I love random things. The kind that plop into your life when you least expect and fill it with something new and interesting. Much of my life has been built on random decisions and it’s been a delightful pick.
Merriam Webster says being random is taking a haphazard course, without definite aim, direction, rule, or method. Wikipedia adds that randomness is a lack of order, purpose, cause or predictability. Aristotle is said to have defined it as a situation where a choice is to be made which has no logical component by which to determine or make the choice. The term is also often used by statisticians to mean lack of bias or correlation.
Random selection forms the basis of Tarot card readers, teen-patti players, lottery buyers and so on. Things that to us seem mystical and magical and out of our control. And thus provide much excitement of stepping into the unknown by trying them out. Websites like randomwebsite.com and stumbleupon.com makes it interesting to experiment on randomness on the internet, where exploration can lead you to places/people/thoughts you didn’t know existed.
Allthetests.com had a random test on randomness. Questions were something like this. Have you ever worn a ballerina outfit to the mall? Have you stolen an aged piece of garbage? Have you gotten mad at a tree? Do you lick the table on Wednesday? Do you own a planner? Have you annoyed a butterfly? Have you befriended a mailbox? Do you enjoy staring at the wall? Am I scaring you? Do you speak Italian? Can I have your t-shirt? Does Riley own a cow with band aids attached? Have you ever done a dare? Do you have an unnatural fear of staplers? Have you told a stranger that you loved them? Have you skipped dinner? Have you ever been to a gas station to drink an ice tea? Do you hate cockroaches? Do you hate cockroaches? Have you ever travelled to a country just to take a picture? Are you mad at your eyes? According to the test I am sort of random. Hmm ballerina outfit eh.
Sometimes we meet people that things just seem to happen to. And they lead the wonderful lives we’d love to lead. Probably because they are living random. Loving the idea of random I’ve realised means being open to life and everything in it. It means letting oneself be curious, experimental, hopeful, non-judgmental and welcoming. No matter what one encounters, one embraces it and makes it part of one’s life, no matter how strange, icky, weird it might seem. All the explorers and experimenters are definitely lovers of the random.
Living random scares many of us. It’s the phobia of the unknown, of not knowing what to expect. So many of us lead lives which lead to expected results and rue that the unexpected never happens to us. No surprises, no magical events, no wonderful things that just happened out of the blue.
I wonder if we could experiment with random, even if for just a day in the week. Say Wednesday is random day, and we do random things, make random decisions. What would it be like? Uninhibited, mad, crazy, constantly surprised...it would be like being a child again.But then again, guess the idea is to open yourself up to the randomness of life. It wouldn't be random if you planned random, would it?
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Everyday Musings > Food Glorious Food
I've been attempting to cook for the last few months. Recently I bought a book - ‘Pure and Simple Vegetarian Cooking’ by Vidhu Mittal. It has beautiful pictures, easy instructions and some lovely recipes. It’s been three days since I’ve been trying a dish a day from the book – brown rice with besan zucchini, carrot and peas pulao and today, phulka with minty aloo. My salt is consistently less and the phulka today fluffed beautifully but wasn’t as soft as it ought to be. It is truly fun to cook and eat fresh, hot food. And I’m sure it is a hell of a lot more fulfilling to cook and feed it to someone too. Once or twice I’ve carried my experiments to work, so my dear friends (who I call my three mothers) can taste it and tell me where I’ve gone right or wrong.
Lunch in the canteen is a depressing affair. The food is insipid and far from nutritious. A platter of diced fruits is all that’s palatable at times. The days when someone gets food from home, our eyes light up. Everyone heaps spoonfuls and relishes it, conversations are more animated, the laughter heartier than usual. A good lunch gives everyone enough reason to smile till the afternoon tea.
The other day, on the way to a meeting, a colleague J and I were discussing that if not for our taste buds, we could pop little green food pills and life would go on without a hitch. There’d be no restaurants, no canteens, no wastage and no hunger problem. I shudder at the thought though. The smell of fresh bread being baked, the taste of apple pie, the last bit of chocolate sauce that waits to be licked off the lip, the appeal of a hot roti giving into a slab of white butter...I cannot imagine food not being food.
India has so many varieties of food; they differ from state to state, region to region, home to home, hand to hand. World over, food is a major reason some people know that a few countries exist. Lebanese Falafal being one instance. Or Caribbean beans. Japanese Sushi. Or Indian curry. Food seems to be a great way to understand culture and initiate hospitality. The first thing anyone does to make a guest feel welcome is to take them out to dinner. The simplest way to show your appreciation for an alien culture is to eat the local food.
