Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Narcissism all around!
Why, even i caught myself today, clicking myself, from my own cell phone. In case you haven't noticed the number of 'me's in this sentence, I'll share with you the scenario in college on a regular day: most people who happen to be free lounge about the corridors and lawns, either looking at themselves in pocket mirrors, or taking pictures of themselves and their friends. Scene on the bus: people buried in smses and cell phones, and yeah, some clicking away here too! Scene on the road: well, i don't need to repeat it again. so what happens to all these pics? they're on display for the benefit of the entire world. You'll find them on social networking sites, as cellphone wallpapers. And not just photos, even blogs talk about publishing yourself to the world. Even my blog here tells people so much about me. So what with so much of obsession with the self and what belongs to the self, aren't we heading to a society where people would simply refuse to look beyond their cell phone, their profile pages and their blogs? Everyone seems to be keen on expressing themselves and not on what others have to say. So eventually, there is going to be no audience for all this display! And the snake would turn in on itself...
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Gourmet Legacy- Part 2: Mutton on my plate
Apart from the biryani, there is a whole world of sinful delicacies that vary in flavour, texture and taste. From baked and roasted to steamed and fried, mutton is as versatile as you can make it! To begin with, these can be categorised according to the cut of the meat. Whole pieces are used in gravy based dishes like the korma or the nahari (the latter's etymology rooted in the word 'nahar' or morning. It's eaten for breakfast, despite the rich taste of ghee and strong spices.) Ribs or 'chaap' are also marinated and fried. The next degree is what is called 'pasande', and i can't find an english word for this. It's boneless meat, thinly sliced and cooked in grave of curd and spices. It's flavor is as delicate as its texture, you can't stir it with a spoon, even wooden. Same case with koftas- my mom's trick is to lift up the whole deghchi or kadhav and lightly shake the meat balls to turn them. Koftas could be plain or stuffed with a chilli coriander mixture. And then there's the 'shabdegh', from shab or night and degh or a cooking pot. It's basically koftas with a different combination od spices along with turnips and carrots. And believe it or not, shabdegh has to be prepared on low flame, throughout the night to be served the following day, hence the name. Another variety is the nargisi kofta- delicate koftas, shaped big enough to hold a whole boiled egg at the center.
There are other varieties that I've missed on, a variety of soups, organ meats and much more that I might not have discovered yet. And of course, these are enjoyed with a range of breds- naans, kulchas, rumali rotis, taaftaan, tandoori rotis... Each different flavour is an experience in itself, waiting to be discovered.
There are other varieties that I've missed on, a variety of soups, organ meats and much more that I might not have discovered yet. And of course, these are enjoyed with a range of breds- naans, kulchas, rumali rotis, taaftaan, tandoori rotis... Each different flavour is an experience in itself, waiting to be discovered.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Gourmet Legacy- Part 1 : The Biryani Odyssey
The Walled City... Mughals... street food...Did I say roadside biryani? Even if I didn't chances are, that it was already buzzing in your head. If you happen to be a non-vegetarian, you must read on, because here's a ride in to the world of the sinfule delicacies that are clubbed into one broad group- Mughlai food.
Skipping the very debatable debate over what exactly is Mughlai food, who discovered butter chicken etc., I shall right away chuck out all political correctness. It's the job of the food critics and bigwigs of the food industry, let them handle it.
What I'm about to write deals with the layman's preferences. Pardon me, I cater to lay women too. But that in itself is debate because for most people, including a rather intimidating aunt, eating non vegetarian food and eating well, is rowdy and messy business. So 'eating well', is essentially men's prerogative, while women demurely look on as they pick at their salad. However, I for one, enjoy sucking the marrow out of the bones (pun intended). And so I shall enjoy writing about it to.
