.....would be called...wait...wait....I’m jumping the gun here. Lets go back to the beginning. As usual this story also involves food but not in as much detail. It all started with just another innocuous dinner. I was about finishing a nice big chole-bhatura and coating my arteries with a fresh layer of cholesterol when I felt like it would be nice to drink something to settle my stomach. I called the waiter over to my table and asked him for a glass of plain buttermilk. He smiled a sweet broken toothed smile, scratched his head and said that he didn’t have any buttermilk. So I then asked him for a bowl of curd to which he replied that he couldn’t do that. Exasperated I told him to forget it, thinking that I would pick up a pack of curd on the way home from some shop. The waiter started to amble away obviously a little anxious at having annoyed a regular customer, one that tips well too.
He took a few steps and turned around and shuffled his way back towards me. I was busy finishing my bhatura, with my head down close to the plate. I caught sight of his slippers and I looked up wondering if he had changed his mind about the curd. He was looking at me a little anxiously fidgeting with the tray in his hand. I nodded my head at him and he stepped closer to me and bent forward. He then asked me a question, which I will come to in a minute, that must have taken a lot of courage and burnt quite a few of the grey cells in his head. Keep in mind that just outside the restaurant is a fruit juice shop where you can get freshly squeezed fruit juices. So he bends sown and barely whispers, “Saar, thayir juice venumma?” (Do you want curd juice?) I was flummoxed, to say the least. What in the name of God was ‘Thayir juice’? The look on my face would have scared any lesser human away but the valiant soul that lingered behind those tattered pants and grimy checkered shirt was not about to give up. He repeated again, “Saar, thayir juice, that they put in a glass with sugar and give you”. Now I have something to say here. If all those great geniuses all through the ages had a light bulb go off somewhere every time they had a great idea (did stoneage man have large fires go off somewhere…is that why there’s none of them left!) then global warming is not really a recent occurrence. Blame those geniuses and their bulbs. If they had only used fluorescent lamps! Anyway…that lamp went off…I got his drift and nodded my head vigorously at which his face beamed with satisfaction and I am sure he was mentally walking down the line of ten grey cells remaining in his head and patting them one by one on the back for a job well done. He brought me back a nice, tall, cool glass of “Sweet Lassi” which I downed with extra satisfaction. I could have missed this delight if it had not been for the quick thinking waiter who managed to understand my need, the constraints, the available resources and put it all together in one delectable “thayir juice”. I tipped that guy extra that day and every day after for the courage it must have taken to come up to me and ask me a stupid (in his own view) question and follow it up with some visionary thinking.
So why am I making a big deal of this. Because just two days earlier I had asked his boss, the manager, for a Lassi and he had given me a rude, “No! We don’t have anything like that here.” Which is why I was asking for buttermilk and curd in the first place and not for a Lassi. In his favor, the uneducated (but divinely gifted) waiter had seized on the opportunity to provide ‘customer service’ in its very intended form and showed that ‘manager’ a thing or two about thinking outside the box.
Lassi is now a featured item on the board outside their restaurant.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Chapter 6 - Rockfort temple
I climbed all the way to the top of Rockfort. Barely. Along the way an elderly gentleman asked me to get out of his way as I was slowing him down. By elderly I mean he was around when god created man. And by man I actually mean woman (just in case there are some womens lib proponents reading this…in which case…”burn the sports bra!!”)
Apart from the incredible thirty rupees I paid for an “Archanai Thatu” (is that normal?) there were other incredible things…the old pillars, the huge temple sitting atop a few rocks, the cool breeze, the old man who raced past me, and the view of the Cauvery river (dry as a bone) cutting across the landscape like a ugly gash in the earth, oozing trucks and autos and motor bikes crossing the bridge. The actual Pillayar temple is small and sits right at the peak of the hillock and hence his name, “Uchi Pillayar”. Simple. Remember what I said about Indians and their lack of originality. Rough steps hewed into the rock face lead all the way upto it from a lower rest area. The rest area, btw, is where young guys like me lean against the railings trying to act cool, pretending to admire the view, when in reality we were just trying to catch our breath from climbing up so far. The nonchalant hand through the hair is us actually wiping the streams of sweat pouring down the back of our neck. And us lying prone on the ground means call the ambulance!
