Gaffes at a Mumbai Irani Cafe and Dal Ghotala

Gaffes at a Mumbai Irani café and Dal ghotala

In the guerrilla war of the bulge you never know when your diet will be ambushed. There are traps and lairs everywhere and you are ensnared when you are most unprepared.

Two Saturdays ago, on a morning that appeared magically cholesterol free, our diets were accosted once again.  

It was a beautiful day in June and for once, instead of food, we had music on our minds.

We were reverently visiting Furtado’s - the iconic historical music store opposite the Metro cinema in the Dhobi Talao area of South Mumbai.

When we stepped out of the melody steeped environs to meet friends in Navy Nagar for lunch then - we were brimming with music. So satiated was I with my musical encounter that I almost said I didn’t think I could eat lunch.

Fortunately for me however, I swallowed my words just in time.

As we turned the corner a nondescript board made its appearance. And it read ‘Kayani’

Kayani? Kayani!!! Mumbai’s famous hundred year old Irani café – Kayani!!!

I could hear some music again.

The Pianos at Furtados?

 No. This was a familiar rumble and it was moving away from me.

It was coming from under the green T-shirt on the tall man striding away from me. A man I had thought was my dieting ally until a few seconds ago.

I stared disgustedly at the receding green T-shirt on the man I had married twelve years ago. One look at the Kayani signboard and he had turned traitor to our weight watching cause.

So what if he had long legs – I would overtake him!

We raced to the marble stairs of the eatery and then suddenly we could walk no more. The menu in large white lettering on the blue board outside and the sight of the jellies and custards in the display at the entrance made us weak in the knees.

That was when we spotted the knotted blue rope considerately hanging at the entrance.

A hundred years of having weak kneed customers like us had prompted the owners to hang that rope there to help people in predicaments like ours. And that day the rope rescued us. We grabbed it to help ourselves up the stairs.

There was no doubt this place belonged to the previous century. It certainly belonged in the Pre Cholesterol Obsession era.

A hundred or more eggs grinned unabashedly at us as we stood there. The Caramel custards and jellies were a little more covert in flaunting themselves but their inviting looks were unmistakable. As we stood rooted to the spot their cousins – the creamy chicken patties arrived in tray loads and plonked themselves in clear view next to the chicken lollipops and laughingly beckoned us.

There was no escape.

The contemptuous waiter with his knowing smile waved us to the red and white gingham print tablecloth clad table. Perspiring and breathing heavily we collapsed there.

“Ch …….ch…….chai?” I queried hesitantly with an apologetic smile.

“Haan, haan……. Bun maska chai na?” The generous waiter corrected me irritatedly.

We nodded eagerly in relief. We hadn’t dared to hope for the maska (butter) but what the hell. We had gone back a hundred years in time (the prices on the menu under the glass slab on our table confirmed that) – we needed the calories.

Our waiter disappeared.

Another appeared. We asked for chicken patties. He hung around suggestively with a knowing smile.

“Chicken lollipop, chicken farcha, mutton cutlet, keema ghotala aur eggs akoori bhi le aao” my husband muttered hurriedly in a single breath and ducked under the table in anticipation of a reprimand from the present era.

The tea was tear-jerkingly sweet. The bun had so much butter on it. Everything was deliciously deep fried and egg coated. And to reassure us as we ate the thin wizened owner of Kayani sat in full view at his counter - allowing us to hope that no matter what you ate here, you could still look like him.

Every cell in our bodies protested as we left.

We rode the ten kilometres from Dhobi Talao to Navy Nagar in guilty silence for lunch.

Lunch???????? Oooops!!!!!!

Through lunch our friends gave us looks of confusion and irritation. They complained several times that we looked dazed and distracted. And as the clock struck five they exasperatedly said goodbye.

The taxi driver looked at us for instructions.

“Dhobi Talao” we mumbled without meeting his eyes.

“Ch……ch…ai?” I muttered again to the same waiter who had served us that morning, looking steadily down at the tablecloth in embarrassment.

“Chai, khari, nan, khatai…………..?” he asked scornfully

We nodded quickly.

“Aur ek chicken nuggets aur do fish and chips parcel” we added with eager nervous smiles.

