Balaka Basu's Blog, page 15

I hate Cooking #MondayMusing

I hate cooking. Each day when I wake up and look at my kitchen, the first thought that I get is to run away as far as my legs take me. Honestly speaking I am not a ‘bad’ cook but a ‘reluctant’ cook. Whenever I cook the food is not tasteless, yucky, burnt or salty and they usually taste good and that makes things difficult because tasty food always comes with repeat requests. Therefore, one day before leaving the office the man would request “Your prawn malaikari was extremely tasty that day, make it today, again”. This is usually on a day when my initial plan was to survive on a peanut butter sandwich. Similarly, on a day when I plan to sit with a new book and spend the day eating nothing more than dal chawal, the son would come back from school and hug my waist and look innocently in my eyes and request “Mamma, please make biryani for dinner today”. Kaboom!!! goes my plan to sit and read and I find myself slogging in the kitchen browning onions and mincing mint.

I know of numerous people who enjoy cooking. My mother and grandmother both loved cooking.  My mother loved spending the entire day in the kitchen cooking and experimenting with food. She loved to invite guests for lunch and dinner only so that she could get an opportunity to cook an elaborate meal. Looking at her love for cooking and my apathy for the same, I often wonder that perhaps I was adopted. It is genetically impossible to be connected to her.  She loved spending time in her kitchen, it was her holy place and for me, the kitchen is the place where I feel claustrophobic if I spend more than one hour. If I get my way, I would never prepare anything more than black tea in my kitchen.

I know of people who say that they find cooking relaxing, therapeutic and de-stressing. I am in awe of those people. I feel they are superhumans, aliens, angels. How can one find peeling, chopping, grinding, stirring therapeutic? For me just planning the day’s menu is enough to induce a panic attack. I genuinely admire my friends who post beautiful photos of food cooked and served by them. I suffer from an inferiority complex in front of these friends. I feel they are the epitome of patience and perseverance because I find cooking an extremely boring chore. I remember once I had read a post where it was written: “One of the most meditative times of my day is when I’m cooking.” I feel just the opposite. It is not a meditative time but a time when I genuinely need a ventilator. Jokes apart, there are days when I do cook a lot of things and they taste amazing but then I even hated maths yet managed to score 90% in my boards.

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You read how I hate to cook, are you in my team? or are you the one who finds cooking therapeutic and meditative? I admire those who love to cook but unfortunately, I am not part of that team. Do let me know your opinion.

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Cover Reveal of Damyanti Biswas’s Debut Crime Novel “You Beneath Your Skin”

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Today it is my absolute honor and privilege to reveal the cover for Damyanti Biswas‘s debut crime novel, You Beneath Your Skin to be published this September by Simon & Schuster, India.

I have known Damyanti and her blog Daily (w)rite, since the time I started blogging. Last year, I got to know Damyanti a little more when we met in Mumbai. She is a generous soul and I absolutely admire her dedication towards social causes, especially her passion towards the cause of Project WHY.

So, without further ado, here’s the cover! The red and black immediately captures nuances of an atmospheric crime story and the face visible under the title makes you wonder who she is, and what her story might be. This is not a regular crime story, it has nuances that are rare in the run of the mill crime stories.

Lies. Ambition. Family.

It’s a dark, smog-choked New Delhi winter. Indian American single mother Anjali Morgan juggles her job as a psychiatrist with caring for her autistic teenage son. She is in a long-standing affair with ambitious Police Commissioner Jatin Bhatt, an irresistible attraction that could destroy both their lives. Jatin’s home life is falling apart: his handsome and charming son is not all he appears to be, and his wife has too much on her plate to pay attention to either husband or son. But Jatin refuses to listen to anyone, not even the sister to whom he is deeply attached.

Across the city, there is a crime spree: slum women found stuffed in trash bags, faces and bodies disfigured by acid. And as events spiral out of control Anjali is horrifyingly at the centre of it all. In a sordid world of poverty, misogyny, and political corruption, Jatin must make some hard choices. But what he unearths is only the tip of the iceberg. Together with Anjali he must confront old wounds and uncover long-held secrets before it is too late.

