Every Girl Should Know How to Make GOOD TEA

As a part of growing up the biggest challenge I faced was making tea. I mean every mother ushers her daughter forcing her to make tea at some point or the other. In simpler words making tea is the first step to knowing how to start cooking. Obviously you are a girl you need to know how to cook.

Coming back to tea which is a very essential drink in every household, some start their day with it, some at the evening, some a few times in a day and some every hour. Tea is nothing but a concoction of water, milk, sugar (sugarless for those who are dieting) and tea leaves boiled continuously for around five to ten minutes and then strained and put into beautiful cups. But that is where the beauty lies. Even with such few ingredients and some added ones like ginger, cinnamon and other masalas, every cup of tea tastes different.

As if every other person puts a little magic into their tea. It surprises me how each one of us can make tea and using the same set of things and even then it will have different tastes. Maybe its about temperature or the order in which you put the things. I don’t know.

Tea is most of the times the first thing every person makes. For girls it is also the only thing that she serves her soon to be groom with. So they judge her with the kind of tea she makes.

Tea marks the beginning of our day and also its end. It is everywhere, on the desk of a working lady, on the bedside of an old woman, in the hands of a doctor who just finished her night duty, in the thermos flask of the patients family and even in your kitchen.

I still do not know how to make a perfect cup of tea though I can make any delicacy.

Maybe I am not perfect at all....

Going and getting my own tea...

The Changing Tastes Of Indian Households with Inflation

Living in India teaches you a lot of budgeting. Trust me  Indians are very calculative when it comes to their regular lives. So am I. Well but then a hell lot of fun happens when the budgeting hits the kitchen.

Last year one fine evening my mother who used to give me these long lectures about some vitamin in tomatoes suddenly started blaming this very vegetable( or fruit as you prefer) for her acidity. Well the reason was that rate of tomatoes increased from 30 per kg to 10o bucks per kg. I mean 100?

I was very amused with all the jokes on twitter and facebook  about the 100per Kg thing. But that is not my point. With that changed the statistics of my kitchen. Tomatoes were forbidden. My yummy tomato sandwitches changed to potato sandwitches, the daily salad disappeared from the dining table, our very own Mc Donalds deprived us of that single slice of tomato they placed between the Mc Aloo Tikki  and my mother to top it all started using ketchup instead of tomato puree reasoning me that they are more or less the same. She even found substitutes like raw mangoes, dried mango powder and even lemon juice as if none of them were remotely acidic. I cursed the vegetable sellers who mocked us for buying just 250 gm of tomatoes that is around three tomatoes in a week.  Obviously he felt rich because he could afford a cart of tomatoes .

After a good long wait of 4 months , I got the taste of tomato soup and I felt like a King.

Next my kitchen was hard hit when suddenly onion prices went high. Yes you guessed it right my mother insisted that we being Brahmins should quit eating onions and stick to a pure vegetarian diet. This time my dad joined her league. He was one who’d never eat his meals without raw onion salad and then he started giving lectures on how disgusting a smell raw onions leaves. My favourite “Paneer sabji” looked like balls of white swimming in spicy water without onions and tomatoes.

And restaurants, well they had a totally new ideology. Every dish that had he word “PYAZA” or “Tamatari” had its prices doubled and the amount of tomato and onions halved. We as customers felt cheated. On asking for marinated onions all we got were 3 small shallots that too half eaten by God knows whom.

This was really a testing time for all middle class families like mine. We went on a never ending fast. Barring the rich who were least concerned as the vegetables that they eat are usually very highly priced like  broccoli, asparagus , blabla.

Trust me you might find this funny but being an ultimate foodie it was the biggest torture I ever had.

Signing off now...

My Teachers

Teachers as they say are the greatest gift to humanity. Somewhere I feel they are even above doctors as well. Not to offend anyone but I personally feel it might have been the motivation of a teacher and his guidance that modeled the career of a child into that of a doctor. The best part of being a teacher is that you can never estimate the amount of lives you have impacted and changed. Some directly , some indirectly and some almost just by existing.