I enjoyed the mini trip, a good 1.5 hours of walking. Will go back when I decide to practice for the Boston Marathon.
Time for bed. Adieu.
Apart from the incredible thirty rupees I paid for an “Archanai Thatu” (is that normal?) there were other incredible things…the old pillars, the huge temple sitting atop a few rocks, the cool breeze, the old man who raced past me, and the view of the Cauvery river (dry as a bone) cutting across the landscape like a ugly gash in the earth, oozing trucks and autos and motor bikes crossing the bridge. The actual Pillayar temple is small and sits right at the peak of the hillock and hence his name, “Uchi Pillayar”. Simple. Remember what I said about Indians and their lack of originality. Rough steps hewed into the rock face lead all the way upto it from a lower rest area. The rest area, btw, is where young guys like me lean against the railings trying to act cool, pretending to admire the view, when in reality we were just trying to catch our breath from climbing up so far. The nonchalant hand through the hair is us actually wiping the streams of sweat pouring down the back of our neck. And us lying prone on the ground means call the ambulance!
I enjoyed the mini trip, a good 1.5 hours of walking. Will go back when I decide to practice for the Boston Marathon.
Time for bed. Adieu.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
Thank you for comments
Thanks to all of you leaving comments. Sowmya, Lalitha aunty, Cheenu...and some weird Hispanic person who i dont understand. If you get a gmail account i can respond to comments but until then i will have to reply like this. Thanks for the encouragement.
Chapter 5 - The one with the push cart
So we come to the push cart. Food as you have seen seems to be playing a central part in my life, off late. Its like sleep…its never a big deal unless your not getting any. So the lack of good home cooked food has made sure that I am on the constant lookout for 1) cheap , 2) healthy and 3) accessible food. And it must include some good vegetables (its just a phase of mine). And I found just the place. At a good 25 minutes walk from my house, this place is at the event horizon of my third condition but its worth every sweat drop oozing out my forehead and every shoe bite on my heel. Not to mention the chaffing in unmentionable places (jeez…I have got to get my mind out of the gutter).
Right opposite the main entrance to the Rock Fort temple is a small bylane filled with hundreds of shops. Congestion is an understatement. Sardines have it good compared to this. Little shops selling everything from clothes to bidhis to jewellery. A mini Mylapore with a hill in the middle. And as the saying goes, if Rockfort cannot go to the restaurant, the restaurant will go to Rockfort. Enter the push carts. Meals on wheels. Cruisin’ Cuisine. The gluttons perambulator.
It all starts with a nice little ritual. The first day my friend took me over there, around 8pm in the evening (only dinner is served), the “Iyer Mama” was just setting up shop. Its appropriately called the “Iyer Kadai”, of course. Hey! Nobody said the Indians were known for their originality! After off-loading all the “andaa’s” and “yelai’s” onto his pushcart from an auto (no cooking is done on the street, its all home cooked), he quickly pulls out a small ‘yelai’, scoops a big helping of “dhadhojanam” (or thayir saadam, curd rice for you uneducated people) onto it, lights incense, sticks it in the middle of the rice and then raises the whole yelai as an offering over his head, saying some prayers, looking towards the temple on top of the hill. That done, he places the yelai in one corner of his push cart. He then pulls out another yelai, heaps it with different food and hands it over to the waiting old beggar on the side. Charity before business. He then wipes his hands on his lungi, turns to his paying customers and says, “Cholunga Saar! Enna Saapudiringe?”
These happen to be the very words that God utters when he welcomes you to Paradise.
A multitude of “variety rices”, uthapams, idli’s, chutneys, sambhars, poriyals, appalams, sweets, and pongals lay bare the quintessentially heart warming nature of South Indian comfort food, that drives thousands of burger and pizza-sick individuals like me from the gold paved streets and milk and honey baths of the western world into the arms of the warm embracing smell of fresh ghee on hot “chakarai pongal”! With due apologies to amma, I must mention that this man makes the best Kesari on this side of the NH-45. He even offers ‘paruppu-podi sadham’, with ‘goju’ on the side. A dollop of this, a scoop of that, a spoonful of ghee and a lot of licking and lip-smacking later, the loaded ‘burp’ that escapes from the deep confines of your stuffed-to-capacity stomach pays the ultimate tribute to the ultimate meal and leaves you yearning for nothing more than a very short trip to a six feet by four feet of space and one pillow. On the side of the road if necessary.