I received an advance review copy and it was difficult to put down the copy even for a second. You Beneath Your Skin is not a typical whodunnit crime thriller. This is much more than that. Each character in this novel has a unique story to tell, and each one is intertwined with the other in a unique way. Each character has a background, has secrets buried and ambitions. Anjali is dealing with the past trauma of dealing with a narcissist mother and a sad divorce. For her, every day is a  struggle between her job and her autistic son. Her only relaxation is to spend some time with Jatin in a hotel room secretly. Jatin is also a layered character who is patriarchal yet vulnerable, he is torn between his wife Drishti and Anjali. His father-in-law is also his boss and his son is going haywire. He also has to deal with the demons of a dead abusive father. His sister Maya is the link that holds together Anjali, Jatin and Anjali’s son. This is not a typical detective thriller where the only aim is to find the killer, it is much more than that. It deals with the very important issue of acid-attack that is a menace in India, especially the northern part of India. A tale of power, corruption and its effect on New Delhi. Damyanti’s thorough research on the subject is evident throughout the book and it is difficult to put down this book.

The author of You Beneath your Skin, [image error]Damyanti Biswas, lives in Singapore and works with Delhi’s underprivileged children as part of Project WHY, a charity that promotes education and social enhancement in underprivileged communities. Her passion for social causes is an inspiration to many. Her short stories have been published in magazines in the US, UK, and Asia, and she helps edit the Forge LiteraryMagazine.You can find her on her blog and twitter. All the author proceeds from this book will go to Project Why and #Stopacidattacks

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I would highly recommend this book to my readers because this novel is not merely a crime thriller but it deals with genuine social menaces like acid-attack, gang rape, and murder that captures the headlines of New Delhi more often than desired. I enjoyed this book and am sure you would too. This book is also supporting the underprivileged children under Project WHY, (all the more reason to grab a copy and support a cause). How do you feel about this book after going through the cover reveal? Do let me know in the comment section.

A request to my readers that please share this post with the hashtag #YouBeneathYourSkin and tag @SimonandSchusterIN @projectwhydelhi and @stopacidattacks on twitter and Instagram. I hope you will pre-order this book. Happy reading.

Happy Birthday to me #MondayMusings

Happy birthday to me. Oh yes!! Today is my birthday. Readers, you can take this ‘August’ opportunity to wish me, I would be flattered. However, at home, I have firmly asked the husband and the kid not to do anything for my birthday. No celebrations, no wishes, no gifts, no dining out, no cakes, no flowers, and no candles. Like obedient boys, they immediately canceled all plans, whatsoever. And, now I realize, there is actually going to be nothing for my birthday and in a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, I call few friends for lunch and write this post so that fellow bloggers at least do something. When I said, I do not want a celebration, I had thought that the boys would coax and cajole me to party or at least give me a gift, but NADA!!, they just obeyed. I wonder, why don’t they be this obedient when I ask them to put dirty clothes in the laundry basket or put the dirty plate in the washbasin. Why this selective obedience?

In the last thirteen years of marriage, I have asked the man thirteen hundred thousand crore times not to put his clothes on the floor of the shower, not to leave a trail of clothes and accessories from the entrance to the balcony after returning from office, not to put wet towel on the bed/sofa, not to fold the cushions after sitting on the sofa, not to put his dirty feet on white couch, not to put food stains on the white tiles, not to keep his watch and purse on the altar of the living room, not to keep important documents lying around in the living room, not to confuse dry and wet waste, not to smear the oven with flour, not to leave vegetable peels on the kitchen counter, not to keep the cupboard door open after taking out clothes, not to wear grey colour t-shirt when we go out, not to let his mother make me perform religious fastings/rituals, not to bring suitcase full of eatables from his native village, not to ask me to cook something after I have finished cooking something else, not to drag me to houses of irritating relatives, not to invite guests without asking me, not to buy snacks items that nobody likes to eat, not to discuss stock markets and dollar rates with me, not to watch prank videos (without earphones) till the middle of the night, not to watch melodramatic movies from the 80s, not to listen to the same folk song every morning, etcetera etcetera. He never listened to any single one of these, and then once in 13 years, I said that I don’t want to do anything for my birthday and he becomes THE MOST OBEDIENT HUSBAND in this whole world and obeys to the T.