Anthony Bourdain, Jamie Oliver, Kylie Kwong, Yan, Sanjiv Kapoor, Tarla Dalal have all earned much praise and fan following for entertaining people with their culinary talents. A cookery show is so relaxing to watch, the neat precise manner in which the ingredients are measured and set aside in plain bowls, the different woks and kadhais, the cooking process and finally the garnishing and serving. Cooking is therapeutic and it is amazing that in a planet with so many creatures, human beings are the only ones able to cook food and relish it.
I learnt to cook a few months ago, and realised that I’ve been missing out a wonderful experience. I wonder why food is not taught as a science to students and why there are no kitchen labs and culinary studies in school? How is it that such an essential skill escaped their attention and is relegated to a Home Science or Catering elective in college?
The way my grandmother cooked and the way my mother cooks and the way I cook are so different. Like copying the same film onto different CDs, there is much generation loss, but as long as there is the willingness to cook, and enough love in the preparation of it, I’m sure food will never turn into a little green pill.
Lunch in the canteen is a depressing affair. The food is insipid and far from nutritious. A platter of diced fruits is all that’s palatable at times. The days when someone gets food from home, our eyes light up. Everyone heaps spoonfuls and relishes it, conversations are more animated, the laughter heartier than usual. A good lunch gives everyone enough reason to smile till the afternoon tea.
The other day, on the way to a meeting, a colleague J and I were discussing that if not for our taste buds, we could pop little green food pills and life would go on without a hitch. There’d be no restaurants, no canteens, no wastage and no hunger problem. I shudder at the thought though. The smell of fresh bread being baked, the taste of apple pie, the last bit of chocolate sauce that waits to be licked off the lip, the appeal of a hot roti giving into a slab of white butter...I cannot imagine food not being food.
India has so many varieties of food; they differ from state to state, region to region, home to home, hand to hand. World over, food is a major reason some people know that a few countries exist. Lebanese Falafal being one instance. Or Caribbean beans. Japanese Sushi. Or Indian curry. Food seems to be a great way to understand culture and initiate hospitality. The first thing anyone does to make a guest feel welcome is to take them out to dinner. The simplest way to show your appreciation for an alien culture is to eat the local food.
Anthony Bourdain, Jamie Oliver, Kylie Kwong, Yan, Sanjiv Kapoor, Tarla Dalal have all earned much praise and fan following for entertaining people with their culinary talents. A cookery show is so relaxing to watch, the neat precise manner in which the ingredients are measured and set aside in plain bowls, the different woks and kadhais, the cooking process and finally the garnishing and serving. Cooking is therapeutic and it is amazing that in a planet with so many creatures, human beings are the only ones able to cook food and relish it.
I learnt to cook a few months ago, and realised that I’ve been missing out a wonderful experience. I wonder why food is not taught as a science to students and why there are no kitchen labs and culinary studies in school? How is it that such an essential skill escaped their attention and is relegated to a Home Science or Catering elective in college?
The way my grandmother cooked and the way my mother cooks and the way I cook are so different. Like copying the same film onto different CDs, there is much generation loss, but as long as there is the willingness to cook, and enough love in the preparation of it, I’m sure food will never turn into a little green pill.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Everyday Musings > On the sidewalk
I grew up in Andhra, Delhi, Calcutta, Mumbai, Bangalore, and have travelled across the country. But when I had to decide where in India I would like to live, as a single woman, of the 29 states and 6 union territories, Mumbai was the only place that felt relatively safe. It was the only city I could see myself being on my own, having the freedom to live and travel and use the public transport, all alone, after 8 pm.
It unsettles me. This lack of choice. And makes me wonder why it is so.
At the Kalaghoda Fair, there was an installation, a maze created by walls of saris stretched across a frame that you had to walk into. It was called the Labyrinth. It was narrow and one didn’t know where it would lead to. And had signs hanging from above...of incidents and places where women’s freedom had been violated. It was a claustrophobic experience, one that I wished I could run out of. I felt the fear I feel on a semi-deserted bridge or subway, in a nearly empty bus or in a crowded market.
I pick up the papers and read about women being raped, physically assaulted, paraded naked or threatened with acid. TV reports recently showed a bunch of college girls being manhandled and beaten in full view of cameras by hooligans and paid hands. And if these seem random, one only has to step onto the streets to feel the stares, the gropes, the lecherous looks that strip you from head to toe, faces that leer, voices that come close and whisper obscenities or 'hello baby' in your ear. I have waited to cross the road and have seen decent looking guys from ‘good families’, on bikes, with their sisters or girlfriends sitting pillion, air-kiss or letch openly at women on the sidewalk.
My friend M recently posted on her blog about a new taxi service for women in Mumbai city. She said “It’s not only safety concerns that have prompted the move of such a concept in Bombay, it’s a need, when women sit in a taxi, they don't feel comfortable - it’s everything from hygiene to the driver gawking at you in the mirror to the attitude and behaviour of rudeness and belligerence one has to put up with especially given that you don't seek a free ride in the black and yellow! In fact I know of some colleagues who arrive by the last flight into the city late night, and hire a cab from the airport, often pretend to be on mobile phones when alone with male drivers to create a feeling of safety.”