I hope I have given enough incentive to see some of you people down here in Trichy. See you soon.
Right opposite the main entrance to the Rock Fort temple is a small bylane filled with hundreds of shops. Congestion is an understatement. Sardines have it good compared to this. Little shops selling everything from clothes to bidhis to jewellery. A mini Mylapore with a hill in the middle. And as the saying goes, if Rockfort cannot go to the restaurant, the restaurant will go to Rockfort. Enter the push carts. Meals on wheels. Cruisin’ Cuisine. The gluttons perambulator.
It all starts with a nice little ritual. The first day my friend took me over there, around 8pm in the evening (only dinner is served), the “Iyer Mama” was just setting up shop. Its appropriately called the “Iyer Kadai”, of course. Hey! Nobody said the Indians were known for their originality! After off-loading all the “andaa’s” and “yelai’s” onto his pushcart from an auto (no cooking is done on the street, its all home cooked), he quickly pulls out a small ‘yelai’, scoops a big helping of “dhadhojanam” (or thayir saadam, curd rice for you uneducated people) onto it, lights incense, sticks it in the middle of the rice and then raises the whole yelai as an offering over his head, saying some prayers, looking towards the temple on top of the hill. That done, he places the yelai in one corner of his push cart. He then pulls out another yelai, heaps it with different food and hands it over to the waiting old beggar on the side. Charity before business. He then wipes his hands on his lungi, turns to his paying customers and says, “Cholunga Saar! Enna Saapudiringe?”
These happen to be the very words that God utters when he welcomes you to Paradise.
A multitude of “variety rices”, uthapams, idli’s, chutneys, sambhars, poriyals, appalams, sweets, and pongals lay bare the quintessentially heart warming nature of South Indian comfort food, that drives thousands of burger and pizza-sick individuals like me from the gold paved streets and milk and honey baths of the western world into the arms of the warm embracing smell of fresh ghee on hot “chakarai pongal”! With due apologies to amma, I must mention that this man makes the best Kesari on this side of the NH-45. He even offers ‘paruppu-podi sadham’, with ‘goju’ on the side. A dollop of this, a scoop of that, a spoonful of ghee and a lot of licking and lip-smacking later, the loaded ‘burp’ that escapes from the deep confines of your stuffed-to-capacity stomach pays the ultimate tribute to the ultimate meal and leaves you yearning for nothing more than a very short trip to a six feet by four feet of space and one pillow. On the side of the road if necessary.
I hope I have given enough incentive to see some of you people down here in Trichy. See you soon.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Chapter 4.5
Short blog..hence 4.5.
Three continuous sentences in my previous blog began with the word "Now" and none of you commented on that!! I might have been half asleep while writing it but you guys better wake up and kick some sense into my head!!! :))
I will defintely cover the push cart kalyana saapadu next time...i promise. keep tuning in.
adios.
Three continuous sentences in my previous blog began with the word "Now" and none of you commented on that!! I might have been half asleep while writing it but you guys better wake up and kick some sense into my head!!! :))
I will defintely cover the push cart kalyana saapadu next time...i promise. keep tuning in.
adios.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Chapter 4
Everything is so close to my house that I can actually walk there, including the dry cleaners!
(Trichy-1, Tampa-0)
The dry cleaner in Trichy destroyed my brand new shirt!!
