There is a certain fascination Life holds; defined in a splash of colours of despair, faith, love, conflict, happiness and a sense of awareness. My Life is a maze, a tangled web of emotions, thoughts and feelings I write so I can breathe. I am not at the end of my journey. Each passing moment is a journey in itself. My writings reflect my journey and I share my life through this. A gypsy through Life, my journey is endless, my day here, a pause, before I become aware of what more...

Sunday, October 13, 2013

We Got Served

There is a mix of frustration, anger and amusement when one moves from a metro city to a smaller city. We had a dose of it last night. It doesn’t help when you are a foodie, especially when you know how to cook, know how the dish has to be prepared and served. My husband and I began our hunt for good eating joints in Jaipur when we moved here from Mumbai two and a half months ago. (Wow! It has been that long!)

We look like a pair of firangs. Well…maybe not so much but it is obvious, we carry the distinct Mumbai touch wherever we go. You can take a person out of Mumbai but you cannot take Mumbai out of a person. So, the incredible Jaipur journey is something that continues to make me pause time and again and shake my head in utter disbelief. Each time I eat out in Jaipur, I have this great longing to open my own food place…I am getting ahead of myself.

My nephew recommended a place for sizzlers last evening. After burning an effigy of Raavan (in RaOne robotic form), we headed out for dinner. He wanted to go to the only place he ever wants to go. Dominos. I have this thing about food. Don’t repeat the food within three days unless you really cannot avoid it. I was bent on not heading out for pizza again and since it was Dasshera, I insisted we have a proper sitting-in proper meal. Niros was overflowing. That is our usual place to go to. The beer there is chilled proper, you tend to get, by a greater percentage, what you ordered, and it is all reasonably priced with decent service. I say decent service because my measurement of great restaurant service is a considerable notch (read way above) what I experience and see.

So, we turned around and headed to this recommended sizzler place at Crystal Palm called IndiJoes. I entered the place and was fairly impressed by the mixers I saw at the bar. It was a proper bar with the walls done up like any trendy pub in Mumbai, low lights, good furniture and an array of lovely cocktail glasses lined up. We grinned in agreement, parched for a good drink.

The service disaster began with delays in service of water or presentation of the menu card. We asked for a bottle of water at room temperature which finally was served to us. The steward Ravi even had Atul check the temperature of the bottle (like it was beer) before he opened the bottle to pour water. Ahem! Here is what followed:

Us: We would like to have the bar menu.

Ravi: Sorry Sir, we do not serve alcohol. (Whaaaaaaaat!!!! Oh damn…we are visibly shattered)

Me: What is that bar for? (I cannot believe what I hear especially with the super bar I see in the corner.)

Ravi: Err…that was before. Now we don’t serve.

We open the menu to see the line-up of mocktails. Amay orders a Mountain Dew (not available), Sprite (not available) and settles for a Seven Up. By the time he orders that I am cringing on the Virgin Marry, Virgin Mohito, Pinna Colladda, Cocnut Crash…the spellings makes the Grammar G in me surface and dread the drink that will come to the table. Eventually, we order the Virgin Mojitos’ and shake our head. Drinks arrive. Not enough ice but, will do.

I am appalled at the spelling errors in the list. At some point later while we are eating I mention to Atul how reflective a menu is on the state of affairs in any restaurant. It tells of the carelessness and lack of attention to excellence in service and quality of food. It will be compromised. The menu, but the way, has only three listed sizzlers, all vegetarian. The carnivore in us is fairly alarmed. Amay pipes up that he has eaten Chicken Sizzler here and describes to us what a sizzler is. Patiently we hear him out and then when the manager is called here is what and how we order:

Me: What sizzlers do you have?

Manager: We have Mixed Vegetables Sizzler with Cheese, we have Mushroom Sizzler and we have Chinese Sizzler.

I am a greater shade perturbed by now.There are several pauses before the Manager responds.

Me(cautiously): Is this place vegetarian?

Manager: Oh no! We...we have Chicken Sizzler, Chicken Shashlik Sizzler and Chinese Chicken Sizzler served with Noodles.

Amay wants a Chicken Sizzler and says he won’t be able to finish it so we agree to share. Atul orders Chicken Reshmi Tikka, Amay a Chicken Cheese Kabab and I am undecided.

Me: What is the best food available here on the menu?

Manager (in a barely audible voice): Veg sizzler.

Eh!