Dal ghotala

1. Measure out a cup of Sabut Masoor Dal.
2. Wash it and add 5 cups of water to it. Add salt and half a teaspoon of garlic paste.
3. Close the cooker and heat it on high flame until the first whistle. Then turn down the flame and cook for another twenty minutes.
4. Turn off the flame and allow the cooker to cool.
5. Meanwhile cook a packet of frozen seekh Kababs (Chicken, Mutton or Vegetarian as you prefer) as per packet instructions. Actually just microwaving for a minute at maximum power also works.
6. In a karahi heat two tablespoons of oil. Turn down the flame and add 1 tsp of jeera seeds, 5 cloves of chopped garlic, ¼ tsp of garlic paste, a green chilli and ¼ teaspoon of turmeric powder and fry until golden. Be careful otherwise it will burn.
7. Pour the dal into the karahi and boil well for about 5 minutes. Mash the dal against the sides of the karahi as it boils.
8. When the dal has attained a smooth consistency add 5 tablespoons of milk and boil some more.
9. Now cut up the seekh kabab into centimetre wide pieces to get rings.
10. Add these rings to the dal and boil some more.
11. Serve hot.
12. Garnish with sliced onions fried golden brown if you like. 

Of Swords and Guns and Cheesy Garlic Bread

So the Ram Navami Holiday started with a distinctly worded complaint from the man.

“You never make puris” he said accusingly - wolfing down the puris that had made their way to our house as part of the Kanya Pujan Prasad from an assortment of neighbours.

Now I have to tell you, I am a meek and submissive wife almost all the time. I never object to the racket he creates when he gets up early in the morning to make bed tea. I don’t even murmur when he burns the toast. And I am very accommodating when he leaves a minor job undone from the long to-do list on Sundays.

 But when I am criticised – my hackles rise.

“Watch it Mister” I warned him sternly. “Your bulging midriff and that allegation you just made is the material for a deadly blog post.”

He gave me a wary look and a goofy smile. He apologised for his reckless remark and sang lengthy praises of my cooking abilities.

 I then deigned to forgive and forget.

Ah! The joys of being a blogger………..

Well my blog celebrates its first anniversary this month and I must admit I have found that the pen (the keyboard in my case) is mightier than the sword.

In the eleven years that I have been married, I have often wished for a sword. Unfortunately it is a wish that hasn’t come true and I have never been able to lay my hands on one.

 My friends in the kitchen - the frying pans and the rolling pins have been privy to my yearning as I have muttered and mumbled about the wrongs being heaped on me to them. In their own sweet way they have done their best to make up for the absence of a sword in the house and have allowed me to use them for purposes they were never created for. Unfortunately however they have never been successful in denting the six footer at whom they were hurled (and have often got dented themselves in the bargain).

There is still no sword in the house but my husband claims that there is an AK47 somewhere. He insists that he is often peppered with bullets from it especially when he arrives home late.

 I have spent several hours looking for that gun because it would certainly make up for that sword I have been pining for - but I have never found it.

On the rare occasions when I have subjected my impeccable persona to introspection I have wondered if perhaps the bullets he has been referring to are my words of wisdom that are frequently directed at him.

 Whenever this has happened however, I have noticed that the introspection has suddenly come to an abrupt end.

 Anyway my trustworthy kitchen has finally ended my quest for a weapon. My innocuous cooking blog intended to share shortcut recipes has slowly morphed into the ultimate weapon.

Long live – Shortcut Indian Weekday Cooking!

On my blog's birthday I want to thank all you guys who have been reading my posts over the last year. Many of you have actually followed me as well and that has made me feel fabulous. All you guys who kindly comment on my posts - I really don't know how to thank you enough.

On days when the words dry up and the clock ticks away menacingly trying to pry me away from the key board - it is you guys who keep me going.

The lovely Rajni Sinha has tagged me for the Leibster award. I dont know any German but I Googled the word and discovered that it is an extremely complimentary word and implies 'sweetest kindest endearing and most valued'. Thanks Rajni - that has made me soooooooooooooooooooooooo happy.

Well Rajni tagged me in January but I still haven't got around to tagging anyone else and so I think Ill just let it go now. I'm sorry Rajni its not that I don't value the award but this year has been a little tough on the family and I truly haven't been able to pin down the bloggers I wanted to award. Thanks again.

