Food the Leveler

All my friendships have begun with food. A deep shared love for some kind of food. (Freud would comment on this.)

Paris, Alanis and I are different. We would never have hung out at the same clubs (if I ever went to a club at all). I would look on perplexed as Alanis hugged the same people every single day for straight 20 seconds as if she hadn’t just met them the day before. Paris would piss me off with her la-di-lah “I can’t go for a picnic coz I get carsick” ways. But we all loved our dal-chawal-bhindi. We didn’t just love it… it filled our soul. It bound us together in a way that only something that means home can. This shared meal at Mrs. H’s table was what made us sisters.

Another friend from my college days, Shade, was made over college vada pav. We marvelled daily at the sheer perfection of college anna’s vada pav. The chutney was so right… so suited to the vada pav that even I, who like my vada pav unadulterated, loved it. Every day we would wander over to the canteen without thought. Order our vada pavs like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally… “Anna, ek Vada pav, sambar nahin, chutney side mein or ek mirchi bhi.” Etc. We went on to share books, obsessions and a disregard for others.

Shade is now in NZ and I haven’t been back to that Vada Pav. Maybe I will one day.

In Bombay I met Harry. Or she met me. And in our apartment we bonded over oil slicked, takeout Indian Chinese. We were poor. We were struggling and we were stingy. Jimmies Kitchen was cheap and his servings were more than generous. So we patronized Jimmy. Or Jimmies. Grammar not being his strong point obviously. Harry and I also are like criminals who become friends because of a job done together. It started one day when Gaia was really in a temper and cooking. She was banging pans and vegetables around and we decided to cut our losses and get out before we were forced to eat food definitely not made with love. So both of us faked work calls and left 15 minutes apart. We then went to this shady joint on Carter road called Mezbaan and gorged on Alu parathas. It became our escape spot. Our place of flight in case of fight.

I’ve a friend at work. We have a quid pro quo relationship. I take her home cooked food and she ferries me around in her car as and when she can and I need.

Some of closest friends are also family. There are a lot of jumbled memories of growing up with them so I guess it’s not just about food… but certainly katha dal with talna, negia, labsi, kadi, badi, bhindi, mirchi, kat, teen belan dal, ghee is in our blood. It is the aroma that brings us home from wherever we may be. It is a flavour we are passing on to our kids and it is a spread that means togetherness. It's strange but friends who are as blood as blood love this meal too! hmm.

All relationships are about something basic I guess. So my friendships began with food – one of the base things on Maslow’s pyramid. And since then we’ve just been climbing right to the top of it.

K.I.S.S

I feel like writing for Paris.

A letter of love to her.

A poem.

A story.

An ode.

A book.

Something that will capture what it means to me that she reads what I write.

That she loves what I write.

That she checks every two days for an update even when I go months without writing.

And I realize as I note these points… that this is more a love letter from her to me than vice a versa.

And I cannot top it with any words.

My Piggy Bank

Tradition. From the Latin ‘traditionem’. Meaning “handing over, passing on”.

Nowadays most often we hear the word tradition in context to religious and cultural practices being hard headedly carried out or defiled- in both cases creating a furore. And in this set meaning on passing on. But I like what tradition means in the present sense. In the now. I like the continuity it symbolizes. It’s like procreating without the hard hours of screaming labour.

Our family has a tradition of spending summer holidays together. The entire Flanagan clan collects at the family home before taking off for a holiday together. Four generations together – children spilling out of bosoms, grandparent throwing tantrums, cousins sharing traumas, one generation misunderstanding the other, lazy days spent hiding under the fan to escape the scorching heat, lazier evenings in a swimming pool and long nights of planned and unplanned adventures. You love, you crib, you enjoy, you say you’re never coming back again, you do come back again, you watch the young ones grow, you avoid your elders, you hug a child close, you try to find a quiet corner, you play cards, you discuss books passionately with your young niece, you kiss each child good night, you mediate in fights between relatives, you wonder how you aren’t deaf yet, you rediscover why you hate and love to be a Flanagan. It is a great tradition.

I want to create many more. I want others to make their own and make me part of their pacts with life.

