. Had washed them clean of all that slimy canned goo and made VrV da happy dumping them exactly how he showed me. And then you see things started to unfold. Everything till now was perfect. Alright agreed I hadnt chopped the onion so finely or that most of the jeera had been burnt by the time i saved their behinds with the onion but hey what the hell so far so good. Only problem was it wasnt really looking it.

Once I make up my mind, I tend to be in it for good. I dont know why I was thinking this in the middle of everything but it surely wasnt doing anything for my satiety centre. Well I think hunger being the basic instinct that it is got me thinking about other things and then it wasnt too hard to drift for a bit there before the jumping lid got me. Little Betty had too much steam building inside and the lid didnt have one of those little vents. So checking on my dinner, according to the international renowned Sanju(I baptised my chef, I dont think thats his name but he looks like a Sanju) I was ready to eat. Well definitely didnt look like it. 

See there wasnt the right consistency, the righ colour or even the right smell. When I cook, inexperienced as I am, I use all my senses to guide me. So you will see me peep, sniff, feel and taste all the time. I was talking about my food. And it seems now I feel convinced that I often do hear it right as well. But today none of these agreed. Well VrV beta now take a hike, Culti mar! This wasnt going to be my dinner. Not tonight and definitely not for the next two. Rule #434 in the Bachelor Handbook : If you take the pains to cook today, dont forget tomorrow. And the days after. 

I knew what I had to do. Some whipping cream will change it all. See I know thats what mom used to do. She would add some KDD thick cream into any of her culinary adventures to improve their consistency. Added to the taste as well, made them really rich. So in a hurry I fetched the carton of whipping cream I just bought, shook it up and opened the seal, held over the bubbling cauldron and tilted it. Pour, pour and pour. Damn!

See now thats another thing. In all the energy that a kitchen brings in, I forgot my amateur skill and go straight for it. That is, I rarely measure up anything. I just add as much as I feel I should. Thats it. And trust me, going by today that isnt very good. By the time I mixed in the cream, the rajma went from a cinnabar red to a light citrus. Not very heartening. And as if that werent enough it started to smell of cooking cream, you know that wierd unmarinated paneer smell. Shifting into damage control, I dumped some more tomato puree hoping to bring the colour back. The smell changed again. Damn!! So added some more subji masala. It did little. To the smell or the colour. If this were a cartoon, a little cloud over my head would show a bulb light up. 

Pataks Madras Curry paste. Another great product of modern day technology and market. So I scooped some of it mixed in some water and in it went. The colour had slightly improved now. It looked more like a kind of rajma I remembered eating at a dhaba once. So finally as I almost gave up, I went in for the kill. A taste didnt do too much. See my dad always did this, if you ever gave him something to taste, once wasnt going to enough. So go armed with half a bowl. The taste wasnt horrible but it surely wasnt what I was hoping for. It was initially bland, had a spicy aftertaste and then left you breathing like a dragon as it went down. I was missing something.

Salt. Now that is something that definitely increased the palatability of this mess I made. Still there was the dragon breath to be handled. I mean its one thing when it burns on the way out, but I honestly feel good food should never burn on the way in. So two big chunks of garlic butter it was going to be. Atleast all that butter would numb down the buds. Sadly there wasnt going to be much I could do for the behind, that fella was going to burn and I dont think I am ready to try two big chunks of garlic butter down there. 

Finally, it came to an agreeable odour, clour and consistency. And as for the taste. Well I have to tell you, before today I had my doubts but now I think we can make it official. I can work wonders in the kitchen. As all the ingredients settled down, everything fell right into place. Rajma it was. See I am one greedy, gluttunous SOB when it comes to food I like but I was so amazed myself that I dropped some of it off at a friends place upstairs before settling down to enjoy my work.

And as for the hallmark of a good cook. It all comes down to the presentation, even if it is for yourself. Eating begins with the Eyes.

Its not Over. Still!

Well here is an update for all those of you not reading, the climax over a pair of shoes runs on. The story rivalling many network saas-bahus is now nearing completion of its third month. But soon all the twists and turns will come to an end. I have decided to abruptly end the first and hopefully the only season. Today I will be going out to the Bay, probably as soon as it opens and will take one last look for a pair of decent shoes. If all else fails, Hush Puppies are going to save the day. Lets hope the $200 will turn out well spent. 

P.S.- Is it just me or are there no decent shoe companies other than timberland that make waterproof shoes on a regular basis? In Canada with all the snow and rain, I would expect a decent market for waterproof shoes of all kinds. By the way, to all those who didnt know and couldnt care less, here is another fact to flush. Canada has no Timberland stores. The closest one is in Buffalo, NY. Even Kuwait has Timberland. How wierd!?!