Fugiyas... Celebrating Life!

I’ve always had these during celebrations, be it weddings, birthdays, christening, communions, and other important occasions, and sometimes, even after church on Sundays. Being brought up in a predominately East Indian neighbourhood, fugiyas was always a part of celebrating life. 

Making these little delight brought back the warmth of the memories of those celebrations, and the aunties and nanas who prepared them. So making fugiyas was in a way celebrating life, reliving those memories, honouring all the nanas and aunties I love and miss so much. In these troublesome times these memories are the soothing balm that helps to calm down a troubled mind, proving indeed why cooking is therapeutic.

Once again mumma became my Sous Chef, though she was a bit hesitant of me taking a stab at making these. But in the end she relented to my silly persistence. So while I tried to master the art of getting the perfect fugiyas (trying desperately not to get chatka from the oil due to the water on the fingers, a technique which you used to make then). The first few were had odd shapes, but then they say “practice makes perfect”, so I channelled all the aunties and nanas, slowly and steadily mastering the technique, getting the hang of making, the still not quite perfect, fugiyas. 

Well how did they taste, you may ask. Firstly, it was edible (phew, now that’s a relief), so yeah to me! They didn’t quite taste like the ones I remember and cherished having, but then these were not bad either, and tasted good. So not bad for my first attempt. In a way making these proved to be therapeutic, just what life would have prescribed.

So in the end, this little side dish brought back memories and helped relive them, and in its own way brought about a celebration of life!

Chiquitita

 She sat on her childhood bed, staring at the picture of a girl who was smiling back at her. The smile seemed oddly reassuring but it masked the pain behind the smile, just a facade. Oh how she wished she could travel back in time and warn her about what was in store for her, maybe then things would be different. Maybe she could guide her to a better and brighter future instead of going through the things she had gone through.

From her adolescence days she knew she was different. She was not like the other girls. She didn’t like doing the so called girlie things. Because of this she was always treated like an outsider, but then she didn’t much care about it. Her father didn’t find anything wrong with this but her mother constantly nagged her about it. Other than this they were supportive of her and always believed in the right balance of studies and extra curricular activities. But some how they still didn’t get her. 

So she found herself battling to come to terms with her true identity. Confusion and awkwardness reigned through her formative years. And when she finally managed to come to terms with her identity her parents couldn’t handle it. They feared of what society would say, of all the gossip, their standing. Not once did they consider her and what she was going through. Her mother blamed her father for being liberal with her and letting her do what she wanted to do, and her father blamed her mother for failing to see the signs despite being a woman herself.

She tried to block them out of her head, but their constant quarrels and bickering always occupied her head. It pushed her into a dark corner, a dark and lonely place, on the brink of a total breakdown. When she couldn’t take it any longer, she tried to put an end to it all. This sent her parents into a greater panic. They starting searching for marriage proposal for her, getting her married off to the one they thought was suitable and would bring some sense and sanity to her.

Marriage was something new to her, something she never thought about, something she didn’t want. But then she resigned to her faith and tried to settle in the ebb and flow of her new life. Like everything else, he showed his true colour once the honeymoon period was done. He often forced himself on her, when she refused his advances, calling it his right and her duty, leaving her physically and mentally abused, leaving her scarred and bruised. She tried to confide this in her parents but they just brushed it aside saying there would be chinks that would need to be fixed.

And then she discovered she was pregnant. She wanted to have an abortion cause she couldn’t get herself to bring another life into her dark and scary world. But her in laws and her husband would have none of it. The abuse became even more unbearable.

Finally she found the strength to take a stand and walk out of the life of pain that she was in. She initially stayed with a friend who was supportive of her, and also because she was not sure if her parents would ever take her back.

But life had other things in store for her. It finally took a turn for the best. One day, when her mother visited, she saw the scars on her body. That day they both had a breakdown, and in the flow of their tears their relationship thawed. In the flow of their tears and in that warm embrace they resolved to stand by each other.

She returned to her childhood with her mother, to even more tears of happiness. From that day on her parents made a promise to stand by her, no matter what, and they did. She knew it was difficult for them, as it was for her, with all the gossips and all the side way glances and whispers that would stop the minute they were seen. She knew it was difficult for them to accept and understand the situation but she could see the effort they were putting in and she was appreciative of it and was  happy to have them by her side, along with her friend. 

Together they were able to set her free from a toxic marriage, her rock through the turmoil. And when the baby came their joy knew no end. They became doting, gushing grandparents. Their acceptance influenced others who slowly began to accept and understand her. She was finally able to find her feet and live the life she wanted.

And so she found her self sitting on her childhood bed, staring at a pic from when she was little. She was on the cusp of something she had been through before but only this it was of her own will and her choice. She put the picture back in the frame and placed it at her beside. She sighed and eagerly waited for daybreak, the day she would marry the woman of her dreams.