In a desperate attempt to cheer up, I am trying to convince myself that after forty birthday should be celebrated in a meaningful way, it should be celebrated by pondering at the good and bad things of life. To learn from the mistakes and feel grateful for the good things and we should take this opportunity to give back to the world, blah!blah!.(but my mind is still cribbing about the missed Dutch truffle with forty (+) candles jostling for space on top of it).

Nevertheless, a birthday is just another day, just another routine day with no meaningful conversations, another day to sit by the window and do work, another day to read a book or watch a movie. At the end of the day, it is just another day. Amen!!!

P.S. The post was written in anticipation that there would be no celebration BUT from secret sources (read son) I got the information that a table has been booked in a nearby restaurant for dinner…..and with this he proves his disobedient nature once again..

So, stay tuned for updates on the celebration. OMG!! I am such an attention seeking typical leo

Outside my Window #WordsMatter

I looked outside my window, the ugly patchwork of brown plaster from the opposite building, stared back at me. Renovation is going on in the opposite building. Just like an old fractured person with a walker, the opposite building is also surrounded and supported by bamboo and iron poles on all three sides. High rise buildings from the next lane play peek-a-boo from behind the fractured building.

I comfortably sit with my cup of Darjeeling tea and laptop on my window seat and start writing this post.

A girl came to the opposite window. She seems to be her early twenties. She is wearing a pink crop top and denim shorts. She has a cigarette in her hand. She came and sat quietly on her window sill and started puffing. I look at her and try to read her mind, what is she probably thinking. Is she thinking about her studies, career, or lover?? Why is it so difficult to read the mind of another person?

A small boy was in another window. I know this boy, he plays with my son. The boy was standing and looking out. Maybe, he was looking out to see if any other boy had come down to play in the park. Small boys have simple thoughts.  Small kids do not have too many things to worry about. They are happy with small things.

A crow was sitting on top of a pipe and trying to tear something. Birds and animals only worry about food and procreation. I was impressed with the perseverance of the crow as it was tenaciously struggling to tear something. I got bored looking at the crow after a few minutes. It was repeating the same act. I peeped into a flat right next to mine. An old lady was watching some Hindi soap opera on a giant screen. She seemed engrossed. Maybe she would learn a few tactics from the opera and apply it on her daughter-in-law.

The girl in shorts finished her cigarette and went inside. She came back after a few seconds. She was now holding a book. I tried to look at the jacket of the book and it looked familiar. Even from a little distance, I could recognize the book from its cover. It was The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Few quotes from the book started coming back to me.

“That’s the thing about pain. It demands to be felt.”

Some pains are physical while some churn your heart, your very existence. The kinds of pain that you would love to avoid nevertheless they find a way to destroy your soul. The pains that make you feel guilty and vulnerable. You often try to deny the pain but it chases you demanding to be felt.

“Some people don’t understand the promises they’re making when they make them,”

When they break the promise you feel the pain even if you choose not to feel it because “pain demands to be felt”.

“You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world,…but you do have some say in who hurts you.” And we often make the wrong choices.

I almost feel like screaming and telling the girl the thoughts I had about the book but I refrain myself. Let her enjoy the book in her own sweet way. Each book appeals to each reader differently. I stopped my mind from wandering and tried to focus on the view outside. It is getting dark. Birds are flying back to their branches, kids are playing and screaming in the park below, lights are switched on.

I am fortunate to have had amazing windows throughout my life. I was born in Sikkim and spent a considerable part of my childhood there. We lived in a wooden cottage and had a big French window. From that window, I could gape at the vast expanse of the Kanchenjunga. If I go to Sikkim now, probably, I would have to pay a hefty hotel tariff for that amazing view however then I had the luxury of admiring it 24/7 free of cost. In the morning just before sunrise, the snow-capped peak of Kanchenjunga used to turn mauve in color, as the sunlight appeared its color turned to various hues of orange and then finally the snow used to shine like gold throughout the day. On a moonlit night, it used to turn bright silver. Before going to bed each night, I used to bid goodbye to Kanchenjunga that stood like a meditating saint, from my window.