Talking of my journey as a student, each and every teacher who has ever taught me has had a sweet spot in my life but two of them have left indelible marks on my overall personalities. The sculptors of my life  Mrs. Vineeta Misra and Mr. Puneet Chandra,  the former being my English teacher from school and the latter being my teacher from coaching.

Mrs. Misra was the most strict teacher in our school, a disciplinarian but she was the most warm hearted teacher the school would ever have.  She believed that one must read to travel beyond the confinements of our society. She registered her pleasures and displeasures with equal assertion over everything. Her courage defied the fragile framework she had. For me she was more like a doting mother who’d motivate me no matter how many times I failed and even covered up for  my bad marks at times of the most dreaded Parents teachers meetings. I remember her always telling me that this world is full of politics everywhere except real politics and one has to be very careful while treading the path of truthfulness. In dire circumstances I never saw her moulding her words. She never was embarrassed if she failed to know something which rarely happened  but on the contrary she would go forward and learn from  students. For her even an infant was a capable teacher because more than 90 percent of things we learn is never from the books..The admiration I had for her changed into respect  seeing every effort she made for studies to become pleasure than burden. She never knew but I was always absorbing all her qualities and today when I face the world I realize that  the courage and the boldness that reflects in my writeups are the essence of her personality. Needless to say she made me fall in love with her subject and I after all struggles that include 4 years of engineering I ended up being a journalist. And I carry forward her words and teachings in everything I write.

Mr. Chandra , a self made man, very raw in his demeanour was one teacher that I pray every students should get once in their lifetime. Though he taught Physics , the class I never was interested in but seeing him teach was in itself so captivating that I could never afford to miss even a single lecture. The zeal with which he taught displayed the sense of  responsibility he had towards his profession. He literally put so much effort as if he wanted all his knowledge to disseminate in our brains. In a class of more than a hundred students he knew exactly what each student was doing, such was his concern. He taught with the flair of a painter painting his masterpiece. Scientifically speaking The energy he created in class was never destroyed and it was transferred from one student to another. Even on days when he was terribly ill, you would not find him resting or taking a leave. I vividly remember asking him once so as to why doesn’t he take a leave. His reply left me smiling and contended at heart. “Your parents pay me with their hard earned money and when I sleep at night I am convinced that I am being true to the work God has assigned me.” He was very optimistic and also an ardent believer of Maa Durga. Ever you praise him and his reply would be “Its because of Mataraani”. The best part about him was that he was a perfect role model for each of us.  I was sad when my IIT result came not because I ever expected anything but I really wanted him to know how much he impacted myself.  Its because of him that I never gave up. I thought it would be sheer disrespect of his exceptional methodology of teaching if I am unable to get good marks in his subject. I secured a decent 80 in Physics exam which was an achievement for me.  He taught us physics of life everyday and I learnt those lessons by heart.

The flawed concept of Manning Up

I had a cousin who was younger to me but a very talented guy. He used to love cooking and writing poetry but then a single phrase changed his entire outlook towards life.

“Man up buddy”

All his friends used to tease him for his hobbies which were turning into his passion. They called him names like “the housewife”, “girlie lad” and what not. Leave aside his friends my own relatives asked him to steer away from hobbies that are considered feminine. He reasoned them, showed them cookery shows where all these young handsome males cooked delicacies. He wanted to be one of them. But alas our society expects men to behave like men!!

Men don’t cry.

Men don’t feel pain.

Men don’t cook .

Men are always in control.

Why? I guess they have been bestowed with equal tear glands as females. Their nervous system has equal sensory nerves. And probably they have the right to choose what they want to do. I mean why do men have to behave in a particular manner to be called as men!! What would I do if I told you wear only dresses, or skirts or else you are not a female, don’t speak loudly lest  you should be called a tomboy or a manly girl. Such irrelevant prejudices have led to a basic definition and  a certain mannerism in which boys and girls have to behave in order to be a part of the gender they belong to.

Still whenever we see a man cry instead of letting them be, we’ll go and give them a short lecture on how to man up. Why? Men feel hurt equally and they have every right to show it and feel it. They have tear glands that work as well.  They also have heartbreaks and heartaches that make them vulnerable. It is okay for them to shed a few tears. But no according to the society men don’t cry. So they suppress their feelings. Maybe due to bottling up of emotions leads to more heart attacks in males than females.