In the past year, this thing called Life and growing up has taken its toll on a lot of India’s crowd. Everyone’s working, juggling no less than three sets of families they have to satisfy, trying to be comfortable with who they’re maturing up to be… as well as eke time out for each other. Things are different. Alanis worries that being married and moving to another country is going to tell on her connection with all of us here but the sad truth is that just living in different suburbs seems to be enough. Because a girl’s life is made of immediate things and tiny joys. A great hair day, an impromptu middle of the night walk, a song that made you cry, a moment of desolation that came and went before you could hit the dial button… and unlike in college when all of us lived in the same house and shared every passing minute… now we’re lucky to meet once a month.

But I’m rooting for traditions to combat modern life. That’s what they’re supposed to do anyway right… join people together across time and place in a joint activity, feeling and hope?

So here I am making a bunch of traditions. To quote: Some traditions were deliberately invented for one reason or another, often to highlight or enhance the importance of a certain institution. Traditions may also be changed to suit the needs of the day, and the changes can become accepted as a part of the ancient tradition.

1. The first of these was made years ago with Harry – a weekly dinner table conversation. And Christmas eve together. We’ve managed to keep to this more or less.
2. An annual holiday with the Four… so far so good.
3. Always, always kiss each of the children goodnight and talk to each individually about whatever they like.
4. Dropping by Frederick’s uninvited for a surreal evening of abrasiveness, affection and a fuzzy reality that is quiet and says nothing.

I want many, many, many more… with Paris, with Mars and Paris, with Sky, with my home as the centre of a tradition… If it’s Christmas we’re going to India’s. And then a fortnightly dinner plan at someone’s house. A monthly weekend away with friends – old and new.

That’s another thought. Everywhere I go I meet people that I like so much that you feel like you’re just making so many friends when you don’t even find time to bond with the one’s you have. There might be a balance to strike but there’s joy in growing a family. And it’s a lovely feeling when someone new seems to meld seamlessly into a circle you’ve already built.

I just want to end on a memory that Paris and I were thinking about yesterday.

It’s the old millennium. Paris and I have just met a month or so ago in college. We’re part of a larger group that hangs out together and movie plans have been made. It’s great. It’s a new youth flick, we’ll be going in a fun large gang, eating pop corn, hooting, going out for dinner, etc. College bonding with people you’re thinking you might be friends with.

And then by the time the day rolled around, everyone dropped out for some reason or another. I don’t remember why.

So there we were, two relative strangers thinking, ‘umm… should I offer to postpone the plan when the whole group can be there and when it’ll be fun?” And we didn’t. We said, “to hell with it… let’s watch a movie.” We went and made fun of a shitty film and found that we didn’t need other people to make a plan fun. In fact we didn’t need other people to make a plan. That was true when we were ‘relative strangers’ and I’m guessing that it will be true now… when we are, for lack of a better word, friends.

Ready Or Not... Here She Comes!

I went for Penelope’s baby shower. Her due date is 18th march 2008.
Her baby’s Godmother Taz threw a shower. There was wine and gifts and biryani but no games! I went expecting a bonafide baby shower with nappy changing games and guess-what-the-suspicious-goo-in-the-bag-is kind of party. I was disappointed. Penny said that since I want to do indulge in such entertainment I can turn up at her place for the real thing. I decline since I’m not stupid really. The high entertainment of the shower was when one of Penny’s friends threw a fit on discovering that she wasn’t the baby’s godmother. Hahha. I enjoyed that show. She was so perturbed she even banged into a glass door.
But that aside we did sing songs for the baby. Unfortunately everything has a pervert’s version now.
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water
God knows what they did up there
But they came down with a daughter.
But I guess our kids will need to know what to watch out for. So no going with Jack up the hill all alone with your hands tied up with a bucket.
I have a whole list of things I’m going to put my baby through in the belly.

1. Read Atlas Shrugged again
2. Read Wuthering Heights again
3. Sing silly songs with words of my own making “the tigers had a brandy fix when the animals went in six by six.” I love tigers.
4. Kiss my husband an awful lot
5. Shout “10000 blistering barnacles” and wave a pretend sword whenever someone annoys me. Note the gradual change in the violence of my abuses.
6. Paint, play with paint. Enjoy colour and then enjoy darkness.
7. Have everyone say something to the kid. Anything at all. Paris will refuse I know but she must. Alanis will talk the baby’s little bum off. Eve can be big sister and studiously give the latest book dope. Salvatore can groan and grumble. Piper will ask me to shut my ears and Sky will be unabashedly corny. Mars can scoff but the baby must hear them talking.
8. Take a holiday to a cool place where there are many pretty paths to wander by. Take those walks. Sit on a bench. Look at new things.
9. Do something that gets the adrenaline rushing – like bungee jump (not allowed me thinks) or go to a Tennis match. Experience something overwhelming.