Here are 11 facts about me - 

1. I am not even 5 foot tall
2. I love to live life
3. Amazingly I love to move cities which I do frequently with my husband who is in a transferable job
4. I am a 3rd generation doctor in my family and my husband is a 2nd generation one in his.
5. I am a trained kathak dancer
6. I love to read
7. I hate watching television but I like watching movies
8. I really like driving
9. I love to cook and entertain
10. I am passionate about throwing kiddie parties
11. I love being a practicing doctor but funnily enough I am really enjoying my sabbatical where I am doling out a lot of medical advice anyway

And now to answer Rajni's questions -

1. My favourite flower is the Sunflower
2. About my favourite period in History - actually I am really bad with history but I do find the Mughal era fascinating
3. My favourite woman politician would be the late Mrs Indira Gandhi.
4. My favourite Indian singer is Sunidhi Chauhan
5. My favourite Indian sports person is Sachin Tendulkar
6. My favourite food is Aloo ke pararthe
7. My favourite book is 'Gone with the wind'
8. I think I would prefer to listen to the sitar over the violin
9. My favourite ghazal singer is the late Jagjit Singh
10. No I don't suffer from stage fright. I love the stage in fact. Public speaking is something that comes naturally to me
11. Yes I certainly prefer to read the newspaper over watching TV
12. Yes I think blogging does relieve stress. I think the wonderful people you meet in the virtual world actually relieve your stress. You feel great when you find that the world is still as wonderful as you imagined

Since I am not tagging anyone I am not including any questions.

And Oh! I am almost forgot! Last but certainly not the least I want to thank Indiblogger. Love you guys! you're the best.

Garlic bread with Cheese

I love garlic bread with cheese. Over the years I have tried a lot of recipes for this dish. The results have been great but the procedure has always been too cantankerous for me to handle.

Recently my daughter has decided she likes it too and has requested that it grace one of her snack boxes in school. After the first few times of doing it in an extremely complicated way (and getting really really late) I have figured that this is the method the works the best (and is the quickest).

1.       Buy a loaf of garlic bread. There are ways to make regular bread garlicky by mixing crushed garlic in butter and lathering it on the slices, but that is certainly not for rushed mornings. OK so slice up the loaf. A knife with a serrated edge always makes the cleanest cuts and I love that.

2.       Meanwhile set the oven to the grill mode and set the temperature to a 150°C. The oven is empty at this point. For the uninitiated this is called preheating. Set the timer for ten minutes and let the empty oven heat up.

3.       Now on a small plate sprinkle a little bit of olive oil with a spoon. Let the oil coat the whole base of the plate.

4.       Now pick up each slice of garlic bread and mop up the oil on the plate with one side of the slice. Do this for all the slices.

5.       Once you have oil on your bread, take out a cheese slice or a cheese single. You know the ones available from Brittania and Amul and other brands to put between sandwiches. Take the cheese slice and tear it up into four squares. Put one square each on the oil soaked side of each garlic bread slice.

6.       Wait for the oven to ‘ting’ and tell you that your ten minutes of preheating are over.

7.       Put the slices in a baking dish and pop them into the oven immediately. Once again set the oven in grill mode at 150°C – this time for 5 minutes.

8.       When the oven tings again, take out the bread.

Mmmmmmmm…………….. garlic bread with crisp edges and a soft centre with cheese melted onto it. Heavenly.

I am always tempted to dig in but just in time I remember that I was packing my daughter’s snack box.

Obstinate Taste buds and Tomato chutney

Taste buds have their own personalities. Mine are obstinate spoilt brats.

Parenting them has been an unending rocky ride and the headstrong little monsters are determined not to grow up.

At thirty seven they still insist on continuing their teenage affaire with chocolate and drool shamelessly at long legged French fries. Self control is a distant dream when they see pakodas and parathas and greed is the one truth in their lives when they see ice cream.

As their guardian, who is also answerable to various other parts of the body I often crumble with shame at their appalling behavior  I frequently recite my (now) well rehearsed apologies to my midriff that wordlessly expands another centimeter in response.

It is not often that I chance upon an opportunity to avenge the wrongs heaped upon me and my midriff, but when I do – I grab it with both hands.

 I still revel in the vicarious pleasure that was mine when I broke up my taste bud’s long standing romance with Pepsi.

About twenty years ago my taste buds were madly in love with Pepsi.

 Now I have nothing against Pepsi, but unsurprisingly as I acquired my licence to drink at eighteen - I aspired to graduate to the adult drink.  