If I prick you with a pin on your finger, a drop of blood will ooze out irrespective of the fact that you are a male or female. Am I right? So that means we can feel equally? Then why is that men cannot register their pain?

This entire concept is so flawed that it has given rise to robots in form of men who work , smile , laugh and do everything as programmed. Being a girl if I am told not to do certain things because that is not how girls are expected to behave then I might simply ask where is it written?

For all those men out there

There are no issues if you cry, or tears well up in your eyes when you are watching an emotional movie. You can shout a loud ouch if someone steps on your shoes and you can say awwww if you find something cute. There is no concept called manning up.

It is Be Human guys !!!!

Make compromises because YOU ARE A GIRL!!!

It was dinner time. Having not eaten my lunch I felt very hungry and to my utter dismay my mother had cooked “lauki” or what we call “bottle gourd”. It is not new for any teenager to scrunch their nose on hearing this name. No one wants to eat it and almost instantly I lost my appetite. But then I saw hidden below the plate was a bowl that had one of my favourite vegetable. Fried potatoes!! And my hunger returned with all the rats changing to dinosaurs in my stomach. I grabbed my plate and served my food when I heard my mother telling me that, that the fried potatoes I was eyeing were not made for me. They were for my brother. My dislike for lauki shouldn’t have been a surprise for my mother as I have never eaten it and almost when I did it was because I was forced to. What shocked me more was even after knowing this fact very well she cooked potatoes for my brother yet she did not give a thought about me. People would say such a petty thing it is. Whats the big deal about this.

It was a big deal. These small little things are the one that pass with such a silence that their occurrence never hit us. I felt insignificant infront of my much younger brother. I questioned her simply and her reply left me stunned “He cannot eat that.”

“So cant I.”

“You are elder you can.”

“But as a child you always taught me and lectured me on my eating habits.”

“You have to go to another home. He doesn't.”

“Where does this come from? When I get married I will have a right to choose what I want to cook and eat. And this has probably nothing to do with me getting married. When you cooked this vegetable you could have easily increased its amount which you deliberately chose not to.”

“Stop arguing and eat your food. You have lost all sense of respect towards your elders.”

I still can’t fathom where was I disrespectful. All I demanded were equal privileges for me and my brother. If he couldn't eat something why was I forced to eat it. Does my mother not want a healthy life for my brother. Or did she just gave into his demands because she found it difficult to refuse him?

Either ways I felt I did not belong to that place. I am not married right now and still I can’t claim my own house to be mine. After marriage my husband would claim the house I live in as his. Will I never have a home that I can call mine? How easy it is for parents to say you will have to leave this home not even knowing that their words can pierce the mind of a young soul that resides in the body of a growing female. When my own family does not accept me as a part of them how will someone else’s family is supposed to do that?

It is sad that being a girl I have to find my identity in some other male, be it my father, my husband or my son. All my possessions are a subject to their reference. I find it amusing my mother never felt a need for an identity. She is happy being someone’s wife or mother. But I am not. I crave for more. I want to be known with my name and work. I want a house of my own. I want a body that belongs to me and only me. I can’t shackle my soul nor can I live like that. Am I asking for too much?

Yes I am LOUD

“Yes Yes I am coming”, my father yelled into the mobile.

Sometimes I wonder why does he have to speak so loudly into the phone. With the kind of pitch he has his voice will reach the receiver directly without the mobile as well but then yeah that is how he speaks.

 High pitched voice is what I have inherited from my family. We all are a very loud species. However hard I try to tame my pitch in order to sound soft and mellow, my voice will defy!! So many times I have been told by my friends to speak in a low tone. I let out secrets just because even when I am whispering I am loud enough for people in 500 meter circle to hear me. I suck at Chinese Whisper and that is the reason why my friends avoid this game. Even they realize that its basically not what I do voluntarily it just happens. Everyone in my family is known for their high pitched voice. Even I was known as “The Loudspeaker” in my school days. We can be heard from a distance wherever we are so in short we are never lost. Well during holi my mother recognizes us in a bunch of colored kids just through our voice. So it is a blessing in disguise.  Personally I became o tomboy half because of my voice because however coy I tried to behave I was always too loud and shrill for boys around. My voice intimidated them. Well sadly I always wanted to sing but then I thank God for saving the ear drums of several thousand people.