Me: Chicken Shashlik Sizzler? (He nods. I sigh.)

Me: Apart from that?

Manager: Continental. (Ah yes! Right!)

I decide to test out the continental fare and pick ‘Roastad Potatoes’ that describes the dish as roasted potatoes served with vegetables and tartar sause. He wries it down.

Atul: For the main course, I will have Mutton Keema with Butter Naan.

Me: Alright, that’s all. If we need more, we will order later. Could you repeat the order please.

Manager: One Chinese Chicken Sizzler

Me (I am beginning to get real frightened now): No, it’s Chicken Sizzler

Manager fumbles and reads on: Chicken Shaslik Sizzler

Me (Oh my!): No…cancel that. Just Chicken Sizzler.

He nods and strikes out.

Manager: One plate Chicken Reshmi Tikka, one plate Chicken Cheese Kabab, one plate Roasted Potatoes, one plate Mutton Keema with Naan. (I nod). Shall I serve it all together?

Atul: No, bring the starters first and then the main course.

With a ‘Yes, Sir’ he walks away.

The Roasted Potatoes get served while I am speaking to someone on the phone. I am distracted. I find myself (and everyone else) served something that looks like hash brown potatoes. I take a bite, it is a bad version of hash browns. They are edible though. The kababs arrive and we get served some really salty chicken cheese kababs with mint chutney. The chutney is great while the tartar sauce is a blob of mayonnaise with chopped capsicum in it.

We try to like the ambience; anything that can get us to feel better about the food and service. We notice the walls have whisky and beer collage on it. It makes us feel cheated somehow and we end up cracking jokes on Ashok Gehlot’s eight p.m ban on sale of alcohol in liquor shops. I recall saying this place has so much potential to turn into something great. Atul says it could become a great pub. I agree. We wouldn’t need much work on the ambience at all; just move the furniture a bit. I even see a corner where a live band can be placed. Atul indicates the ceiling and I stop short. The ceiling is painted with semi-naked women in three sections. I look around and see children sitting around having meals with families. I cringe. I have a twelve year old with me. Quite obviously a full-fledged adult bar and restaurant has turned into this family joint sans alcohol without making an effort to do something about the ceiling.

Getting back to food…The sizzler arrives before the starters are fully served. I send it back. I have registered the fact that the sizzler plate was overflowing with rice. I will deal with it later. We eat salty kebabs and send back the unsalted chicken tikkas only to find it come back to us, the same plate within ten seconds. I am getting exasperated and annoyance wells up. We eat.

Starters over, we ask for the sizzler to be served. It arrives without the sizzle. I expected that, considering I sent it back ten minutes ago because it was served in advance. I question the pile of rice and the measly dollop of chicken (which suspiciously looks like chinese chilly chicken). Ravi insists that it is their speciality that sizzler is served with rice. I am adamant by now. I tell him, I ordered a chicken sizzler and not a shashlik. Quite obviously, he cannot see the difference and I ask for the manager to come. I tell him I asked for a chicken sizzler and this isn’t one. He argues while I patiently explain to him the difference and what a real sizzler is all about and how each one differs. He agrees to replace it.

What comes back is that same dollop of chinese chilly chicken, very salted mushroom, barely steamed vegetables and fries that are not to die for. I sigh. We all do. We eat it slowly and now the anger and frustration has changed to resigned acceptance.

No wait…there is more.

Remember Atul’s main course order? While we chew on the sizzler, we are served, into the same plate (without asking) keema stuff naan. Yes, we did order different. Atul really cannot take it anymore and calls for the manager. He sounds it off and the manager once more apologizes, removes the naan from the plate and goes to replace it with Mutton Keema and butter naan.

By this time, I am desperate to know who owns this place and I wonder what it will cost to buy out a place like this and change service and the food.

We are not over with the agony yet. The man serves butter naan with Mutton (with bones) in Keema gravy. I admit, the mutton is cooked to perfection and tastes awesome. It is NOT what we ordered but we are beyond caring. In utter disbelief, we quietly eat and eventually ask Ravi to parcel the rest of the mutton for us. After a point, we are convinced the parcel has been packaged to be couriered via a third party because it doesn’t reach us.

Refusing dessert, having already decided to have ice-cream from Baskin Robbins we pay an undeserving two grand three hundred and walk out. We laugh but it has been another disappointment for us as foodies. We miss Mumbai food and service. I could do so much with this place if only I could buy out this place…I need to get rich fast and open up a place that will awaken people here to excellence in service and quality food that is a memorable one, something one would want to return to over and over again.

