Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan's Blog, page 124
April 20, 2016
Today in Photo
Back to Begumpur Masjid with my mother yesterday evening, enjoyed how surprised she was at the massive courtyard in the middle and we walked to the top of the arches and looked at the view. It really feels like my private monument but sadly I don't think it's going to last for very long. A section of the ceiling has already collapsed, there are houses in the neighbouring village built right up next to it and there are men drinking in every corner. How can I get the Aga Khan Foundation or someone with money interested in this place? It's worth preserving, and if one was to charge an entry fee, there'd be money in it too. Anyone know anyone? #begumpurmasjid #delhidiary via Instagram
April 18, 2016
Today in Photo
Some people hate Mondays and some people use it to take long naps on the couch with jazz music on and the curtains drawn. #catsagram
via Instagram
April 17, 2016
Today in Photo
Sunday is bake day! I decided to try out a recipe from the new Cake Bible I just bought this weekend, so debuting the All American Chocolate Butter Cake (seriously, you don't want to know how much butter is in this thing.)Frosted with a chocolate ganache. Delicious but a bit laborious. #baking #domesticgoddess
via Instagram
April 16, 2016
Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, How Does Your Garden Grow?
Let me be clear—while I like green things as pleasant, restful objects to look at when you're tired, I've never been interested in cultivating them myself. Plant after plant came into my house and most died of neglect or maybe over enthusiasm. In one flat, I had a cactus, given to me by a friend, which I placed on an outside window and remembered only when I had to open or close it. This cactus literally spat out thorns each time my hand passed it, that's how much it hated me. I liked the idea of plants, but they became a sort of out of sight, out of mind thing. If I remembered, I watered them, if I didn't, they wilted.
#notmyplants
I do have this one plant tree thing—it has a fancy scientific name, but I have always referred to it by the name of the person who gave it to me, let's call him Pranav. Pranav's Tree not only does not die, it willingly resurrects itself every summer and grows taller and taller, putting out new leaves and flowers. My mother, who has the same tree and is a good gardener, came over and looked over my Pranav Tree with some envy. “It's doing very well,” she said and I looked smug, but truth be told, I literally just leave it alone.
However, our new house has several very accessible windows with ledges for plants and a balcony that we actually spend time on, so I decided it was time to get a garden. (Worry not, plant loving reader, I have already engaged a man who will come to take care of my plants for me.) We—the architect, my partner and I—made a trip on the hottest afternoon so far this April to a wholesale nursery away in a side road by Delhi's farmhouses.
A few weeks prior to this excursion, Partner and I had been browsing in one of those fancy gourmet food stores, when I saw they had live plants in pots. Extremely excited, I went home with a basil plant in a grocery bag and placed it on the balcony and watered it for a bit, and then forgot to water it the next day. The basil plant is a delicate darling, one day of not being watered and the leaves shrivel up, the plant droops pathetically and you think all is lost, until you water it again and suddenly it's perky and the life of the party. Partner has had a basil plant before, and being generally more organised at these things, he reminded me to water it every day and we moved it to the kitchen window where I'd see it every time I went in. I grew so confident, I even snagged a money plant stem off a neighbour's creeper, placed it in an old gin bottle and hoped it would grow enough to cover the lattice iron window.
Which is probably why I was so confident at this wholesale garden centre. The basil seemed so easy—and so useful, just pick a few leaves each time you make pasta—that I wanted to grow more food. That's what we were both really excited about actually, so we got two seed trays and teeny tiny tomato and chilli plants. For the rest of it, we got large trees and hanging pots of ferns—small sweet jasmine and large fleshy hibiscus. A champa tree for that one corner in a big pot. An Andhra ficus with dark green leaves and a regular local ficus with light green ones. And finally a banana tree, although there are myths about how it's supposed to stop babies, although I can't find any mention of that on the internet. (Also great contraception!)
Although gardening is all about patience and waiting for things to sprout and so on, I'm already fastforwarding five months ahead, sitting under a creeper laden terrace, with all my trees in full bloom.
(A version of this appeared as my column on mydigitalfc.com)
#notmyplantsI do have this one plant tree thing—it has a fancy scientific name, but I have always referred to it by the name of the person who gave it to me, let's call him Pranav. Pranav's Tree not only does not die, it willingly resurrects itself every summer and grows taller and taller, putting out new leaves and flowers. My mother, who has the same tree and is a good gardener, came over and looked over my Pranav Tree with some envy. “It's doing very well,” she said and I looked smug, but truth be told, I literally just leave it alone.
