A holiday-full weekend 24 March 2008
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(Photograph from BBC News. Click on the image to view more pictures from the news site.)
At home this weekend we had a cross-cultural occasion to mark both the Christian celebration of Easter and the Hindu festival of Holi.
With neither feast falling on exactly the same date each year, this was one time when they coincided one day after the other. So the weekend was spent commemorating both, with FrenchBeard giving us lessons about Holi, the festival of colours to welcome the coming of spring, and my parents sharing notes about Easter, the remembrance of the resurrection of Christ Jesus.
Feeling like a Delhiite 17 March 2008
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(The President’s Palace, New Delhi. Photograph by bornonacusp.)
Now that my parents are here in Delhi, I am amazed at how much I have adjusted to the city’s unpredictable weather.
It’s spring, and I am loving the climate and again wearing sleeveless and spaghetti-strap tops and shorts. But both my father and mother are finding the temperature unfriendly. In the early mornings and evenings they wear socks and warm clothes, and they use blankets to sleep.
Once in their first few days here, we went out to visit the President’s Palace and a few other sights, and my father had actually draped a jumper on his shoulders, preparing for a cold spell outside. He was very delighted to discover that, even for him, it was really pleasant that particular morning.
Weather is relative and FrenchBeard is right, it is a matter of getting used to. And now I’m behaving like a genuine Delhiite.
Basketball and fish, or bridging Manila and Delhi 13 March 2008
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Spring cleaning is always hectic: Changing the curtains, changing cushion covers, cleaning windows kept shut for a long time, making sure all the jumpers, quilts, and the rest of the winter wardrobe and paraphernalia are washed and neatly tucked away.
But for me and FrenchBeard, spring cleaning got an add-on frenetic pace as it coincided with preparations for the coming of my parents to Delhi, their first visit ever.
Now both my mother and father are generally low-maintenance individuals. They will make no special demands and derive joy in simple things. But of course we want to make their stay as comfortable and fun as we can. Two things in particular that we have had to ensure before they flew in last night from the Philippines:
That their television will have ESPN, on which my father can watch his NBA games. Quite difficult, given that this is India, and basketball is waaay down there in the list of sports that a cricket-loving nation will go crazy over. The cable guy couldn’t find the right channel at first, but now we’ve got it.
And that there will be ample supply of fish in the meat freezer for my father. Very easy, given that we love fish too, and that our favourite wet market carries the widest range of fish in this city.
With these two taken care of, all should go well, and FrenchBeard and I look forward to giving them some Delhi surprises.
As for the things which can potentially cause so-called ‘cultural shock’, I’m sure my parents will do just fine. If we’re making Indian dishes, then we will tame the spices. The racoons and pigeons tapping on our windows early mornings? That would be a delight to my parents I’m sure. The wandering cows? Again, they’re intelligent beings and they know about this. The traffic, no problem at all, it will only remind of Manila. The politicians too.
Bookshelving as art 9 March 2008
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FrenchBeard and I love books.
That’s why when we were dolling up our flat, we spent a considerable amount of time with our bookshelf. We wanted it to be both functional and ornamental, and we think we got it.
For now, at least. That ideal design, of course, is still lingering in our heads and the execution will have to wait for some more time.
Anything as unique as any one of these would be lovely.
These designs are only three of the 30 I found in this home site.
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. 30 January 2008
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We woke up this morning to the sight of our orange dahlia’s first flower blooming.
French fictionist Anais Nin’s ode to the blossoming of a flower comes to mind.
(Photograph by bornonacusp)
The pigeon has come home to roost 13 September 2007
Posted by bornonacusp in Delhi life, Domesticity.comments closed
No, not a figure of speech. The pigeon has come home to roost. Our home. And not only is she perched; she’s having babies!
We’ve always had a slight “pigeon situation” at home. Pigeons come to our window sill either to rest before another flight, sleep, fight, or just chill. Apparently, the third-floor view is perfect.
In the beginning, FrenchBeard and I were concerned. He would even device “barriers” in the hope of keeping the birds away. (Not those commercially available spikes, which is what people in North America normally use, according to what we’ve read on the Net.)
But whoever coined the pejorative term ‘bird-brained’ has never met our pigeons. Our pigeons are clever. To every one of FrenchBeard’s smart moves, they had their own, even smarter, counter-moves. And in the end — endeared to them too because of their resilience — we said, alright, you can stay. FrenchBeard even started a nest himself, gathering a few twigs and placing them on the window sill.
True enough, eventually, a hen chose our home for her nest. So she sits there, her feathers no longer the least ruffled by our noises and voices. In two weeks, she’ll have her squeakers (we didn’t see how many eggs there are exactly). That should be a riot.
French Toast with a twist 27 July 2007
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The times I’ve had French Toast, it was usually with fruit jam. And even with its nice-sounding name, it always seemed to taste bland. That I’d rather have my eggs separately, in an omelette perhaps stuffed with mushrooms and cheese, and my milk in a cold glass.
Now I know how infinitely more exciting it is to treat French Toast not as the dish itself, but just like plain sliced bread with which to make a sandwich.
Make your toast. FrenchBeard’s tip is to soak the bread slices for a longer time in the egg-and-milk batter before frying them in a butter-lined skillet, making sure they’re brown and crunchy on the outside.