But then I came in the world of debating and public speaking and almost instantly my voice that I loathed became my shield. My well noted researched points with my loud booming voice created a persona of a very strong personality which made the other debaters very shake. There were times when others would meekly ask for a mike and there I was in all my glory speaking without a mike infront of a crowd of a thousand people listening to me with rapt attention.

I realized sometimes we all are bestowed with a quality that we hate and want to erase from our personality but then very soon we realize that is what makes us different from the masses. Yes I am loud and clear!!!! I will catch your attention even when you don’t want to give me any!!!

Being Rebellious- A Choice or an Escape

The other day I read about the “Rebellious Kids” syndrome that almost all household suffer from. Personally I have known how it feels to be rebellious. I never wanted to be a rebellious child , I was always that young little obedient girl but then I started reading. I read a lot about equality, sexist nature of society, feminist movements and that liberated my soul. The things that used to go unnoticed started making sense to me and so I started retaliating. I did not become rebellious out of the need of becoming cool or just to sound different. I changed to being rebellious because the inside pressure was killing me day and night. A dormant volcano had suddenly become active. The lava of my thoughts was scathing my soul. I wanted to talk it out with my family, I wanted to make them realize that there are some basic flaws in the way I have been brought up. But then my thoughts were too revolutionary for them, way too modern because I was interacting with books and they with the society. Everything that we do is scrutinized by the society we live in. They rate us, they mark us as good or bad. Eventually many people succumb to this and never rise. The worst part is this same very society changes as soon as you get fame and everything wrong that you might have done changes to great!! Well I am digressing from my topic.

Lets get back to being rebellious. My first act of retaliation was when I demanded equal rights for my brother. Not that I belonged to an uneducated family but yet the gender prejudices were still alive. My parents never approved the way I led my life which led to arguments every other day. At first I got scared when they raised their voice but then I started to raise my voice too not out of disrespect but because I wanted to be heard.  My father never saw a perfect daughter in me because I was rigid, had opinions, could debate and at last I refused to being stopped. Examples of other kids of the society made no impact on my ear drums neither did the remarks and taunts of my relatives. It is not that I did not care. I did. But then I did not decide the way they lived their lives so why should have I let them do that for me? I was growing up and seeing everything, I was learning. I did not want some one else’s experiences to learn. I wanted my own. Nobody would know exactly how it feels to be burned unless you actually get burned. I was ready for pain and suffering that my actions brought  but I was not ready for the sense of being under experienced.

Sadly my parents could never relate to me the same way I couldn’t relate to them. For them roaming with boys, late night calls were a sin not realizing that maybe I was doing something important. You tell me in a country like India where the sex ratio is some 800 to 1000 almost all girls will have more male class fellows. For me their unending prayers and worships was intolerable because I did not feel the need to bother God for each and every petty thing.

Alas we were poles apart. We still are but somewhere I have made peace  with them being around and objecting to everything I do. 

Growing Up

Growing up is mandatory, we’ve all heard that somewhere during our puberty but we all have also felt the need to control and sometimes even stop this process. We all wish to go back and re live the times when we were young. So have I... Isn’t it funny when we are kids we keep praying and hoping that we’ll grow up and when finally we grow up we want to go back in time and relish our childhood. Human mind works in weird ways. It always desires what it can’t have.

But then dreaming doesn’t harm does it? We can always wonder what we could have done if we are ever given a chance to go back in the past. The period from 7 years to 17 is one that teaches us everything we’re about to encounter in life, though at that point of time we are not accustomed to such knowledge so it eventually passes away unnoticed.

All that I have known about life is just a repeat of what I have seen in the past, But its only today that I realize that. Right now I am 22 a scribbled slate with too much unnecessary crap written because thats what I chose back then.

This blog will take you to the journey of growing up and even some sweet and sour experiences.

“We all are growing old and sadly we all realize that but then what are we doing about it? Nothing!!!!”