However, our new house has several very accessible windows with ledges for plants and a balcony that we actually spend time on, so I decided it was time to get a garden. (Worry not, plant loving reader, I have already engaged a man who will come to take care of my plants for me.) We—the architect, my partner and I—made a trip on the hottest afternoon so far this April to a wholesale nursery away in a side road by Delhi's farmhouses.
A few weeks prior to this excursion, Partner and I had been browsing in one of those fancy gourmet food stores, when I saw they had live plants in pots. Extremely excited, I went home with a basil plant in a grocery bag and placed it on the balcony and watered it for a bit, and then forgot to water it the next day. The basil plant is a delicate darling, one day of not being watered and the leaves shrivel up, the plant droops pathetically and you think all is lost, until you water it again and suddenly it's perky and the life of the party. Partner has had a basil plant before, and being generally more organised at these things, he reminded me to water it every day and we moved it to the kitchen window where I'd see it every time I went in. I grew so confident, I even snagged a money plant stem off a neighbour's creeper, placed it in an old gin bottle and hoped it would grow enough to cover the lattice iron window.
Which is probably why I was so confident at this wholesale garden centre. The basil seemed so easy—and so useful, just pick a few leaves each time you make pasta—that I wanted to grow more food. That's what we were both really excited about actually, so we got two seed trays and teeny tiny tomato and chilli plants. For the rest of it, we got large trees and hanging pots of ferns—small sweet jasmine and large fleshy hibiscus. A champa tree for that one corner in a big pot. An Andhra ficus with dark green leaves and a regular local ficus with light green ones. And finally a banana tree, although there are myths about how it's supposed to stop babies, although I can't find any mention of that on the internet. (Also great contraception!)
Although gardening is all about patience and waiting for things to sprout and so on, I'm already fastforwarding five months ahead, sitting under a creeper laden terrace, with all my trees in full bloom.
(A version of this appeared as my column on mydigitalfc.com)
Today in Photo
Spent all morning at two excellent yard sales: A Vintage Affaire where I bought ₹3000 worth of clothes (two bags full!) and the Friendicoes Yard Sale where I got this gorgeous 1962 atlas and The Cake Bible for ₹200 each. Wondering what to do with this atlas now: wallpaper the walls with old maps? But it is a first edition so maybe hang on to it as a keepsake? The sales are on today all day and tomorrow so go shop for a good cause. #impulsebuy #charity #bookstagram #delhidiary
via Instagram
April 12, 2016
Today in Photo
Just got home to these two books fresh from Amazon. Every Indian feminist should be reading Barkha Dutt's memoirs from what I hear and Sunil Khilnani's book seems invaluable to anyone looking to understand the country a bit better. Heavy non fiction for my usually fiction diet but I'm very excited about these two. #nowreading #250in2016 #readingchallenge #bookstagram
via Instagram
April 11, 2016
Today in Photo
I think the first Disney Jungle Book was my favourite film of all time: no princesses, no love stories, just a little brown kid and his animal friends. I got the original book when I was nine, a gorgeous hard bound illustrated copy and I could never go back to the Disney version again. Kipling's The Jungle Books has a jungle that's a lot more dangerous for a little boy. There are still his animal friends but their respect has to be earned. Also ALSO some of the best stories in the book (because it's not just about Mowgli) are where humans are not involved at all, like The White Seal, a story I love. I know old Rudyard was meant to have an imperialist agenda etc but he was a fine children's writer, as even Just So Stories will prove. Watch the new movie by all means (I'm going today) but think of it as a companion piece to Kipling's excellent work which has no orang utans since they're not found in India ANYWAY Disney, do some research. #bookstagram #thejunglebooks
via Instagram
April 10, 2016
Today in Photo
Happy Sibling Day! Here's me and my imaginary sibling, Sock, who vanished mysteriously and tragically soon after this photo was taken. Oh well. He never was much of a talker. #tbt #onlychild
via Instagram
I thought about Bihar
Our yoga teacher, who hails from Bihar, always has an item of the news he'd like to discuss with us during class. Often, he gets so carried away, that he winds up talking animatedly about it, and I have to provide rejoinders from huffing and puffing on the floor. This is how I heard about the whole JNU anti-nationalist incident, how I realised what odd-even meant to most folks, and most recently, how I heard about the effect of the liquor ban was having in Bihar.
It's quite nice for someone like me, who doesn't really keep up that much with the news, to have this Talking Head, so to speak, in my living room thrice a week. His political views are almost diametrically opposed to ours, so there's often a lively debate during the stretches, while we all argue about whose way is the best.