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However, Sikkim is a state where it rains intensely almost throughout the year. So many a days Kanchenjunga used to hide behind dense cloud or fog and play hide and seek with me. In those days I used to sit beside my window and look at the rainwater falling on the leaves. There was a small stream next to my house. During the rainy season, it used to swell up like a river. I often sat near my window and watched that stream angrily roaring during monsoon but it flew gently like a new bride during rest of the year. I especially loved watching the snowfall from my window. The snowflakes came down like soft cotton and covered the whole expanse of the small hamlet where I lived. The pine and eucalyptus tree looked as if they were huge ice cones, all covered with snow yet standing tall. The snow always highlighted the conical shapes of those trees.

My tryst with the Himalayan state ended when my Dad was transferred to Kolkata. However, the tryst with window seat continued because in my new house there was an equally interesting window. In the new house, my window was overlooking a huge lake. It was actually a bheri or artificial lake meant for fish cultivation. A part of that lake was used by an amusement park for boat rides and the remaining part was reserved by the government for fishing. The lake was so huge that the other side was not visible and it almost looked like a sea. I was happy to sit next to my window with a book and watch the vast expanse of water. The water also changed colors throughout the day with the movement of the sun. Early in the morning, the lake turned orange and the same hue returned during sunset.

I loved watching the lake during kalboishaki or summer thunderstorm. The small ripples used to turn into violent waves on those days lashing against the banks. The color also used to turn into a gloomy grey. There used to be a certain Tandava or violence in the movement of the water.

The house where I live now doesn’t have such an amazing view. Nevertheless, I love the window seat in this house. My window seat here is a place where I spend a lot of time. As I mostly work from home, my window seat also doubles up as my workstation. This is the place where I sit with my cup of Darjeeling tea and observe Mumbai rains, this is the place where I sit and read a book or just aimlessly look at the crawling traffic beneath. This is the place where I sit and cry when I am sad or talk to a friend over the telephone. This seat is now a part of my life and living. I am thankful for having such an amazing window seat.

Dear Reader, I would like to know about your window. Please let me know. Also, read about what is there outside the window of 47 of my fellow bloggers as we all take part and write at #WordsMatter blog hop hosted by Corinne, Shalini, and Parul. I received this tag from Reema D’souza at The Write World. It’s my pleasure to pass on this tag to Dr.Amrita Basu (Misra) at Health Wealth Bridge. As I already mentioned, there are 47 of us on this Blog Hop and it will be spread over 3 days – 2, 3, 4 August. Do follow the #WordsMatter Blog Hop and prepare to be surprised! 

 

Gratitude List- July

July is usually not a happy month for Mumbaikars. Rains, traffic, potholes, waterlogging, and wet clothes all over the house make our lives difficult. Therefore, the best way is to escape Mumbai during the monsoon and explore the rest of Maharashtra. I have mentioned this before and I repeat again. Maharashtra is a real beauty during monsoon, especially the months of July and August. keeping that in mind we went out on a trip.

Monsoon trip: We went on a road trip to Malshejghat, Bhimashankar, Lonavala, Khandala, and Pune. My regular readers are aware that our Bhimashankar trip was quite a scary one after our car broke down in the middle of a jungle. However, that doesn’t take away the fun that we had during the rest of the trip. It was an amazing experience to drive through hilly lush green terrains with clouds and rains being our constant companion. The intermittent waterfalls were a visual delight. The various shades of green on our way were soothing to our city eyes. Our stay in Pune was relaxing, where the son and husband spent most of their time swimming in the hotel’s pool while I could spend some pleasurable time with Murakami.