Sigh!

- Sandy

Thursday, October 3, 2013

This Thing Called Pain



This thing called pain
never quite leaves my side,
emerges from the ashes
of dead feelings.
Invisible it watches,
preys, soaks in
the pretences and two-faced indignities
carried out in the name of love,
feeding on the carcass
of a happier time,
piece by piece,
limb by limb,
tearing mercilessly
to fatten the pain and emerge
with monstrous capacity to hurt,
to numb and then kill.

- Copyright@Sandy2013

Slammed



This is a long gap from my last one. I guess when things are intense you either write some of your best pieces or enter a block. I don’t know which one this one. I am still figuring that out but that is not what I want to write about today. 

I am forty-one and about three weeks ago, I sifted through my old stuff finally; the stuff I had packed away when I left the Navy in 2001. Yes, that long ago. Old trunks full of treasures, papers you thought you had lost and so many memories. I found two of my slam books from way back when I was in college and school. John Stamos glued as a cover and another blue-eyed guy at the back, too shy to even admit then that I really liked John Stamos, it was covered with a translucent cover. I smile when I think back. I flipped those yellow pages and it was more smiles. Guess what? My classmates from way back in school and college had me figured out well before I spent another couple of decades figuring me out. 

I even had a survey page on my Slam Book from College where I asked people what they thought I was like. I was apparently friendly, helpful, nice, sensitive, trusty and responsible. But, Himanshu, you said I was unpredictable. Well, I guess, you saw that way before anyone else did. 

I love you all! Across the years, thank you for making me smile! 

I am in touch with about twenty percent of them. Some of the names I do no recall a face, some faces, just photographs has me struggling to recall names (that’s from the huge bunch of pictures I found as well). I wish I could find some friends I have wondered about over the years, like Priyanka Singh. No online search has emerged with the one I am hunting for. I have remembered her every birthday and I have prayed she was doing well and happy wherever she is. 

I also found a page written by my brother then. I believe, for each other, we have remained the same. My eyes did tear up reading that he had so much faith in me then and he still has. I thank God for that. Beliefs and trust, a desire to not be forgotten, the marvellous eighties, the crazy fun times, little things I had forgotten. 

I also found a napkin with the signature and basketball players tag numbers mentioned from the 1990 Senior National Basketball team from Jammu Kashmir. It was my first Senior Nationals and it reminded me of how carefree those days were. It also filled my heart with heaviness that half of those players who were from Srinagar are those who no longer played subsequent nation tournaments because suddenly we lost all those girls to the endless abyss of terrorism and restrictions that came with it in the state. And they were brilliant players…Zeenat, Jeeya, Shabana, Amrita…you were missed. 

I rummage in the frail pages, paper napkins for memories of those I will probably never meet in my life. I smile reading about referrals to crushes I had, to the pranks we played, to the beer we drank at NASA during my SSB in Bangalore. There were five of us who hung out together. One of us didn’t make it. Three guys joined the Army and I the Navy. Kumud, Teddy, Harry and Mahendra, you guys are remembered.

I am still reading stuff. I am smiling as I go through old pictures that have so many untold stories. I got truly slammed! 

- Sandy

Monday, March 4, 2013

Thoughts and a Sense of Dread

No, this is not a post about the regular stuff I write about. This is more about how I see the world around me, in a historical and political sense. This is about why I have never been impressed with the United States of America and why I do not have that urge to ever move or visit this bullying nation. My post is not targeted at the common American who walks the streets and has no control over the decisions that its country takes that makes it a bully. My post is simply an expression of a feeling of dread over what India is going to go through in this decade...something, if we do not wake up to on time, maybe even faster, before this decade is up.


Narendra Modi (read BJP) and the Wharton episode is something I have been wondering about. Kejriwal to replace Modi at Wharton Forum Now that Kejriwal (read Congress) has been brought into the picture, my mind (the little politics I see at a macro level - thanks to my Political Science professors in college) pictures the whole thing a little differently. I wonder how many more Indians see it that way. Let's take a head count somewhere. Baseless? Umm...no. With the elections coming up soon for the coveted Prime Ministerial post, which will have an impact on the future of Indian polity and economy, here I am asking why is it that Kejriwal gets an invite to Wharton? Especially, just before the elections? Is the US pitting them against each other and expressing its support for a slack Congress governance and slowly beginning to interfere in Indian politics in a very subtle manner? How big a threat is Narendra Modi to the US and their interests at large?