My house help is also from Bihar, and when the yoga teacher said the liquor ban was making everyone in Bihar “dizzy,” she came out of the kitchen, clutching a dustcloth, looking anxious. “What's happened in Bihar?” she asked, and he said, “Why, they've banned alcohol,” and she looked relieved and left, but not before he had engaged her in a Whose District Is Best conversation. (I'm tempted to side with her, only because she's from Madhubani, and I've always been partial to their art.)
Despite my father being posted in that state for much of my childhood and adolescence, I don't know very much about it. I have stray, scattering memories: once of a playhouse with a thatched roof, once of his collector's bungalow in Gaya which had two tortoises in the pond outside who I called Napoleon and Josephine. Of Gaya, my memories are strong—I remember being taken to see the famous Boddhisatva tree and that large garden, and a kitten we acquired for the winter holidays which died tragically of pneumonia. I had been allowed to ask a friend to stay for the holidays, and the two of us ran in and out all day, reading and bathing in the British era bathroom complete with porcelain tub, and ending the whole vacation with a play we put on for my parents.
But then, even though my father stayed on, he preferred to come to Delhi, where my mother worked and I studied, and as I grew older, the idea of a summer with nothing to occupy me except my own fantasies grew less charming. He had been back in Delhi for two years—very important two years, because this is when cable TV and the internet first came to India—and when he was posted back there again, those two things were greater than anything Patna could offer.
Anyway, so I didn't really think about Bihar beyond the occasional reminder that it existed. My father loved his time there, but I only remember it from some long ago summers, when I was too young to consider it as a whole. But the two people who I see the most often are from that state—so obviously Bihar is tied up more with my life than I think. What do I know about it now? Not a whole lot more. Thanks to these two people—I have a bit of representation—how that state votes for instance or how long it takes to travel to your far-off district from the state capital, which gives me an idea of the geography of it.
I think it may be time for me to pay Bihar another visit—this time as someone who was reluctantly linked to it her whole life—even though I may not get a good glass of wine (let alone any kind of glass of wine). If our fates are entwined—Bihar's and mine, then it's time to get to know her a little bit.
(a version of this appeared as my column on mydigitalfc.com)
It's quite nice for someone like me, who doesn't really keep up that much with the news, to have this Talking Head, so to speak, in my living room thrice a week. His political views are almost diametrically opposed to ours, so there's often a lively debate during the stretches, while we all argue about whose way is the best.
My house help is also from Bihar, and when the yoga teacher said the liquor ban was making everyone in Bihar “dizzy,” she came out of the kitchen, clutching a dustcloth, looking anxious. “What's happened in Bihar?” she asked, and he said, “Why, they've banned alcohol,” and she looked relieved and left, but not before he had engaged her in a Whose District Is Best conversation. (I'm tempted to side with her, only because she's from Madhubani, and I've always been partial to their art.)
Despite my father being posted in that state for much of my childhood and adolescence, I don't know very much about it. I have stray, scattering memories: once of a playhouse with a thatched roof, once of his collector's bungalow in Gaya which had two tortoises in the pond outside who I called Napoleon and Josephine. Of Gaya, my memories are strong—I remember being taken to see the famous Boddhisatva tree and that large garden, and a kitten we acquired for the winter holidays which died tragically of pneumonia. I had been allowed to ask a friend to stay for the holidays, and the two of us ran in and out all day, reading and bathing in the British era bathroom complete with porcelain tub, and ending the whole vacation with a play we put on for my parents.
But then, even though my father stayed on, he preferred to come to Delhi, where my mother worked and I studied, and as I grew older, the idea of a summer with nothing to occupy me except my own fantasies grew less charming. He had been back in Delhi for two years—very important two years, because this is when cable TV and the internet first came to India—and when he was posted back there again, those two things were greater than anything Patna could offer.
Anyway, so I didn't really think about Bihar beyond the occasional reminder that it existed. My father loved his time there, but I only remember it from some long ago summers, when I was too young to consider it as a whole. But the two people who I see the most often are from that state—so obviously Bihar is tied up more with my life than I think. What do I know about it now? Not a whole lot more. Thanks to these two people—I have a bit of representation—how that state votes for instance or how long it takes to travel to your far-off district from the state capital, which gives me an idea of the geography of it.
I think it may be time for me to pay Bihar another visit—this time as someone who was reluctantly linked to it her whole life—even though I may not get a good glass of wine (let alone any kind of glass of wine). If our fates are entwined—Bihar's and mine, then it's time to get to know her a little bit.
(a version of this appeared as my column on mydigitalfc.com)
April 9, 2016
Today in Photo
Delhi's Fatty Bao is lovely and now I have been to all of their restaurants in three cities. Super strong cocktails though, out with dad and partner and I'm already a little buzzed on half a drink. Good to know! #delhidiary
via Instagram