I belong to a people who hold a fierce pride in being the 'original dilliwallahs'. They can bring out a family tree to trace back the last five or six generations who lived on the same land on which we today live. And so we are born with a certain superior taste when it comes to aunthentic Delhi cuisine. And that is not, my people would tell you with conviction, what is being presented to the world under fancy, much-hyped brands. Restaurants and hotels can slam each other all they want, but the ideal biryani is an art that comes to you naturally, or it doesn't come at all.
So why is the world all worked up about The Biryani? It seems to be every restaurant's claim to fame- the quintessential Indian dish that everyone believes they can get right. And there would be as many versions of it as the commentators- the potli pulao, the zafrani version, the Kashmiri version, the Hyderabadi version... their tastes may be worlds apart but they're all biryanis in the end.
So I'll take you to my people's version of it. Of course we have our 'generations old recipe', which, by the way, everyone seems to have. But the flavour we can achieve, my mother says, can slamdunk any of the "burger chhaaps" and give them a run for their money when it comes to good food.
As any non-veg enthusiast would know, white meat like chicken has no flavour of its own. The flavour of spices and vegetables has to be infused, when cooked with it. On the other hand, red meat has a flavour of its own, and an amazing one at that. So that means if you cook red meat even with the humble old lauki or potatoes, as its done at my place, it can beat any fancy recipe.
But then the beauty of good meat lies in the way it is cut and how fresh it is, which surprisingly, not many food critics seem to write about. In my mother's opinion (and she's a credible authority) meat shops in Old Delhi are perhaps the only ones who know every piece of meat, every bone and joint of the whole sheep or goat so well that they'd never cut the meat "as if they were chopping tomatoes." And then your meat is as good as its fresh. My people can tell with the first bite how fresh the meat is. Ideally, it has to be bought fresh, cooked and consumed within the same day.
Of course the rice and spices are important too. Soaked in salted water, the long and fine grains are inetgral. The spices are every chef's secret- they can make or break your recipe. Each piece of meat cooked in steam, NOT in a pressure cooker but a kadhav or a deghchi, has to be a tender and fragrant one, with its flavour still intact. And that, quick fix biryanis whipped up in pressure cookers can not achieve. Then there are the interesting variants like the 'potli pulao', where all spices are tied in a mulmul cloth, called the "potli" and kept with the meat in steam, called "dum", so as to get the essence of the spices. The potli is removed before serving the pulao. Zafrani and Kashmiri versions are much richer in flavour, enjoyed mostly in winters. This variety is cooked in milk with saffron, making the rice rich in flavour and soft in texture. Fried cashews are also used.
The Hyderabadi version, introduced to my folk by an aunt from Hyderabad, is an altogether different experience for North Indian taste buds. The hyderabadi Biryani is all about its spices- the cinnamons and cloves used in abundance for a sweet and spicy flavour. Also, it uses both mint and coriander together (either as whole leaves or as a paste) which happens to be a taboo in our North Indian cooking mantras. Nevertheless the biryani, in all its diverse glory, finds its way into all meat-lovers' lists of favourites.
(To be continued...)
Skipping the very debatable debate over what exactly is Mughlai food, who discovered butter chicken etc., I shall right away chuck out all political correctness. It's the job of the food critics and bigwigs of the food industry, let them handle it.
What I'm about to write deals with the layman's preferences. Pardon me, I cater to lay women too. But that in itself is debate because for most people, including a rather intimidating aunt, eating non vegetarian food and eating well, is rowdy and messy business. So 'eating well', is essentially men's prerogative, while women demurely look on as they pick at their salad. However, I for one, enjoy sucking the marrow out of the bones (pun intended). And so I shall enjoy writing about it to.
I belong to a people who hold a fierce pride in being the 'original dilliwallahs'. They can bring out a family tree to trace back the last five or six generations who lived on the same land on which we today live. And so we are born with a certain superior taste when it comes to aunthentic Delhi cuisine. And that is not, my people would tell you with conviction, what is being presented to the world under fancy, much-hyped brands. Restaurants and hotels can slam each other all they want, but the ideal biryani is an art that comes to you naturally, or it doesn't come at all.