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When the Mountains Echoed

Rashid Khan Concert: Honestly, I am not a connoisseur of Indian classical music but the husband is. When he decided to take us for a musical evening, both son and I were not very willing. However, the lure of the dinner buffet at the concert was difficult to ignore and so we tagged along. Interestingly, the voice of Rashid Khan was so magnetic that we stayed glued to our seats till the end ignoring the aroma of kebab that was coming from the adjoining dining room. I especially enjoyed his rendition of the song “Aaoge jab tum o sajna”

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Pro-Kabbadi: The husband got VIP passes for Pro-Kabbadi tournament. Initially, I was not quite enthusiastic, nevertheless decided to go (again the food coupon attached to the pass did the trick). But now, I am really happy that I went. It was such an exciting and energetic event that I enjoyed every second of it. Bonus!! we were seated opposite to Virat Kohli, Abhishek Bacchan, Aishwarya Rai, and Ronnie Screwvala. Therefore, had a nice darshan of the celebrities.

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Movie Time: In July, I went for three movies in the theatre. Super 30, Article 15 and Lion King. The last one was a movie date with the son. This month I also binged Netflix and finished watching Typewriter, Beecham House, and The Last Czar. I also watched three shows of Trevor Noah (he is my latest crush!! wink! wink!)

These were the good things that happened in July. The bad thing is I didn’t read much this month and generally have been extremely lazy. I hope to become more active in August. Tell me, dear, reader, how was your July? and, what are your resolutions for August? Waiting to read your comment.

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The Cloud, the Hill, and the Tree #ThursdayTreeLove

“A tree’s wood is also its memoir“—- Hope Jahren, American GeoBiologist.

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This beautiful tree was shot by the husband (from two different angles), during our recent ‘spine-chilling’ trip to Bhimashankar. It is a miracle that we are still alive to share photos after that trip. Nevertheless, the positive story is that the husband has equally got addicted to Parul’s #ThursdayTreeLove and he makes sure to click a few photos exclusively for the same. Parul, my friend you now have a new super enthusiastic fan for your amazing blog hop.

Every Dog has his Day #wordlesswednesday

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Linking this with #wordlesswednesday hosted by Esha and Natasha

The Days of No-Conversations #MondayMusings

I wake up in the wee hours of the day, go to the kitchen and start preparing breakfast for the son. Then I wake him up. I utter a few words in isolation, but not full sentences. No conversations as such, just nag him to get ready for school,. The son is groggy and in no mood to have a conversation. I drop him at the bus stop and go for my morning walk. I walk alone, listening to music, watching the flowers bloom, the birds come to pick worms and the pigeons flock together. I go and sit on the bench. Silence prevails. No conversation takes place.

I come back home, start preparing breakfast, silently. The man is usually away at this time. He comes back in a while, hurriedly goes through the morning headlines, drinks his tea and mutters about the rising or falling dollar prices, or some economic reform that will induce a recession. They sound gibberish to me. I stay silent, dollar rates and financial recession is not my forte. The man eats his breakfast, packs his bag and leaves. I stay alone, silence screams from every corner of the room. I switch on the laptop and start writing something. This is my only way to converse with the world. I keep working silently, not a single sound slipping out of my mouth.

In the afternoon, the son comes back from school and he has stories to tell. Lots of them. I listen silently but earnestly. Some stories make me happy, some make me sad. I listen about new Minecraft games that have been launched and new fidget spinners. I try to say something, but the son is busy talking and not in a mood to let me speak. After lunch, we settle down in our own works. He gets busy with his homework and I keep writing.

Evening kisses the sky. Son goes down to play while I start preparing dinner. Everybody comes back home just in time for dinner. After dinner, we get busy with our mobile phones, Netflix and books.

Before falling asleep, I realize, an entire day passed by without having any meaningful conversation with anyone. I know, the next day, the same routine would be repeated and I start craving to talk to another adult about books, movies or anything random. I crave to sit and laugh with another person. I am an introvert but that doesn’t mean I can spend days without friends or meaningful conversations. Phone calls or messages are a good way to converse but nothing can replace laughing with a friend on a random stupid thing over a steaming cup of coffee. I am looking for a friend. Will you be my friend and join me for a steaming cuppa over some books, movies, laughter, and fun? Do let me know, am waiting for you.