(Trichy- negative 5, Tampa 1)
Anyway, I did deposit my first paycheck into my bank account so that just about evens out everything. OK. Last time around I did mention smells. Now this is a pet subject of mine. Now as some of you may have noticed, my blog has a profile picture of me and its caption is, “The Nose”, for obvious reasons. Now, I must say that other than for being a conduit for all the nasty stuff my sinus keeps throwing its way, my nose, or rather my sense of smell, is quite keen. I usually happen to remember the smell of a place (memory for smells, any budding psychologists out there with an analysis?). And India is a veritable treasure chest. With so much pollution in most of the Metro cities you have to come to one of these tier B cities to realize what you miss. The smell of jasmine flowers sold by the roadside vendor wafting over you like a cool breeze, despite the late evening traffic. The smell of tea from the “tea kadai” early in the morning, making your stomach growl with anticipatory pleasure. The coffee “podi” shop, grinding freshly roasted beans, driving coffee-holics insane with its heady smell. Fruits by the roadside, incense and camphor from the local temple, the open gutter, sweat from the auto driver, chilli bajji’s, the salt in the air (if ur near the sea) and more recently the American sweet corn vendor with a distinct smell of its own (I have never seen these in America btw). There’s also the slightly antiseptic smell of the clinic as you walk past its open door, the rancid-sweet-dungy smell of the cow as its ambles past you swishing its tail and of-course, always the not so far away distinctly harsh smell of a “beedi”. And all this walking down one street. Many more to explore. Many more to be smelt! All of America would not have the smells of even one of these streets. All the cities there have the same smell. The sterile smell of nothing. I have begun to enjoy my walks. As life slows down you pick up details you otherwise miss while fighting traffic. Its worth it. A good break from life in the fast lane.
I can hear the local gurkha banging his stick and blowing his whistle (ha ha…that sounds like a b-grade film) as he patrols the streets below. And its only 9pm!!! These people need to get a life.
Alrighty then, more the next time. The last two posts have been more descriptive than humorous. On purpose. There is only so much humor one can muster up in a day and I ran through my quota early in the evening to keep myself from kicking the dry-cleaning lady. But hey, as the saying goes, “If the dry cleaner aint good, wash your own clothes fool!”
Comment and let me know if there are any smells you like, on the streets.
Hasta La Vista.
(Trichy-1, Tampa-0)
The dry cleaner in Trichy destroyed my brand new shirt!!
(Trichy- negative 5, Tampa 1)
Anyway, I did deposit my first paycheck into my bank account so that just about evens out everything. OK. Last time around I did mention smells. Now this is a pet subject of mine. Now as some of you may have noticed, my blog has a profile picture of me and its caption is, “The Nose”, for obvious reasons. Now, I must say that other than for being a conduit for all the nasty stuff my sinus keeps throwing its way, my nose, or rather my sense of smell, is quite keen. I usually happen to remember the smell of a place (memory for smells, any budding psychologists out there with an analysis?). And India is a veritable treasure chest. With so much pollution in most of the Metro cities you have to come to one of these tier B cities to realize what you miss. The smell of jasmine flowers sold by the roadside vendor wafting over you like a cool breeze, despite the late evening traffic. The smell of tea from the “tea kadai” early in the morning, making your stomach growl with anticipatory pleasure. The coffee “podi” shop, grinding freshly roasted beans, driving coffee-holics insane with its heady smell. Fruits by the roadside, incense and camphor from the local temple, the open gutter, sweat from the auto driver, chilli bajji’s, the salt in the air (if ur near the sea) and more recently the American sweet corn vendor with a distinct smell of its own (I have never seen these in America btw). There’s also the slightly antiseptic smell of the clinic as you walk past its open door, the rancid-sweet-dungy smell of the cow as its ambles past you swishing its tail and of-course, always the not so far away distinctly harsh smell of a “beedi”. And all this walking down one street. Many more to explore. Many more to be smelt! All of America would not have the smells of even one of these streets. All the cities there have the same smell. The sterile smell of nothing. I have begun to enjoy my walks. As life slows down you pick up details you otherwise miss while fighting traffic. Its worth it. A good break from life in the fast lane.
I can hear the local gurkha banging his stick and blowing his whistle (ha ha…that sounds like a b-grade film) as he patrols the streets below. And its only 9pm!!! These people need to get a life.
Alrighty then, more the next time. The last two posts have been more descriptive than humorous. On purpose. There is only so much humor one can muster up in a day and I ran through my quota early in the evening to keep myself from kicking the dry-cleaning lady. But hey, as the saying goes, “If the dry cleaner aint good, wash your own clothes fool!”
Comment and let me know if there are any smells you like, on the streets.