So why is the world all worked up about The Biryani? It seems to be every restaurant's claim to fame- the quintessential Indian dish that everyone believes they can get right. And there would be as many versions of it as the commentators- the potli pulao, the zafrani version, the Kashmiri version, the Hyderabadi version... their tastes may be worlds apart but they're all biryanis in the end.
So I'll take you to my people's version of it. Of course we have our 'generations old recipe', which, by the way, everyone seems to have. But the flavour we can achieve, my mother says, can slamdunk any of the "burger chhaaps" and give them a run for their money when it comes to good food.
As any non-veg enthusiast would know, white meat like chicken has no flavour of its own. The flavour of spices and vegetables has to be infused, when cooked with it. On the other hand, red meat has a flavour of its own, and an amazing one at that. So that means if you cook red meat even with the humble old lauki or potatoes, as its done at my place, it can beat any fancy recipe.
But then the beauty of good meat lies in the way it is cut and how fresh it is, which surprisingly, not many food critics seem to write about. In my mother's opinion (and she's a credible authority) meat shops in Old Delhi are perhaps the only ones who know every piece of meat, every bone and joint of the whole sheep or goat so well that they'd never cut the meat "as if they were chopping tomatoes." And then your meat is as good as its fresh. My people can tell with the first bite how fresh the meat is. Ideally, it has to be bought fresh, cooked and consumed within the same day.
Of course the rice and spices are important too. Soaked in salted water, the long and fine grains are inetgral. The spices are every chef's secret- they can make or break your recipe. Each piece of meat cooked in steam, NOT in a pressure cooker but a kadhav or a deghchi, has to be a tender and fragrant one, with its flavour still intact. And that, quick fix biryanis whipped up in pressure cookers can not achieve. Then there are the interesting variants like the 'potli pulao', where all spices are tied in a mulmul cloth, called the "potli" and kept with the meat in steam, called "dum", so as to get the essence of the spices. The potli is removed before serving the pulao. Zafrani and Kashmiri versions are much richer in flavour, enjoyed mostly in winters. This variety is cooked in milk with saffron, making the rice rich in flavour and soft in texture. Fried cashews are also used.
The Hyderabadi version, introduced to my folk by an aunt from Hyderabad, is an altogether different experience for North Indian taste buds. The hyderabadi Biryani is all about its spices- the cinnamons and cloves used in abundance for a sweet and spicy flavour. Also, it uses both mint and coriander together (either as whole leaves or as a paste) which happens to be a taboo in our North Indian cooking mantras. Nevertheless the biryani, in all its diverse glory, finds its way into all meat-lovers' lists of favourites.
(To be continued...)
Monday, August 31, 2009
A Faded Blue Ribbon
A Faded Blue Ribbon
A faded blue ribbon
Has a story of its own
Of days lived, years spent,
And of times bygone.
When a little girl wore it
On her dark locks
The sweetness of innocence
That youth now mocks
When the pretty young lass
Awaiting her life's sunshine
The ribbon adorning her dress
Of youth and beauty fine.
And then the lady of age
Weary of time and still going on
Her hat crowned by the ribbon
Now faded and worn.
A faded blue ribbon
Has a story of its own
Of days lived, years spent,
And of times bygone.
When a little girl wore it
On her dark locks
The sweetness of innocence
That youth now mocks
When the pretty young lass
Awaiting her life's sunshine
The ribbon adorning her dress
Of youth and beauty fine.
And then the lady of age
Weary of time and still going on
Her hat crowned by the ribbon
Now faded and worn.
From Beneath The Headscarf
From Beneath The Headscarf
It is a frequently discussed issue. Newspapers, tabloids and talk shows can go on and on defending or dismissing it. Diverse opinions have been articulated and commented upon. So this piece of writing is not going to do it all over again. Rather, here's the other side of the story. Here's the other side of the much discussed 'symbol of oppression', the headscarf.
