Everything in black-white except the flower

How do you like this composition?

This is too bad. I am back after a long gap of almost 7 days. And I had planned to post one blog everyday!! Is this what Julia in Julie and Julia calls ADD??

You know, the title of my blog reminds me of an old pun, what is black and white and red all over?? .... the newspaper ofcourse!! (read!!!) well todays paper has many more colours too!!

Well, never mind! I want to write about a yellow daal that I prepared yesterday.
I cook arhar daal in a pressure cooker with some thin slices of onion, tomato and haldi. I keep a large pan to make the seasoning. A dollop of ghee goes into the pan. It swirls around melting gradually.
How could I do this? 'Behaving like a breathless teenager!! I mean this is so strange. We were sitting on the short wall inside Pragathi Maidan sipping hot coffee. This gentleman in a neat jacket walks up to the Costa coffee counter. Is it him? The grim dad of Taare zameen par? Wait let him turn around him once more. Yes it is! Shall we talk to him?
I have never done this before. I just walk up to him and hover close by till he turns around. I say ‘excuse me’… he gives us a sceptical look. He is suspicious of us.
I drop the mustard seeds into the hot oil and they go chit-chit-chit
Are you...errrr did you….errrr did we see you in Taare zameen par? His face clears. Aaah! They have not come asking for money...or favour!! Yes he says
I put in two spoons of udad daal and some chana-daal
We say ‘A very nice film. We saw it many times’. … ‘Yes many have seen it more than once’ he clarifies. How could I be so daft! Where do I go from here?? ‘Are you from the theatre?’ I ask. ‘Yes, from NSD’ he says brightly and adds hopefully ‘Are you?’ ‘No’ I reply. ‘Are you from Delhi?’ he asks. ‘No from Bangalore’ I tell him. He has a look of a puzzled ‘so’….. and I am desperately looking for an escape. By then some friends come up to him grabbing his attention. We hastily say our ‘byes’ and make an exit
Oops! The kari-patta in my hand goes soggy and the udad-dal is burnt.
I empty out the oil and start the seasoning process all over again. Actually what I want to say is
Think of the present, the now and let not the past or the future clutter the mind. We let the moment on hand go by, while we fret and fume about things done or not-done.

100% with the present .... else ... you burn the seasoning!

CLOTHESLINE

Have I captured the love-labour that goes into a clothesline? There is something so friendly and humble in a clothesline. It happens only in India.

Pink chaddis and faded jeans
Holed Socks and tatty towels
Kurta with sequins
Shirts with tassels
Out in the open, for all to see
Out in the open, others’ envy
You stoop and you stand
You put clothes on the line
Predictable regularity
Comforting domesticity.

Food for the Book Hungry

Pragati maidan book fair - watercolour

It can’t be true that Delhi has NO nice book shops. Let us say that I have not yet walked into one. I miss the two tiered Strand book stall, good old Nagasri at Jayanagar, the whopping Landmark at the forum mall and Sapna Book House which I depended on for more kannada books for amma.

So the book fair at Pragathi Maidan is a blessing – heaven sent. Achu and I were there from 12 to 5 and had barely covered 2 halls. There are stalls by big time publishers like Harper Collins and Penguin and Rupa and smaller stalls by lesser known publications. There are stalls with a smattering of books catering to niche reader set and stalls with a deluge of books and book-lovers.

Aaah! The smell of new books, a heady mix of colourful spines, arrays of light blue and pink and brown covers of identical books piled up for sale, books that bring back memories of college days, books with strange names, books you wonder whether anyone will ever read and books you would love to possess if only….you could!!

It is equally fascinating to study the lovely people who visit the book fair.

A wise old man meticulously looks for books that he has pencilled down in his small diary. A spectacled lady, a teacher or librarian perhaps, copies names of books that interest her. A determined young boy has an arm load of books and his father patiently explains that he needs to make a selection of only three. There is also this guy who has obviously been dragged into the fair by his booklover friend and is forced to browse. Booklover-friend, with a shine of excitement in his eyes picks a paperback Don Quixote and thrusts it to our guy saying, “hey, you must read this yaar. Bahut accha hai”. Our guy looks at the book sceptically, opens it a few pages, and confidently returns it saying, “arre yaar, yeh to original nahi hai. Translated hai. Dekho, yahan likha hai. Main tho original loonga”.. (hey man, this is not the original. It says here - translated. For me only original will do) … the original Don Quixote by the way … is in Spanish!

We decide to buy an Asterix. I have read many and do not remember their names, I only recall incidents. The person at the stall is a true-blue Asterix lover… he tells me exactly which book to buy.

We come away glowing with two bags of books. Soon to be overtaken by a happy gentleman with a heavy jute bag slung on his shoulder and dragging behind him a loaded trolley bag, both full of books!
One day, I will publish my book and this man will walk away with one of mine.