Hasta La Vista.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Chapter 3
I got mobbed by a bunch of women today! They were all going crazy around me! They just couldn’t get enough! Ahem…not of me that is…but of “Thalaivar” or as he is better known, “Captain”. A huge political do put together by this new political party, which shall remain unnamed, brought forth a sea of humanity to the area where I live. The crowd covered every available bit of space in an obnoxious mélange of feet, hands, slippers, plastic water packets, beetle-nut stained spittle, trucks, flags, banners, body odors (more on that later) and a cloud of dust, kicked up by the afore mentioned pack of women, as they swarmed their way around me towards the direction of the rally. I survived. Barely. One women accidentally speared my foot with the stick she was using for support. While I was magnanimous with my own unnecessary apology she took it literally and abused me for not watching where I was going and actually insinuated that I was merely a roadside romeo trying to “cop a feel”!! A 60 year old lady. With a walking stick. She’s got hopes !!! I retreated quietly just happy she did not attempt to blunt the point of the stick in my guts!
The sea of yellow and red and white continue to swarm around on the roads as I write this and the sounds of crackers bursting and musical horns and engines at full tilt still echo around the corner to my room. The whole situation was summarized neatly by my friend. As we walked back home from the bus stop, he looked around, sighed and said, “So many people in this world with so little to do and here we are working 12 hours a day!” Amen brother!
I did mention odors. I’ll dedicate the next chapter to this topic. And I have not forgotten the push cart kalyana sapaadu. All in the next chapter. Be there or be square.
The sea of yellow and red and white continue to swarm around on the roads as I write this and the sounds of crackers bursting and musical horns and engines at full tilt still echo around the corner to my room. The whole situation was summarized neatly by my friend. As we walked back home from the bus stop, he looked around, sighed and said, “So many people in this world with so little to do and here we are working 12 hours a day!” Amen brother!
I did mention odors. I’ll dedicate the next chapter to this topic. And I have not forgotten the push cart kalyana sapaadu. All in the next chapter. Be there or be square.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Jimbly continued
I post one of these lines from time to time. Rules: it should not be more than 15 words long. It should be concise, hopefully humorous or full of wisdom and need not be original. But no more than 15 words. I have compiled all these over a few years. Here's this time's:
Cheer up! The worst is yet to come.
Cheer up! The worst is yet to come.
Chapter 2
Lots of stuff to write about. Where to begin. How about a positive note. The thing I have begun to look forward to everyday. A hot tea at 7:15 in the morning at the road side “tea-kaddai”, while waiting for my bus to come pick me up. In one week its become so much of a routine that the ‘kaddai’ owner knows to have it ready as soon as he sees me. I don’t have to ask. That really gives me a kick. Oh! That’s only 3 ruppees for a delectable “chaya” first thing in the morning shared in the company of auto drivers and miscellaneous wayfarers, pretending to read the tamil paper while they are actually ogling at the pictures of the actresses on the last page. Share damn it! This alone, I feel, is worth the move back from Tampa.
And yes, I did mention a bus. A company bus that takes me to and from work everyday. Tuesdays to Saturdays full day. Sunday half day. Monday off. Déjà vu. I did this for 4 years going to engineering college. Is that why it feels so comfortable? I’m surprised that it feels so comfortable. And of course, at work, the hot coffee at 9:00am brought by the office boy (office thatha?). Tea if you like. All thick. All sweet. Just the way I like it. We do have to pay for it. 2 ruppees and 50 paisa. One in the morning and one in the afternoon to dust away those looming cobwebs of post lunch miasma. Don’t forget the snacks boy who comes around at 4:00pm on the dot. One egg puff for 4 ruppees. Yummy. As long as I’m on food might as well mention breakfast, lunch and dinner. Breakfast and lunch in the canteen at work. A humongous hall filled with about 500 people. Eating. Noisy. Background music of some movie song remixed using classical carnatic instruments. Ten ruppees. Three idli’s and one vadai. One dosai if available. Lunch 17 ruppees. Meals. Two vegetables and okra (ladies finger) sambhar, with pappad, oily and half done. Yummy! And lest I forget, we clean our own plates, using dollops of dish washing powder using just our hands. No sponge. Nothing. Just heap a handful on to the plate, rinse it out and your done. For the sake of sanity you don’t imagine the thousand other people who have done the same thing with that same plate. Dinner is at any restaurant near my house (mansion!) Nothing really to write home about. Or blog about. But yes, food does play an important role not only in my life, but in every Tom, Dick and Hari’s who works in the plant. Strange but true. The plant might be going down the drain but goddamn it my tea better be hot!