Ever since I started wearing a headscarf, it has been an enigma of sorts- be it in college or in public places. So why do I wear a headscarf? Am I bald or is it some medical problem? Don't I get suffocated in it? Am I forced to wear it? Do I want to get rid of it? Questions were being fired left, right and center. Faster than I could cope with them. And then, there were the bus rides. Following any terror attacks, (allegedly, by what seems to have become the pet phrase with all political commentators, 'Islamic Fundamentalists',) a headscarf is suddenly noticed everywhere. People, from the looks of it, probably suspect me of hiding guns beneath it. Frisking for security at the metro stations of course took much longer for a covered-up-in-layers girl like me, than it would take the others. I looked like a terrorist, a friend once joked. Well, atleast it wasn't an accusation, the sort my American cousins had to face, way back in 2001 following the 9/11 attacks. Nevertheless, I've made my point clear. I'm writing this piece because in this ideological warfare, my pen is my mighty sword. Over the last year in college and my literature studies, I've grasped the magnitude of this power, and I've been taught to use it well. To speak out and to be heard. And so my headscarf speaks up through my pen.
To begin with, for the benefit of all the curious minds, let me announce this- the simple reason for my wearing a headscarf is that my religion tells me to do so. And since I'm a deeply, unapologetically religious person, who fully understands her right to practice her faith, this reason should suffice. A secular outlook doesn't mean its a crime to openly practice your religion. It only means tolerance towards other faiths. So long as I'm not imposing my views upon others and not condemning them for not doing what I do, I certainly am committing no crime. This is a democracy and I'm no Taliban. And no. I'm NOT your idea of the 'oppressed' muslim woman, seeking to be liberated by those who cast such pitying glances at me. I'm not bald or ugly, I'm not forced to wear a headscarf and I definitely do not wish to get rid of it, thank you very much. I do not owe explanations to anyone nor do I have to defend any of my actions. It's just that after a certain limit, it becomes quite difficult to tolerate being misunderstood and misjudged. It then becomes necessary to speak up, and that I shall.
The question of what women should and should not wear has been a part of public discourse accross the globe. Not only men, but women too have debated over what is acceptable and what is not. Now and then a certain Sarkozy or a Ram Sena or a Maulvi make an appearance on the public scene to give their verdicts on this subject. Opinions are critiqued, applauded, dissected, debated. And later buried. Somewhere in the process, people forget that muslim women too have a voice of their own. And they have their own brains too, which qualifies them for making reasonable and sound decisions for themselves. There is a general misconception that muslim women don't have a voice of their own. I am not talking about the stereotype of the 'oppressed-exploited-burqa-clad' figure that is part of the imagination of the masses. I'm talking of the real urban, middle class muslim woman who lives in the society just like other women.
And then there is the question of the muslim identity, riddled with undercurrents of terms such as 'fundamentalism', 'fatwas' and 'terrorism'. A headscarf instantly becomes a mark of a muslim identity. It screams out loud the fact that I'm a muslim. But so does any other religious markings we see in our everday lives. A cross around the neck, a mouli on the wrist, a steel kada proudly flaunted. So how does a headscarf become a mark of extremism? It forcibly puts you in a limelight you cannot escape. In a crowd of designer jeans, stylish skirts and spaghetti tops, a headscarf is the odd one out, the outcaste struggling for acceptance. I wonder if women even have had to struggle to flaunt western attire, the way I've had to struggle to assert my right to wearing my religious attire in a supposedly 'tolerant' society.