I am not a supporter of the current Government and Narendra Modi may not be a clean politician, but this is my country's laundry that does not require an external infiltration of opinions and subtle moves that will affect the nation's choices and turn of affairs. A lot of people will say I am over-reacting. I am not. I am simply expressing my perception of the subtle way the politics in the country and in the region is changing. It is simply a matter of viewing the macro of what's happening in a very micro invisible manner.

Let's view the US's advancement into the Asian continent...Vietnam, Iran, Iraq, Kuwait, Afghanistan, Pakistan...is India far behind? Read up How did the US involvement in SE Asia in the 1950's impact the political climate and US intervention in the Middle East and US involvement in Middle East - 2 Reasons to scale back All of this is, of course, made easier by a complacent political set-up, a kind non-aggressive border policy and corrupt politicians, insensitive and spineless police that oppresses more than protects, lack of safety and progressive inflation that India is diseased with. The cancer is not as benign as we think it is. The question is do we recognize it? 
For today, SRCC students New Entrepreneurs of Change , take a bow! 
Copyright@Sandy2013

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Of Masks and Love

Sometimes, it is just one of those days when you want to write, there is a lot to say and words fail you. Perhaps, today is such a day. When one looks at it, there is nothing unusual about it. It's the same early morning noise, the same sun trying to get scorching hot as the hours pass by, the same birds, trees, sounds of people at work, noise, conversations, calls. 

Yet, it is a unique day because this day will not come back again. We all sleep at night, hopeful and positive about life. Yes, despite the pessimism in our hearts sometimes. Of course! You sleep, making commitments for the next day, setting up your alarm to wake up the next day. That is hope. That is faith in the air you are breathing, knowing there is another day ahead of you. 

As the day goes by, we have our moments of being courageous, of being loving, of being kind, of being our own person before everything surrounding us begins to push us to wear the mask. The mask of being a father, a mother, a son, a daughter...whoever. We keep flipping each mask, becoming who someone else wants us to be.  The best miracle ever in a day is when we have less masks to wear I think. 

If someone were to tell me, "I don't wear masks", that would be the biggest self-deceit you can subject yourself to. I also know, the only time those masks come undone is when you find someone who loves you for who you are, just the way you are and doesn't judge you for it. That is the biggest miracle. We all come undone with love. What a beautiful experience that is. That utter joy inside out is the best moment of our lives. 

At the end of the day, it all boils down to love. When you break it all down, it all boils down to love. 

Copyright@Sandy2013

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Something Positive

A friend of mine said to me, right at the beginning of the year, on the first day, "I want you to write something positive." It has taken me twenty-two days to get to the point when I have sat down to write something positive and here I am wondering where to begin.

You see, being positive is not a festive date or an occasion. It is a constant state of wrangling yourself out of some chaos or the other on a regular basis, daily, hourly, what have you. With a person like me, it might be something even more frequent. Being positive requires a stubborn attitude to insist on finding the up-side in everything that we do. You may lose faith in a lot of things but as long as you believe in the fact that you are a single masterpiece and there is no other quite like you in this world, you will do just fine. That, my friend, is the belief that you have in being YOU. 

We are such pretenders, all of us, well...mostly. We want to be an ideal person (or appear to be)...a daughter, a son, a brother, a sister, a wife, a husband (o ye married lot)....the list is endless. We strive to be all that. In the journey, you forget that being YOU is really what you need to be...everything else will fall in place, the way it is meant to be. Dare to have honesty with yourself and stop pretending to be someone you are not. That will fade, ever so quickly and heck, who wants to live a lie and be afraid of being caught? Not me. 

I do not have that much time in the world. I want it all. All or nothing. I live with passion and I know it is a big deal. Make it your big deal. Find what works for you. Find your passion and see the aura of its positive energy draw people to you. Make that tiny step to being you. YOU. 

Copyright@Sandy

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Like a Tree

Transfixed beside you
In a thought that hung
I stopped at the crossroad
beside you to belong

Seasons came and swept by
fall turned me to gold
cold winds bared my soul
I remained in stories yet untold

Loyal to the core
under stars be-jeweled
then young and vibrant
I stand now old, wrinkled

Un-swayed by the words
which tempted my faith to falter
I stood for the beloved
that stood not beside me at the altar.

Copyright@Sandy