What is this India we live in today? It clashes with every value that my brother and I have been taught as children, every value that I am sure every Indian child has learnt. We pray to so many goddesses, revere and respect our mothers and sisters and yet see our women facing so many unmentionable atrocities. Why do some men treat women like this? What is it that they are trying to prove? Who are they trying to be? What makes them step out of home and do this and go right back and touch their mother's feet?
A fan of Phantom comics, I remember the picture of a beautiful woman dressed in Gold and a blurb that said “Old jungle saying - A beautiful woman clad in the finest jewels may walk in the jungle safely at midnight."
Societies, old and new, would to date count themselves safe if they could make a claim like this. We probably had this kind of peace and freedom from fear a long time ago, during the rule of some benevolent kings, when we were called ‘Sone ki Chidiya’(the golden bird) perhaps. But the India of today has traveled far from Phantom’s just world. I pray it doesn't lose its way completely.
It unsettles me. This lack of choice. And makes me wonder why it is so.
At the Kalaghoda Fair, there was an installation, a maze created by walls of saris stretched across a frame that you had to walk into. It was called the Labyrinth. It was narrow and one didn’t know where it would lead to. And had signs hanging from above...of incidents and places where women’s freedom had been violated. It was a claustrophobic experience, one that I wished I could run out of. I felt the fear I feel on a semi-deserted bridge or subway, in a nearly empty bus or in a crowded market.
I pick up the papers and read about women being raped, physically assaulted, paraded naked or threatened with acid. TV reports recently showed a bunch of college girls being manhandled and beaten in full view of cameras by hooligans and paid hands. And if these seem random, one only has to step onto the streets to feel the stares, the gropes, the lecherous looks that strip you from head to toe, faces that leer, voices that come close and whisper obscenities or 'hello baby' in your ear. I have waited to cross the road and have seen decent looking guys from ‘good families’, on bikes, with their sisters or girlfriends sitting pillion, air-kiss or letch openly at women on the sidewalk.
My friend M recently posted on her blog about a new taxi service for women in Mumbai city. She said “It’s not only safety concerns that have prompted the move of such a concept in Bombay, it’s a need, when women sit in a taxi, they don't feel comfortable - it’s everything from hygiene to the driver gawking at you in the mirror to the attitude and behaviour of rudeness and belligerence one has to put up with especially given that you don't seek a free ride in the black and yellow! In fact I know of some colleagues who arrive by the last flight into the city late night, and hire a cab from the airport, often pretend to be on mobile phones when alone with male drivers to create a feeling of safety.”
What is this India we live in today? It clashes with every value that my brother and I have been taught as children, every value that I am sure every Indian child has learnt. We pray to so many goddesses, revere and respect our mothers and sisters and yet see our women facing so many unmentionable atrocities. Why do some men treat women like this? What is it that they are trying to prove? Who are they trying to be? What makes them step out of home and do this and go right back and touch their mother's feet?
A fan of Phantom comics, I remember the picture of a beautiful woman dressed in Gold and a blurb that said “Old jungle saying - A beautiful woman clad in the finest jewels may walk in the jungle safely at midnight."
Societies, old and new, would to date count themselves safe if they could make a claim like this. We probably had this kind of peace and freedom from fear a long time ago, during the rule of some benevolent kings, when we were called ‘Sone ki Chidiya’(the golden bird) perhaps. But the India of today has traveled far from Phantom’s just world. I pray it doesn't lose its way completely.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Everyday Musings > By Chance
I watch a bit of a film called 'Just my Luck' which was about this really lucky girl who always gets the best of everything in life, till one day she loses it when she kisses someone who has terrible luck, and they switch destinies. What a helpless situation that would be. If you always wished to be lucky, you'd then wish and pray that you never lost what you asked for. That's the thing with something external I guess, that you could always lose it. I read somewhere that SRK wakes up every morning dreading that he's not famous anymore. But does luck happen by chance?
Fairy godmothers, guardian angels, magic lamps, lucky charms; all are shortcuts, or surecuts to get us the life we want. And what stops us from just going out there and getting what we want? Maybe we don't believe that we can. Maybe we want a quick fix. Maybe we want to be absolutely assured of our happiness. That makes sense – we want to be sure, certain, 100% in the know of tomorrow. Of a happy, joyful, healthy, wealthy tomorrow. The kinds that magic wands seem to promise. And if ever, we get that, even for a minute, we call it luck, fate, destiny, chance, magic, signs, coincidence or the work of a guardian angel.