Coming to some technical aspects, I do not boast of feeling safer in my headscarf- that you cannot feel as long as you're living in Delhi and travelling alone in buses everyday. I'm as prone to an attack as the next person and so I have my set of self defence techniques to tackle my problems. As for feeling suffocated, the summer heat and soaring temperatures barely allow any clothing at all. So I guess its best to leave it to people to decide their own degrees of clothings for themselves. I know people who would dismiss my views as highly conditioned by my social background. But lets face it- one cannot escape conditioning of one or the other kind as long as one is living in contact with human civilisation. But one can of course discriminate between right and wrong for themselves and decide what is best for them. And so I weigh and deliberate and choose for myself. If my judgement finds a headscarf a good option, so be it.
Life in a headscarf is not all about a struggle- infact, except for the fact that my hair is covered, you'd be surprised to find me a normal girl! I too, have a thick and shiny mane that I spend time styling and dressing. Stylish accessories, branded clothes, a passion for music and arts, and of course my love for literature, are some of my normal preoccupations, which make me identify with the crowd of my age. There's a bright side to headscarves too- no damaged or dry hair, no split-ends, or dandruff, and you're safe from the sun and pollution. And no sun burns too!
So thats the headscarf girl for you. Just look beyond the head covering, there's a woman just like you. Broaden your perspective to embrace differences and celebrate them. My due respect to those who do not wear headscarves and choose for themselves what they wear. It's everyone's right and one that must be exercised. And that's the attitude I expect back- a broader, more tolerant understanding of other people who might choose to be slightly different from the mainstream. For me, a liberal society is rooted in respect for the personal choices of individuals and in giving them a chance to step out of the prejudices that have been created for them throughout history.
"...Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise..."
- Maya Angelou, 'Still I Rise'.
It is a frequently discussed issue. Newspapers, tabloids and talk shows can go on and on defending or dismissing it. Diverse opinions have been articulated and commented upon. So this piece of writing is not going to do it all over again. Rather, here's the other side of the story. Here's the other side of the much discussed 'symbol of oppression', the headscarf.
Ever since I started wearing a headscarf, it has been an enigma of sorts- be it in college or in public places. So why do I wear a headscarf? Am I bald or is it some medical problem? Don't I get suffocated in it? Am I forced to wear it? Do I want to get rid of it? Questions were being fired left, right and center. Faster than I could cope with them. And then, there were the bus rides. Following any terror attacks, (allegedly, by what seems to have become the pet phrase with all political commentators, 'Islamic Fundamentalists',) a headscarf is suddenly noticed everywhere. People, from the looks of it, probably suspect me of hiding guns beneath it. Frisking for security at the metro stations of course took much longer for a covered-up-in-layers girl like me, than it would take the others. I looked like a terrorist, a friend once joked. Well, atleast it wasn't an accusation, the sort my American cousins had to face, way back in 2001 following the 9/11 attacks. Nevertheless, I've made my point clear. I'm writing this piece because in this ideological warfare, my pen is my mighty sword. Over the last year in college and my literature studies, I've grasped the magnitude of this power, and I've been taught to use it well. To speak out and to be heard. And so my headscarf speaks up through my pen.
To begin with, for the benefit of all the curious minds, let me announce this- the simple reason for my wearing a headscarf is that my religion tells me to do so. And since I'm a deeply, unapologetically religious person, who fully understands her right to practice her faith, this reason should suffice. A secular outlook doesn't mean its a crime to openly practice your religion. It only means tolerance towards other faiths. So long as I'm not imposing my views upon others and not condemning them for not doing what I do, I certainly am committing no crime. This is a democracy and I'm no Taliban. And no. I'm NOT your idea of the 'oppressed' muslim woman, seeking to be liberated by those who cast such pitying glances at me. I'm not bald or ugly, I'm not forced to wear a headscarf and I definitely do not wish to get rid of it, thank you very much. I do not owe explanations to anyone nor do I have to defend any of my actions. It's just that after a certain limit, it becomes quite difficult to tolerate being misunderstood and misjudged. It then becomes necessary to speak up, and that I shall.