The Proof in the Pudding

I remember my mumma making these when we were growing up, and she still does. Whenever there were extra pav in the house, mumma would make it, and I would relish it, and again, I still do (cause Roddy can’t eat just one). She made it in a humble pressure cooker, and it was one of the most beautiful and delicious thing I’ve eaten, then most of the things that mum made are mostly delicious (aren’t all mum good cooks because they do it with dollops of love).

So when you have been quarantined baking and cooking, it seemed like a good idea to take a did at it. Of course, you wasn’t going to take mumma’s help, cause this was my project, your spin on a traditional dish (damn now I sound like a contestant from Masterchef Australia, definitely not the Indian one). And hey, I had to do something hatke to take edge off this lockdown, and the agonising frustration of your internet not working. Hence decided to recreate this classic dish myself.

The first attempt didn’t quite go as I would have liked it to. Firstly, didn’t have previous day’s bread, so had to make it with fresh sliced bread. Though I did try to dry it  out first by keeping the slices of bread in the sun. Next, I didn’t quite have a dish to make the pudding in. So as usual decided to use my pie dish. But then the pie bottom meant that the mixture would seep out, and it di. So had to transfer the mixture to three utensil before I finally settled on a chatti to make it in. They say you’ve got to see the silver lining in every dark cloud, so doing this meant that the bread absorbed the liquid mixture.

 Baking went smoothly, but the outcome didn’t really meet the expectations that I had set for myself. Maybe it was the lack of a proper dish, the centre was quite moist but baked. And when I tried to get it out it looked like Mrs Whiskerson. But then it tasted yumm. So not bad for my first shot.

They say “koshish karne walo ki har nahin hoti”, and I now I’ve come to believe this too. You’ve got to try, try, till you succeed. So making it just once wouldn’t wet the baking appetite, had to make it again, to perfect it. This time I actually got myself an actual baking dish, yipeee!

 So went about assembling the ingredients and then putting the dish together and hoping it would would all come together, especially since I had run out of vanilla essence and had to make do with eliachi powder, as recommended by my mum. Got worried when I saw the mixture rise in the OTG, but it looked delicious. Baking went smoothly, and  I didn’t quite create a mess, so yaay to me!The outcome looked good but not as good and shiny as my mumma makes. But hey it did look good, and when I emptied it it came out smoothly without sticking to the side (as it did previously).

In the end it was not a bad attempt. I did come close to recreating my mumma’s pudding. It may not look as great as hers, but hey I am happy with the outcome, and I know in time I will surely perfect it. And yeah having it with vanilla ice cream makes for an awesome heavenly dessert. So in the end, I can say that the proof is indeed in the pudding!

The Boy who Bakes

Well, can a 40 year old still call himself a boy when he’s far from being one? Even If I can’t, for all practical purpose I shall stick to the title, after all I am a child at heart (which many of my friends and family would vouch for), a boy who refuses to grow up (but I’m no Peter Pan)!

Now that we have got that out of the way, there shall be no further debate (though I can still hear the snickering), let’s get back on track (did we ever get started,to go off it in the first place?)

They say “A way to a person’s heart is through their stomach” (see, I’ve tried to be gender neutral... but then enough of trying to be politically correct), but would it be right to say that a way to his mind is through his stomach too? At least in these strange and anxious times.

Whatever may be the outcome of that theory, cooking and baking has been the calming balm in these strange stressful times, except when it is the cause of the stress. Like when your dough doesn’t come together and is all runny, so your buns are end up looking like an amoeba, or when you try to grind tomatoes and cashews and add water to the content only to have it splash all over the kitchen, leaving you (and in most cases , your poor mumma) the task of cleaning it, or when your cookies keep getting burnt. All this could be quite stressful to a novice hobby baker like yours truly. 

But despite it all, cooking and baking have been proven pretty therapeutic to me. A proven outlet to escape the insanity. And the good thing is you get something delicious (well, maybe not always, but most of the time you do get something edible) from all your endeavours. It taught me patience, especially when it comes to kneading dough. It showed me how to succeed after failing a couple of times (a thousand times would definitely be an exaggeration). So I tried and tried until I succeeded (to be read as burnt a couple of cookies and a few fingers). It showed me how to roll dough without it looking the map of India, or any other country for that matter. But most importantly it taught me how to read, understand and follow a recipe (and here we thought that men couldn’t take directions).

So I have baked cookie6, apple pies , chocolate ganache tart with peanut brittles, cheesecakes, burger buns, as well as made aloo Parathas, chicken sukha, butter chicken, and not to forget, a mess. And mother has been the one reaping the benefits, or enduring the torture, of the fruits (or the outcome) of my baking and cooking l.