Okay I cut short my list here to announce that Penny had a baby girl 18 days before her time. She is tagged Baby no. 6 by the hospital and Nandini by her dad. She’s a cute little thing but looks suspiciously like baby no.4 and 5 to me. It really must be easy to swap babies in hospitals. Maybe I’ll inherit some money yet.

Begin at the Beginning

I should have done this while we were still in 2007 but I couldn’t steal a half hour to call my own. The last two weeks have been spent under command from Myrine, Piper and their offspring. So if I wasn’t holding shopping bags, then I was being fed or I was being used. That’s right.

After about 5 days, I thought I deserved a little time off to read and walk around but Nikita quickly says, “But masi, if you go away then at least send Paris mami to take your place or who will entertain us?” So in one sentence I learnt that not only was I easily replaceable but also that I was only as good as a court jester. Sigh.
So I entertained. I sat in the balcony overlooking a terrace rose garden and told stories to Eve. I sipped chai while she had hot chocolate. We licked Nuttella for dessert.
Rosie laughed and giggled and made me wash her ass every morning. Her mother chose convenient times to be missing. She perfected the butt dance and wriggled it at every one she met. I regretted having complimented her on it.
Pearl has become softer. She clung to hands and for the first time in her 7 years displayed a child’s side.
Nikita ordered as only she can and admired everything. Chose my clothes, complimented them, remembered everything, gave cold shoulders, made up… she’s a big girl now.

And since this must be documented – Myrine and Piper suffered through 3 hours of a “perfect jeans hunt”. These jeans have eluded me for the past 4 years. I haven’t bought a pair in longer. I usually walk in to a Levis and try on something made for a giraffe and come away feeling trampled upon. There are never bottoms that fit my bottom. And then this December with my very supportive sisters, I finally found them. In Marks and Spencers. And carried away by the triumph of the moment (and some reasonable fear) I invested in not one but two jeans! Myrine and Piper were suitably impressed.
“In 25 years I’ve never seen you shop before.” Myrine said at least 5 times.
“You can’t complain about us shopping anymore.” Piper said smugly. I smiled winsomely and told her that this was not shopping, “this is like watching a love story get a happy ending. You have been part of my search and now you were in at the end. It’s almost like if I found my dream man.”
Piper agrees since she too is a troubled owner of the Flanagan bottom.

Anyway I have digressed. What I really should have done and didn’t get time to do was make a quick 2007 diary. I thought it would be nice to have a yearly summary of the affairs in the lives of the cast of characters. I like imagining a series of year end summaries. A lazy person’s diary.

2007 for me was the year of friends and beginnings. In a very God Shiva sense. Things got destroyed and were regenerated.
Something paramount happened in almost everyone’s life this year and I can only wish that 2008 sees it all through happily.

So here we go:

Mars: got hitched to Paris this February and also doubled his salary in a meager year. Became a TV star and found that he likes being creative.
Paris: got balled and chained to Mars. Made breakthroughs with both families – hers and his.
Sky: got signed on by “Back From the Past productions” as a director for their forthcoming feature. A HUGE accomplishment and a step that she has been working towards for the past 5 years.
Alanis: jumped some continents and jaded as she was found ‘it.’ The ‘it’ was a package deal that comes with joy, hope, companionship and Greek stories in a mellifluous voice.
Sytar: got wed this March and is deeply enjoying marital bliss. She is a prototype of a woman changed by marriage – she dresses different, wears her hair stylishly and all in all walks more surely. Kudos to her husband who I still have to find a name for.
Harry: had her script heard by some big names in the industry. Some important, some not so much… but she got professional feedback and all of it good. She cut ties with Express and walks free and unloaded after years.
Kat: quit her job and decided to move back to Solace where she will restart her professional dance training.
Titania: decided to move with the parents to Patina and work with Mr. H in the cooking business.
Salvatore: lightened his load after ten years and found closure. Found a girl to love and is working on it.
Quinn: cut ties with all of us and got engaged. We heard of it from his parents.
Mr. & Mrs. H: moved back to Patina. Their life is coming full circle and they are in a place where things are good. They also sold Peterswood. It is a loss that will be felt as some of our happiest and toughest memories are of childhood days spent there.