The question of what women should and should not wear has been a part of public discourse accross the globe. Not only men, but women too have debated over what is acceptable and what is not. Now and then a certain Sarkozy or a Ram Sena or a Maulvi make an appearance on the public scene to give their verdicts on this subject. Opinions are critiqued, applauded, dissected, debated. And later buried. Somewhere in the process, people forget that muslim women too have a voice of their own. And they have their own brains too, which qualifies them for making reasonable and sound decisions for themselves. There is a general misconception that muslim women don't have a voice of their own. I am not talking about the stereotype of the 'oppressed-exploited-burqa-clad' figure that is part of the imagination of the masses. I'm talking of the real urban, middle class muslim woman who lives in the society just like other women.
And then there is the question of the muslim identity, riddled with undercurrents of terms such as 'fundamentalism', 'fatwas' and 'terrorism'. A headscarf instantly becomes a mark of a muslim identity. It screams out loud the fact that I'm a muslim. But so does any other religious markings we see in our everday lives. A cross around the neck, a mouli on the wrist, a steel kada proudly flaunted. So how does a headscarf become a mark of extremism? It forcibly puts you in a limelight you cannot escape. In a crowd of designer jeans, stylish skirts and spaghetti tops, a headscarf is the odd one out, the outcaste struggling for acceptance. I wonder if women even have had to struggle to flaunt western attire, the way I've had to struggle to assert my right to wearing my religious attire in a supposedly 'tolerant' society.
Coming to some technical aspects, I do not boast of feeling safer in my headscarf- that you cannot feel as long as you're living in Delhi and travelling alone in buses everyday. I'm as prone to an attack as the next person and so I have my set of self defence techniques to tackle my problems. As for feeling suffocated, the summer heat and soaring temperatures barely allow any clothing at all. So I guess its best to leave it to people to decide their own degrees of clothings for themselves. I know people who would dismiss my views as highly conditioned by my social background. But lets face it- one cannot escape conditioning of one or the other kind as long as one is living in contact with human civilisation. But one can of course discriminate between right and wrong for themselves and decide what is best for them. And so I weigh and deliberate and choose for myself. If my judgement finds a headscarf a good option, so be it.
Life in a headscarf is not all about a struggle- infact, except for the fact that my hair is covered, you'd be surprised to find me a normal girl! I too, have a thick and shiny mane that I spend time styling and dressing. Stylish accessories, branded clothes, a passion for music and arts, and of course my love for literature, are some of my normal preoccupations, which make me identify with the crowd of my age. There's a bright side to headscarves too- no damaged or dry hair, no split-ends, or dandruff, and you're safe from the sun and pollution. And no sun burns too!
So thats the headscarf girl for you. Just look beyond the head covering, there's a woman just like you. Broaden your perspective to embrace differences and celebrate them. My due respect to those who do not wear headscarves and choose for themselves what they wear. It's everyone's right and one that must be exercised. And that's the attitude I expect back- a broader, more tolerant understanding of other people who might choose to be slightly different from the mainstream. For me, a liberal society is rooted in respect for the personal choices of individuals and in giving them a chance to step out of the prejudices that have been created for them throughout history.
"...Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise..."
- Maya Angelou, 'Still I Rise'.
The Land Of Candy Butterflies
The Land Of Candy Butterflies
On a lazy summer afternoon
Or night of wintry pale moon
I often choose to wander by
The land of candy butterflies
Where vibrant flights of fluttery wings
Dance on petals in happy winds
A golden sprinkling of love around
Where blooms of every hue abound.
And where no burden, no darkness trails
And every spell of sorrow fails
Where my heart swells with joy and cries
My land of candy butterflies!
On a lazy summer afternoon
Or night of wintry pale moon
I often choose to wander by
The land of candy butterflies
Where vibrant flights of fluttery wings
Dance on petals in happy winds
A golden sprinkling of love around
Where blooms of every hue abound.
And where no burden, no darkness trails
And every spell of sorrow fails
Where my heart swells with joy and cries
My land of candy butterflies!
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