So in the end, whichever way you look at it, I can say with pride that baking and cooking has brought me joy, kept me sane, kept me from loosing my mind. Cooking and baking has indeed been very therapeutic to me. And so is this write up on my love for cooking and baking.

Of Mothers...

Of Mothers, I have three

Though not all of them have birthed me

Or carried me in their wombs

But I am blessed as a man can be

Cause I don’t think it’s a criteria

For a woman to be called a Mother

Must be that she’s the one 

Who has given birth to you

So I am blessed that I have had three wonderful women

Who I can proudly call my mum

They nourished me 

They nurtured me

Took care of me

And times pampered me

As well as disciplined me 

Shaping me into the person I was meant to be

The man I have become

They instilled value and gave me love

Showed  me the meaning of respect 

As well as how to respect 

How one must conduct oneself

How one should respect and treat others 

And value things that we have been blessed with

Though I may have not always seen eye to eye

Or try to understand the reason why

And often misinterpret your every action

I know what you did you did it for us

You did it for our best 

Though I didn’t see it then, but I know now

You were looking out for us

Giving me what i needed, not what I wanted

And now that I know, i will be always grateful to you all

And though it may a little too late

 I want to say a big Thank You

For all that you have done for me

And I am sorry if I have been the thorn in your side

Instead of the apple of your eye

And now that some of you have gone on to a better place 

I want to tell you how much I miss you

How much I am grateful to you

Cause I am who I am because of you

And your love and sacrifice 

And for this I will always be in your debt

I will always love you!

Here’s to those wonderful ladies

Who may not have been my mom 

But treated me nothing less than a son

And will always be a mom to me

And then those friends who mothered me

Who have cared for me, looked out for me

As much as they have bullied and teased me

And to the friends who are mothers

Who show what it means to be a mother

Setting an example for ones to come, to follow

Setting an example for me to follow

A salute to all these wonderful women 

And all the Mothers the world over

Not just one day

But  all the days of the year

All the days of our lives!

Love in the time of Quarantine

We found ourselves in a strange time

In a strange time we found each other

While the world around was social distancing 

It was social networking that brought us together 

We were out there

With not much of a clue about the other 

But destiny conspired 

And social media obliged

A simple comment lead to conversation 

A conversation lead to sharing

Sharing lead to a bond 

And that bond only got stronger 

We bore our soul to each other

Narrated our past

The events of our present

And what we expected from the future 

We exposed our very being

Till there were nothing much to share

To souls laying, almost naked to each other

We poured our hearts out

Exposed scars and wounds

That we hid from the world 

Cause we didn’t want anyone to see

But we were comfortable to share it

We found a comfort level in each other 

And became comfortable with each other 

Though it may feel strange the way we found each other

Especially when considering we were healing 

From our own respective wounds

From our self inflicted scars

But we came into each other’s lives

Like a dawn in the darkest of night

A breath of fresh air in this strange, strange situation

I’ve had this feeling before

But it still feels new, feels different, feels beautiful, feels strong 

And though there may have been fears 

There have been doubts

And in my silliest of lows 

I’ve tried to push out

But the truth is I can’t bare a day without talking or seeing you

Sometimes I fear that I’ll take you for granted

And you’ll get fed up of my idiotic ways

And just give up on me

But you calmed me down and brushed away my anxiety

Helped me to be rationale and not an overthinker 

You brought calm to an overthinking mind

You gave me love, showed me love

That I had given up on

That I didn’t feel I deserved 

And through all my fears

I couldn’t help myself from falling for you

And I couldn’t hold myself back 

From saying those three words to you

Cause it encapsulated what I felt for you

What you meant to me

I did question myself about it

My mind tried to rationalise with my heart 

But then my heart won the debate

And when I said those words to you

It felt like a weight lifted off my chest

My whole world going from monochrome to technicolor 

And when you said it back to me

You lit my life with a million watts bulb

Banishing the darkness of fear and doubt 

That had engulfed my heart

Though people may scoff at us

Say we are going too fast 

And I myself may have questioned myself  

But it felt so good 

It felt so right

It felt like the right thing to do

And then, as they say, rest of it is history 

And now can’t live a single moment 

Without thinking about you

Can’t t think of a future without you in it

My feeling for you are real

My feeling for you is true

They are genuine

From a place deep within

And I know you feel the same way too

I love you for who you are

Who you will be

And how we are when we are together

And though there maybe distance between us 

I feel you all around me

Your love envelopes me

Makes me feel safe and secure

I promise you this

I’ll be there for you

Like I know you’ll be there for me

Through the ups and downs

In the good times and the bad 

In sickness and in health 

In life, death and beyond

You can lean on me, as I lean on you

You are my love, my heart, my life

The love of my life

I love you forever and always

Till my very last breath

I love you and will always love you!