These were the highlights of 2007. Other important events were Audrey getting engaged. Bee strongarmed GG into buying her a ring. Piper and Philip managed to get out of some coils and things look better. I found employers I like and signed on for a job that I have hope from. (My new mantra is to be a career woman.)

So as you can see 2007 was a really BIG year for so many important people… marriages and engagements, moves and career highs, love found and friends lost. And now we’re in 2008 and it’s come bringing in so many possibilities.

All the best to everyone.

Magic Beans: Part 1, 2 & 3

I lie on a sun bed on the beach framing a photo of my hand attempting to grab the rainbow in the sky. The diamond on my middle finger identifies that I’m the rainbow chaser. There… I think I’m getting the right light. The diamond’s sparkling, my hand’s perfectly placed around the rainbow and the colors look bright enough.
“aaack…. Alanis. Get out of my frame.”
She gives me her profile instead. The foot massager is grinning as he continues working on my not-so-receptive toes. I suppose it isn’t often, even in Goa, that you see one woman astride another.
Alanis is quite comfortable there. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my friends it is… that you can never beat them, you must always join them.
I sigh as I click a lovely shot of the rainbow shooting over Alanis. Then I push her off.

****

Lazy days begin with breakfasts that can be lingered over. A shack of wood with plastic curtains keeping the rain out and a soft breeze bringing some drops in is where we spent every morning in Goa. The first day began like this – “Fill me in.” Some things need to be talked about. The subject may be trifle troubling but you get it done quick and clean.
“Aldair says he doesn’t care enough anymore.”
“Sidhhartha says he’s dating the woman he was just friends with.”
(We groan at the cliché)
“I think I shouldn’t have called things off. I mean it’s not like I’m getting married tomorrow.”
I frown at Katharine at the same time that Alanis smiles. Kat just looks plaintive.
The sensitive stuff dealt with we launch into character assassinations and bitch-a-thons. Salvatore, Quinn, Menon, all of the above, are dissected and cremated.
The last time The Four of us spent a night together it was the night before Paris’s wedding. In honour of that event we bitched out every guy we knew save Mars. The night passed quickly. Mr. H’s warnings to let the bride get her sleep so she glowed flew around with the cuckoo.
This is 6 months later and Paris has left her husband behind to holiday with her friends. Over breakfast and in the midst of saying, “he’s really manic.” Alanis breaks thought to say, “You know I don’t think I’d mind if Mars was here.”
Kat nods good naturedly. I think about it and agree. Paris just grins.

*****

Katharine and I walk along the beach. I started picking stones for Rosalie (my youngest niece) and somewhere started holding them for myself. There’s something magic about finding shining color in water, makes you wish there was a story with each stone. The green one fell off the mermaid’s fin, the red one was on a pirates dagger, the smooth oval with a crack was a cursed stone that shattered itself. Before I know it my mind is full of magic and my hands full of dreams. Katharine willingly takes some off my hand when she sees they’re falling out. We amble along.
“You really will follow up on your dance dream right?”
Katharine just told us all this morning that she plans to quit her advertising job and take up dancing again. She wants a certificate in it to set up her own school eventually. All that was stopping her all this while was the imagined absurdity of dance as a career for the daughter of a business family.
“I think so. I just have to work around Ma.”
“Okay. I’m really happy you’re thinking this way.”
I suddenly remember that some months ago I’d written a really bad poem for Kat.

Dancing girl
Puts on her shoes
Gliding she tango’s
A step or two

Throws away her cares
Puts down her lists
Wildly she sashays
Through ensnaring mists.

Forgotten legacies
No other dream
She’s where she wants
In her dancing cleats.

What was written in hope seems a possibility now.
We wander back to our spots in the sun and pounce on the other two. Kat hands my stones back and i dump them in my Elmo bag as it begins to rain.

picture courtesy: www.flickr.com