You can then experiment with your filling. If you’re into meat, you can maybe use salami or ham. But one truly delectable filling definitely has no meat: a mix of finely chopped tomatoes, onions, fresh coriander leaves, and green chillies (in which you go slow if you’re not used to it). It requires more than a bit of work. But definitely makes a fine start for your morning.
Cheers to bitter beginnings 9 June 2007
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Bitter is the word for the start of a typical Indian meal (especially for Bengalis).
In our home, a favourite is the very simple fried bitter gourd (ampalaya to us Filipinos): sliced very thinly and deep-fried to a nice crisp in sunflower oil. It’s an appetizer that goes well with rice and dahl and another dish, vegetable or meat-based perhaps. It’s very tasty and will surely awaken your appetite.
Not that I’m new to bitter gourd; while it is easy to hate this vegetable for its sheer bitterness, I’m not one of those who do. And I’ve always liked my mother’s recipe of sauteed ampalaya with beef strips in oyster sauce. But ampalaya-as-appetizer is something new for me, and again is a nice surprise, as in many other dishes I’m discovering here every day.
Apparently, too, starting one’s meal with something bitter helps to normalise the body’s digestive process. Seeing FrenchBeard, it makes complete sense. Unlike me (and many others of my family and friends back in the Philippines), he has a digestive system that works quite perfectly well. No complaints, and everything is like clockwork.
Then again it may not be just the bitter gourd. Indians do get a lot of good bacteria in their diet including those you get from yoghurt and soy. Those, too, aid in digestion. See they do generally eat smart and have a lot to teach compulsive, mostly unhealthy eaters such as myself. But no guilt here; no way am I giving up my coffee. Just learning a few new tricks to healthier (and still fun) dining.
Hot Hot Delhi 6 June 2007
Posted by bornonacusp in Delhi life, Domesticity, Muni-Muni.2 comments
I survived my hottest day here yet. Last Sunday there was this searing, unbelievable, oppressive heat that felt like a solid wall closing in on you; by mid-afternoon my migraine attack came, tamed only by a nap, a second bath, and guzzling loads and loads of water and fruit juices. When FrenchBeard checks the paper the morning after, he tells me, ‘No wonder you felt really hot yesterday. It was 44 degrees!’ Wow, 44 degrees. I’ve never known 44 degrees Celsius. So that’s how it feels.
Then, Monday was good news, as the mercury fell by six degrees. Now it’s again crossing the 40-degree mark and climate authorities are saying the rest of the week will be, ahem, “intense.” (Leave it to Indians and their use of the Queen’s English — masking bad news with sophisticated words.)
But I should not say I’m completely surprised, as I was sufficiently warned about Delhi heat. It was in fact among FrenchBeard’s initial concerns about my flying in to Delhi in the month of May when temperatures would be expectedly high. But I always said I will be fine and better to get the hottest season over with. I knew I can cope. I simply had to remind myself of the time I was doing graduate studies in UK, and I could just barely see the sun, a tiny wisp of a circle which — to a tropical girl such as myself — did not even emit warmth at all. But it never got in the way of living a wonderful life.
So now it’s the heat which I will have to live with some more, without letting it hamper home life, work deadlines, and fun. And it really is a nice excuse for always having ice cream in the freezer.
The rainy season will then come and winter will soon follow. And they will all have their own discomforts too. That’s how life just is — different seasons, different spices. You chew it.
Bitle, 30 May 1995 – 2 June 2007 3 June 2007
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Sure, Bitle was old, and he’s been ill for some time. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be painfully missed.
I met Bitle in December last year. Never having had a dog in my life, I had thought I will not like living even temporarily with one, much less three which is what FrenchBeard had in their old family home in Lucknow. But call it transitivity or whatever, as he loved Bitle, Chutki, and Bhuto, I loved them too.
Of the three dogs I found Bitle to be the friendliest. I think he quickly warmed up to me too. He would come to me and sit on my lap and just stay there while I touched his ears. In the mornings, he would wake us up by scratching on our door, first faintly, then more frantically. He would walk towards the bed, wait for us to say ‘Good morning,’ then go. I liked him.
But two weeks was all that I spent with him; FrenchBeard has 12 years of memories of the old guy. Bitle was a thorough Daschund, down to his core. He liked his bread toast a certain manner, his egg boiled for just the perfect number of minutes. Otherwise, a little pale toast, a little harder egg, and he will not touch it. He was that persnickety.
A favourite story is of the time many years back in his prime, when a breeder had come to Bitle’s house with his dog, who needed a mate. The day was set and the two dogs were left alone. Bitle was all ready, and kept circling and circling the bitch but she just stood there, not even glancing at him. Needless to say that left Bitle quite frustrated. The guy then told FrenchBeard’s mother that because Bitle had just one testicle, he would not make a good mate.
Eventually, in his old age, Bitle turned blind. But he was still the loving dog he always was. Not too long ago he began falling seriously ill, and last night he died in the arms of my mother-in-law, his companion and caregiver and whom he looked after too. She is devastated. (After all, this is the only one of the three dogs whom she called her son. And Bitle was always jealous of the [human] son and daughter: He uncannily knew when it was FrenchBeard she was speaking to on the phone, and would casually approach and press the plunger; when her daughter comes for a visit and she just as much as sits next to her mother, Bitle would always sneak up in between.)
FrenchBeard’s family is letting Bitle go. And now he is buried in their backyard, next to his favourite mango tree.