Sexuality and Sensuality and ME

My sexuality and sensuality are sacred

It’s who I am 

It’s who I choose to be

It’s something that no one 

Can take away from me

You can choose to label me

To box and pigeonhole me

Call me names and try to tear me down

But I will be unabashedly unashamedly me

My body is mine

And I have every right to enjoy it

But my body too has the right

To be treated with respect

I am proud of it

Every inch, every curve

Every scar left by wounds

I am perfectly imperfect 

They way I am meant to be

The way I intend to be

But Before I can love anybody else

I am learning to love myself 

I am learning to accept who I am

Cause if I can’t love myself

How will i love somebody else

My sensuality and sexuality are sacred to me!

Hum Honge Khamyab

He stood in his window staring at the darkness outside, with a candle flickering in his hand. A kind of reflection of life at the moment, trying to keep the flame burning, trying to be the flame, in the darkness that he found himself in, that the world found itself in.

He stood there with the candle in his hand, not because someone told him to but because he wanted to. He didn’t know what much could be achieved from all this, other than a photo-op for social media, and rabble rousing. There wasn’t going to be any tangible outcome in it all, nor did he see any religious significance that others associated it with.

He was there out of his own free will, because he wanted to. He wanted to applaud the ones in the frontline, the true warriors, the fighters, the defenders, the ones keeping them all safe, keeping them alive. He wanted to show his appreciation, though he knew this was not really what they wanted. They didn’t need appreciation, they needed support and cooperation and a lot of help in combatting an unseen enemy. He stood there for these warriors.

So he stood there with his candle in his hand, standing there for what he believed in, what he stood for. Low and behold others joined him in their windows, some because they were told to, others out of their own free will, just like him, and still others for the photo-op which they would later post on social media for their followers. 

As they all stood there together someone began to chant some shloks, others began shouting nationalist slogans and reciting the national anthem. For some reason this made him feel uneasy, made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t an atheist nor did he have anything against any particular community, he just felt that brining religion into it wasn’t the need of the hour. Matter of fact he didn’t support the misgivings of his own community. Again, it wasn’t like he was not patriotic he just didn’t believe in the brand of pop patriotism where you were to required to wear your patriotism like a badge across your chest, on your sleeves, to shout it out. The present moment was more bigger than anyone, was bigger than any religion or nation. It was the whole world world in it together. 

He stood there with a sense of uneasiness  growing within him. He wanted to scream and just ask them to shut the fuck up, cause he felt that they would never really fathom what they should be doing against what they were actually doing, what he thought they should be doing. 

He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. And suddenly a song rose from his heart and traveled to his lips. It started as a whisper, a simple humming, but then the voice in him only got louder. And then his mother joined him. Slowly it began to catch up, and others too joined in. The beautiful song slowly drowned out all the sloganeering as more and more people joined in song. Soon the night was filled with beautiful music as people sang in one voice, with a song on their lips and hope and prayer in their heart, a feeling of thanksgiving, of togetherness, a will to overcome all obstacles, a knowledge that together they will, a sense of gratitude for everyone who was helping them get there, fighting for them, protecting them.

They all closed their eyes and joined together in song, the perfect way to show their appreciation and their will to battle on and not bow down, to overcome all obstacles in their way.

हम होंगे कामयाब, हम होंगे कामयाब

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

हो हो मन में है विश्वास

पूरा है विश्वास

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

हम होंगे कामयाब, हम होंगे कामयाब

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

हो हो मन में है विश्वास

पूरा है विश्वास

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

होगी शान्ति चारों

होगी शान्ति चारों ओर

होगी शान्ति चारों ओर एक दिन

हो हो मन में है विश्वास

पूरा है विश्वास

होगी शान्ति चारों ओर एक दिन

हम होंगे कामयाब, हम होंगे कामयाब

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

हो हो मन में है विश्वास

पूरा है विश्वास

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

हम चलेंगे साथ साथ

डाले हाथों में हाथ

हम चलेंगे साथ साथ एक दिन

हो हो मन में है विश्वास

पूरा है विश्वास

हम चलेंगे साथ साथ एक दिन

हम होंगे कामयाब, हम होंगे कामयाब

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

हो हो मन में है विश्वास

पूरा है विश्वास

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

नहीं डर किसी का आज

नहीं भय किसी का आज

नहीं डर किसी का आज के दिन

हो हो मन में है विश्वास

पूरा है विश्वास

नहीं डर किसी का आज के दिन

हम होंगे कामयाब, हम होंगे कामयाब

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

हो हो मन में है विश्वास

पूरा है विश्वास

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

हम होंगे कामयाब, हम होंगे कामयाब

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन

हो हो मन में है विश्वास

पूरा है विश्वास

हम होंगे कामयाब एक दिन