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Joining Corinne’s #MondayMusings

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When Our Car Broke Down at Bhimashankar #wanderfulwednesday

Have you ever been on a road trip where your car broke down in the middle of a jungle (that had leopards)? Imagine being stuck in a broke down car with two kids, no mobile network, no other vehicle or house in sight, not another human soul around and rain and fog clogging your visibility. Well, we experienced it. And, it was Saturday, the thirteenth (did you hear a creaking sound in the background?)

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It took us around seven hours to reach Bhimashankar from Mumbai. En route, we stopped at Murbad for breakfast (had misal pav one more time after Vasai trip)  and Malshejghat for its sheer scenic beauty. The long drive didn’t matter as the scenic beauty compensated for everything. Who wouldn’t enjoy the mist, fog, cloud, rain, 50 shades of green and waterfalls above your car roof throughout the way? The drive to Bhimashankar was in one word “heavenly”, and I say this without an ounce of exaggeration.

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Road to Heaven

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Country Roads take me Home

 

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When the Mountains Echoed

If you ever drive to Malshejghat, during monsoon, you are bound to stop numerous times to get down of your car and enjoy the natural beauty scattered all over the place. It is difficult to take your eyes or camera off those sceneries.

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Especially the waterfalls are a scene to behold. If you are the over-enthusiastic type then you can get down and take a bath like Mandakini or Zeenat Amaan. I am the boring type so I stayed inside my car watching teenage girls screaming and sliding under the waterfalls. The best part was when water from the falls was falling on the road giving unexpected drench to unsuspecting drivers.

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By the time we reached Bhimashankar, it was raining heavily and the area was covered with thick fog compromising the visibility. It was difficult to look beyond five meters. We were driving through the Bhimashankar Wildlife Sanctuary that is inhabited by carnivores like leopards, hyenas, golden jackal, and other harmless herbivores when we lost mobile signal and our GPS stopped working offline. Usually, GPS works offline but this time for some unknown reason it stopped working (remember Saturday the thirteenth).

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We entered a narrow lane. My son and our friend’s daughter were sleeping on the rear seat. Suddenly, the car bumped onto something and a heavy water bottle that was lying on the rear deck fell on my son, hurting him badly. This was just the beginning of our ordeal. While I was tending to the little one, I heard the car making a screeching noise and within seconds the car stopped. I could see a glimpse of panic on the face of the husband. He tried to start the engine a couple of times but nothing moved. The panic lines deepened on his face. At this time, I also started panicking. The car was stuck on a road where there was not a single vehicle, no houses in sight, no mobile network, (without network we couldn’t even contact our car’s customer care) torrential rains, and fog.  The kids were now equally disturbed. Time as if stood still. We waited there for close to 45 minutes when we saw the first vehicle, a scooter with a couple and a child riding on it coming our way. The family seemed like God sent.  The scooter stopped next to our car as they realized we were in trouble. The husband described our precarious situation and the scooterist said that the nearest car repair shop was 30kms away. Not much hope there.

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Hardly any visibility

The scooterist said he was going to the same place and he could guide us and help us on the way. He asked my husband to try once again to start the car. The husband was trying since long with his limited mechanical knowledge to start the car but had little success, however, with encouragement from the scooterist, finally, he could start, however, the brake was not working properly.

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Sagittarius men are good at taking risks, they are rather infamous for it, mine is no exception

Plough #WordlessWednesday

“Tomorrow’s harvest depends upon today’s ploughing and sowing“— Chinmayananda Saraswati

We came across this farmer ploughing his field on our way to Bhimashankar. My son being a city born had never seen anything like this before. He was amused and surprised to learn that so much effort and hard work goes behind growing the grains that he nonchalantly and guiltlessly wastes. I hope now onwards he would appreciate the food on his plate more. No wonder a child learns the most through traveling.

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Linking this post with #wordlesswednesday hosted by the ever beautiful Esha and stellar Natasha.

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