मन कहन/ Meandering Mind

Munching on mutton cutlets in the movie hall, one would be too engrossed in the film to think about possibly offending any co-movie watchers who might be conservative vegetarians. However, carrying a similar meal to school was a completely different matter…   Having been born into a Bawa (Parsi, for the uninitiated) household, a non-vegetarian diet has always been as natural for me as raindrops and sunlight. However, owing to the fact that I’ve lived around people who were rather strict vegetarians, a bit of tact was always called for in order to not offend their feelings. At a very young age, I was adequately aware of the fact that meat and eggs were anathema for most of our neighbours. Though my family never made a secret of our eating habits, we did make it a point to avoid mentioning non vegetarian food before acquaintances who were vegetarian. I must have been about four or five when I would often go over to a neighbour’s place to play with their son, who was a little yo...

Captain Haddock, Professor Calculus, Bianca Castafiore, Thomson and Thompson…. Do these names ring a bell? I was first introduced to the world of Tintin sometime in the late seventies, when the Times of India serialized “The Red Sea Sharks”. Though not yet ten, it was obvious to me that this was no run of the mill comic strip. The characters, the narrative, the entire package so to say, held me in thrall. Shortly thereafter we chanced upon Tintin comic books in a book shop in Mumbai (then Bombay). Again, these were unlike the usual comic books we were used to. Large pages, all 62 of them, filled with colourful, detailed drawings and taking forward a single story full of adventure, thrills and humour. They were also more expensive as compared to the comics we were used to buying but it was decided that the money spent would be worth it and so the first Tintin book came into our hands. It was “Flight 714”, my brother’s choice. Upon returning to Indore from our vacation, we...

How would you like to have some froth for a winter breakfast? Winter in most Parsi households is incomplete without at least a couple of mornings devoted to “Doodh na Puff”. It is one of the oddest and yet simplest breakfast dishes you will find anywhere in the world. In fact, some people might even refuse to accept it as a dish! Milk is sweetened and boiled to reduce it. Then, it is poured in a pot or pan which is covered, not with a lid but a thin muslin cloth. This is then left out in the open overnight, preferably on the terrace. These days, those living in metros make do with putting it away in the refrigerator, though it’s not quite the same as the traditional way. Next morning, before the sun comes up, this milk is taken indoors. A little Rose or Vanilla essence might be added to it (it’s optional). And then begins the actual process of making the puff. The milk is beaten with an egg beater or hand blender so that froth starts forming. This froth is carefully coll...

That corner of the verandah has witnessed the Fakhta cycle of life over and over again for years now. Don’t remember when exactly the Fakhtas first set up their nest in our home but once they did, they really made themselves at home… generations of them! A particular corner of the verandah was their chosen spot, where they built their nest atop the Chameli climber. Eggs were laid, hatched, babies born, learnt to fly and then off they all went – babies, mama and papa. The nest never lay abandoned for too long. A few months later, another Fakhta pair would turn up to start a family. The nest would be refurnished so to speak and off they went again laying eggs, caring for and feeding the babies when they came out etc… That corner of the verandah has witnessed the Fakhta cycle of life over and over again for years now. The Fakhta’s cooing is one of the usual sounds of nature around our house. If they are not on the Chameli, they can be seen basking in the sun on the boundary wal...

The dark cover of night reluctantly begins to rise out of bed, wanting to savour every one of the last moments of its reign. The call of a Bulbul perched atop an electric wire somewhere pierces through the dark. And with it, a slumbering night receives the first signal that the time to pack up is approaching. The cover of darkness stretches out like there’s no tomorrow but then another Bulbul a few blocks away sends out a counter call. Soon the two early risers are engaged in a war of words, unmindful of the rest of the sleeping world. Then, somewhere further away, a peacock calls out to welcome the approaching day. Closer by, a couple of more little birds energetically chirp up, as if answering a roll call. Heavy footsteps outside declare that the lonesome pre-dawn morning walker is on his way. The minutes tick away but darkness still sprawls out, aided in part by the cloud cover that has overstayed its welcome. However, it’s just a matter of time before the eastern sky...

They invite me, they tease me. They taunt me, they plead with me. Sometimes they hide, challenging me to find them. And then there are the ethical dilemmas they put me through ! It’s that time of the year. The Chameli (Jasmine) beckons every morning. The milky white little stars dangling from their green canopy hold exclusive rights over a part of one’s morning schedule for all the months that they stay over. They arrive in mid or late August and hold court all through September and October, often staying on in November and sometimes even hanging on till well into the new year! Their arrival is preceded by keen inspections of the climber for signs of buds forming. And with the spotting of the first buds begins the wait for the first lot of flowers to blossom. The buds take their own sweet time, leaving one to speculate on which one will flower first. And amid this speculation it often so happens that one fine day the first flower appears at a spot that was nowhere on the i...