I'm convinced I have a guardian angel. From the time I was a child till today, I've been taken care of, protected, and loved; every step of the way. If I lost something, I always found it or something else made up for it. If I ran out of money, I'd find some tucked away in my jeans, old wallets, any place I least expected to find some. I see signs everywhere that save me, help me make a decision, bring me out a spot and make me smile. I have had my share of tears and fears, but in hindsight everything that happened to me, happened for a reason. And it's made my life what it is.
Perhaps each one of us has a guardian angel, reaching out, helping like a silent elf. But maybe we're too busy worrying and wanting to notice. Or perhaps, just perhaps, each one of us is our own guardian angel, magic wand, lucky charm, destiny keeper. And the coincidences that we smile at, or the signs that we see, are all the work of our own mind. We make our lives what they are, and all those incredible things we thank luck and chance for, maybe is our own doing. Our minds have supreme power and our bodies are masses of energy and together they attract more than we see. If we call on good, we see good. If we call on bad, we see bad. Like in the Alchemist, 'if we really want something, the whole universe conspires to get it for us'.
So by wishing, praying, hoping, wanting, we're making our energy work for us, to get us what we want. Ironically, if we get it, we celebrate the role of coincidence, chance, luck, fate, but not our own minds. Only the celebration comes with a rider; if I don't know how it came about, how can I make it stay or keep coming back? So we are indebted to an external benefactor, Luck, Fate etc; and we remain chained to that thought, always nervous of losing what we think we got by grace.
I went to K's wedding on Sunday. It was the first catholic wedding I'd ever attended, and thanks to SD, I waltzed, did the wedding march, jived and did the birdie dance too. And when all the single women were called to catch the bouquet, I went and joined them, standing there, remembering all the movies I'd seen this part in. I watched as the bride turned around, raised her arms, flung the bouquet over her head, and the bouquet sailed into the air and to my utter surprise, landed in my hands. What a stroke of luck and fortune said everyone. You will soon marry lucky girl. And they grinned at me.
Yes, it was luck, a thing of chance I said to myself and smiled. A sign from my guardian angel who knows my silly romantic mind. Now I wonder, was it just me, making it happen for myself.
Has luck always been ours for the asking?
Fairy godmothers, guardian angels, magic lamps, lucky charms; all are shortcuts, or surecuts to get us the life we want. And what stops us from just going out there and getting what we want? Maybe we don't believe that we can. Maybe we want a quick fix. Maybe we want to be absolutely assured of our happiness. That makes sense – we want to be sure, certain, 100% in the know of tomorrow. Of a happy, joyful, healthy, wealthy tomorrow. The kinds that magic wands seem to promise. And if ever, we get that, even for a minute, we call it luck, fate, destiny, chance, magic, signs, coincidence or the work of a guardian angel.
I'm convinced I have a guardian angel. From the time I was a child till today, I've been taken care of, protected, and loved; every step of the way. If I lost something, I always found it or something else made up for it. If I ran out of money, I'd find some tucked away in my jeans, old wallets, any place I least expected to find some. I see signs everywhere that save me, help me make a decision, bring me out a spot and make me smile. I have had my share of tears and fears, but in hindsight everything that happened to me, happened for a reason. And it's made my life what it is.
Perhaps each one of us has a guardian angel, reaching out, helping like a silent elf. But maybe we're too busy worrying and wanting to notice. Or perhaps, just perhaps, each one of us is our own guardian angel, magic wand, lucky charm, destiny keeper. And the coincidences that we smile at, or the signs that we see, are all the work of our own mind. We make our lives what they are, and all those incredible things we thank luck and chance for, maybe is our own doing. Our minds have supreme power and our bodies are masses of energy and together they attract more than we see. If we call on good, we see good. If we call on bad, we see bad. Like in the Alchemist, 'if we really want something, the whole universe conspires to get it for us'.
So by wishing, praying, hoping, wanting, we're making our energy work for us, to get us what we want. Ironically, if we get it, we celebrate the role of coincidence, chance, luck, fate, but not our own minds. Only the celebration comes with a rider; if I don't know how it came about, how can I make it stay or keep coming back? So we are indebted to an external benefactor, Luck, Fate etc; and we remain chained to that thought, always nervous of losing what we think we got by grace.
I went to K's wedding on Sunday. It was the first catholic wedding I'd ever attended, and thanks to SD, I waltzed, did the wedding march, jived and did the birdie dance too. And when all the single women were called to catch the bouquet, I went and joined them, standing there, remembering all the movies I'd seen this part in. I watched as the bride turned around, raised her arms, flung the bouquet over her head, and the bouquet sailed into the air and to my utter surprise, landed in my hands. What a stroke of luck and fortune said everyone. You will soon marry lucky girl. And they grinned at me.
Yes, it was luck, a thing of chance I said to myself and smiled. A sign from my guardian angel who knows my silly romantic mind. Now I wonder, was it just me, making it happen for myself.
Has luck always been ours for the asking?
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