Anyway…so much for food. It will pop its beautiful head up from time to time in further blogs. Will cover other stuff in the future. Keep loggin in. If not you’ll never know about the story of me and the push cart ‘kalyana sapaadu’. Aha! Intrigued! Same channel. Same webpage. Till next time. Vanakkam.
And yes, I did mention a bus. A company bus that takes me to and from work everyday. Tuesdays to Saturdays full day. Sunday half day. Monday off. Déjà vu. I did this for 4 years going to engineering college. Is that why it feels so comfortable? I’m surprised that it feels so comfortable. And of course, at work, the hot coffee at 9:00am brought by the office boy (office thatha?). Tea if you like. All thick. All sweet. Just the way I like it. We do have to pay for it. 2 ruppees and 50 paisa. One in the morning and one in the afternoon to dust away those looming cobwebs of post lunch miasma. Don’t forget the snacks boy who comes around at 4:00pm on the dot. One egg puff for 4 ruppees. Yummy. As long as I’m on food might as well mention breakfast, lunch and dinner. Breakfast and lunch in the canteen at work. A humongous hall filled with about 500 people. Eating. Noisy. Background music of some movie song remixed using classical carnatic instruments. Ten ruppees. Three idli’s and one vadai. One dosai if available. Lunch 17 ruppees. Meals. Two vegetables and okra (ladies finger) sambhar, with pappad, oily and half done. Yummy! And lest I forget, we clean our own plates, using dollops of dish washing powder using just our hands. No sponge. Nothing. Just heap a handful on to the plate, rinse it out and your done. For the sake of sanity you don’t imagine the thousand other people who have done the same thing with that same plate. Dinner is at any restaurant near my house (mansion!) Nothing really to write home about. Or blog about. But yes, food does play an important role not only in my life, but in every Tom, Dick and Hari’s who works in the plant. Strange but true. The plant might be going down the drain but goddamn it my tea better be hot!
Anyway…so much for food. It will pop its beautiful head up from time to time in further blogs. Will cover other stuff in the future. Keep loggin in. If not you’ll never know about the story of me and the push cart ‘kalyana sapaadu’. Aha! Intrigued! Same channel. Same webpage. Till next time. Vanakkam.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Chapter 1
So here I am. The next chapter. Crossroads reached. Decisions taken. Crossroads crossed. Entrain. Detrain. Tiruchirapalli. Rock Fort City. City of temples! Travelled many time zones to get here but Trichy itself seems to be stuck in a time zone of its own!! (copyright soumya srinivasan!!) Call it what you want, it is still middle of nowhere to me! One week gone and I am settling in. I live in a so called mansion, which, for those familiar with irony in the “In-glish” language, will recognize as being far from its namesake. Like “Bombay duck” is a fish. Like the “Rockfort Express” stops at every goddamn station. Like “ladies-finger” means that the lady was an ugly mutant from Venus. Its home for now and there is not much to complain about except for the compulsory cold water bath early in the morning (NO hot water). Upside is its supposed to be good for health, if you are an Emperor Penguin living in Antartica. The 9 by 16 feet of space (I measured!) I call home includes an attached bathroom. The room is meant to be “double occupancy” but an extra person will mean enough space for only one toothbrush between the two of us. There is just no way I’m sharing mine with a stranger! Two metal beds on either side of the room. One covered with the quilt is my bed and the other covered with my junk is storage area. Two metal tables cum filing cabinets arranged in a neat little square in the middle of the room (pushed up against the long wall) is workspace. Clean. No-nonsense. Utilitarian. Not a domicile meant for prolonged habitation. I hope.
So this is the beginning. I will try and blog a post everyday. Incidences, Co-incidences and other general happenings, occurrences and activities will be covered. I consider it an adventure. You might consider it mundane......who cares what you think! For all its worth, please leave a comment if you think of something.
Time for dinner. Logging of.
So this is the beginning. I will try and blog a post everyday. Incidences, Co-incidences and other general happenings, occurrences and activities will be covered. I consider it an adventure. You might consider it mundane......who cares what you think! For all its worth, please leave a comment if you think of something.
Time for dinner. Logging of.
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