Saturday, January 26, 2013

Of Red Bush Tea, Acacia Trees and Simpler Times



At times the perfect Friday night plans involve sliding into bed, with a comforting hot water bottle at your feet and reading about the very lovable and witty Precious Ramotswe's adventures in her beloved Botswana :)


My Cocaine



If I were to continue eating ridiculously expensive, yet insanely delicious Lindt/Milka/Guylian chocolates, I will soon be very obese and very broke, with fat fingers the size of sausages which will be unable to type blog posts and status updates letting everyone on my Facebook know the shameless gluttony I indulge in.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Delhi, Oh My Delhi!




Delhi, oh my Delhi, you're hated with passion and loved with vengeance.
To me you've been an old and wise friend, Delhi.
You taught me to walk and then tripped me, your mocking laughter unnerving me!
But then you picked me up, dusted my clothes and bid me on my way.

You held my hand tenderly as I learnt to write the alphabet, drawing an arch for an A and a curve for a B.
Yours were the hands which gently pushed my bicycle forward, teaching me how to balance.

It was in your summers that I lay under a slowly rotating ceiling fan, my T shirt soaked in perspiration, watching the blades turn circle after circle, wishing away the heat and longing for a cold bottle of sticky, sweet lemon banta, which would be drunk straight out of thick and heavy codd neck bottles, with a blue marble ratting in between.

In your monsoons, I ate bhutta, roasted on smouldering hot coal and rubbed generously with lemon and black salt which stung my lips and teased my throat. While rolling up my jeans to my calves, I walked through puddles of muddy water, trying to hail an auto which would whiz past me impudently, sprinkling me with tiny droplets of rain water.

And in your winters I discovered warmth in a grubby old sweater smelling of mothballs and a glass of brandy mixed with hot water, while I found comfort in the melting and streaming yellow sunshine and warm groundnuts, eaten out of tiny bags made out of old newspaper, tasting of wood smoke and dust.

Delhi, oh my Delhi, you taught me to scream and hit back when sweaty hands tried to grope me on a DTC bus,
 You showed me how to bargain hard for that cotton skirt at Janpath and how to stuff an entire golgappa into my mouth, while streams of tamarind water dripped off my chin.
It were your warm fingers which rubbed pungent mustard oil into my hair on balmy winter mornings.

Oh Delhi, you made me crave for fragrant Kakori Kebabs and creamy Butter Chicken and warm Garlic Naan dripping with grease,
You understood when I went all the way to Connaught Place only to eat a warm and flaky mutton patty from Wenger’s,
Or when I sat in McDonald’s eating chicken nuggets with barbeque sauce long after midnight,
You smiled at me indulgently, never judging, when I ordered a double scoop of Mississippi Mud Pie in a waffle cone at Baskin Robbins.

You gave me my first pay cheque Delhi and also my biting sarcasm!

Oh Delhi, you've been my most sensuous lover,
Running your impatient fingers deep through my hair,
Whispering urgently into my ear,
Brushing your boisterous lips against mine as I drive down your wide, tree lined streets, windows rolled down on a warm April morning.

You romance me and seduce me,
Pulling me into your ample sun washed patches of green and your crumbling sandstone monuments flushed a deep crimson,
You entice me down the crowded and curving lanes of Old Delhi,
Embracing me in your chaos.

Delhi, oh Delhi, you brash and flamboyant Casanova,
You belong to no one and yet, you’re all mine,
And like a jealous lover, I possessively throw my arms around you,
Laying claim to you, again and again and again!

Image Credit: The husband and his iPhone 4S

Saturday, January 12, 2013

That Hot Thing in My Bed!



My best investment this winter, you ask? A hot water bottle. 
Am I eighty two, you want to know? No, I am not, but IT'S TOO BLOODY COLD OKAY!



And since I'm pretty much hibernating in my warm bed this winter here's something else to do while lolling around under the quilt.The very dark and haunting The Bell Jar, with a little bit of Vogue on the side :) 

Image Credit: The husband and his iPhone 4S 

Sunday, January 6, 2013

Till Next Year Then




Taking down the Christmas Tree always leaves me a little sad every season, especially knowing that I won't see it sparkle cheerfully each time I'd walk in through the door. But then each tree ornament has a little story behind it, where it was bought, who I was with then, or was I alone, cups of coffee and a slice of pizza shared after a good bargain, which is enough to make me smile!

Like the little red Santa picked up from the German Christmas Market, where I pushed through the crowds buying Christmas decorations and then later treated myself to bratwurst and a side of crusty bread and mashed potatoes and a glass of something cool to drink, and the little blue bells that I bargained hard for at Janpath, or the bright red baubles that I picked up while strolling through Priya complex one balmy, winter afternoon.

Such warm memories to light me up. Till next year then, I sigh, as I wrap my tree away.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Not Fair, But Not Ugly


Dear Ponds White Beauty,
I am a woman, not a Dalmatian (not that there's anything wrong with Dalmatians and I quite like them) and hence those are not dark spots, they're freckles and I love mine. And as much as I understand your need to sell your product to make money and stay in business, can you please stop making women feel awful about themselves.