My taste buds however still had a lot of growing up to do. With the first sip of alcohol they decided they were having none of it.

My friends with more submissive taste buds succumbed to the magic of the drink. They flew over potholed crowded roads, sang lustily in tuneless voices and danced in abandon despite two left feet. I watched sadly from the sidelines.  

A life devoid of such pleasures was what we were destined for - I regretfully told the other parts of my body. The honour of selflessly and gallantly sacrificing first our livers and then our lives would never be ours I sighed.

I resigned myself to being ruled by Pepsi.

But a coup was brewing that I didn’t know of. Several gastritis episodes later the other organs compelled me to launch an offensive.

They decided on my behalf that henceforth I would only drink water!

I still remember relishing every moment of the shocked dismay of my taste buds at that assault.

Twenty years later, the assault is still on.

My taste buds hate me, but the love from the rest of my body makes up for that.

Tomato chutney

My mom used to make this chutney almost every day when I was little. It was the one thing that made me look forward to meal times at a time when I was fortunate enough to be in the category of poor eaters

1.     Take five large tomatoes and chop them up roughly. The smaller the pieces the faster they cook but anyway if you dislike chopping (like me) just do whatever size you like.
2.     Take a 1cm piece of ginger and peel it. Peeling and chopping ginger is something I abhor and steadfastly avoid but this recipe leaves me no choice. Anyway since I don’t like chopping I crush the ginger in the mortar and pestle. If you don’t have a mortar and pestle, give it a solid whack with your rolling pin (belan). That should do it.
3.     Now heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a karahi.
4.     Crumble one whole dry red chilli into the oil
5.     Add the ginger followed almost immediately by the chopped tomatoes. The ginger should fry a bit to give off its pungent taste but it should not get bunt so watch out.
6.     Cook the tomatoes stirring sometimes until they begin to disintegrate.
7.     Add 3 tablespoons of sugar to the tomatoes and mix.
8.     I like my chutney to be slightly watery so I add about half a cup of water to the tomatoes at this point. If you want a thick chutney don’t add water
9.     Cook the mixture for about five minutes by which time the whole thing should begin to look like a jam.
10.                        Cool and serve.

This chutney can be kept in the fridge for upto 5 days but it tastes so good, one invariably falls short of it. If you can keep yourself from counting calories, try eating this with fried papad. It is delicious. I save this indulgence for the Ashtami bhog on Durga puja.

Life Saver King Khan and Bati Chorchori

Last year, Shah Rukh Khan saved my husband’s life.

I am married to a man without any airs.

Unpretentiousness may be a noble quality - but not in the man you marry.

There are times when a gloomy silence surrounds me. The doors of three wardrobes overflowing with clothes are invariably open in front of me at such times and predictably, there is nothing I can find to wear. At such agonizing moments, the man walks in. He is positively glowing in the same shirt he always wears, teamed with a mismatched trouser.

Then, he loudly munches cookies as I angle myself in front of the mirror in a vain attempt to look thin - blissfully indifferent to his own bulging midriff.

And he extols the virtues of his crew cut that doesn’t require him to own a comb as I wrestle with my hair on bad hair days.

In the past, his insensitive behaviour used to incite a murderous rage in me. But Shah Rukh Khan changed it all.

 On a lovely Sunday morning, I was skipping down a steeply inclined alley in Bandra with the man in tow.

It was a strange alley.

In one part of the alley, a crowd of men were excitedly brushing their hair before politely queuing up to get photographed with none less than a violet coloured van.  And near the end of the alley a mini stampede was erupting, unbelievably caused by a crowd of normal looking people vying to get clicked with the nondescript external units of six split A/Cs affixed on a white building.

I was looking at all this in amazement – when IT happened. My heretofore unaffected husband asked to borrow my comb!

I watched open mouthed as he combed his hair, drew in his stomach, carefully tucked in his shirt and smartly walked past the violet van and the huge white building.

 As I followed him, I read the word “Mannat” inscribed in gold on the wall.

 Ah! So this was Shah Rukh Khan’s van and house!

That evening I bought my husband a comb.

Giggling fits have thence replaced my murderous rages. Shah Rukh Khan has saved my husband’s life but now there is a chance of my dying of laughter.

Potato Bati Chorchori

This is my all time favourite. My mom used to make this chorchori to carry with puris whenever we travelled. The minute we were on the train I used to insist that I was hungry and gobble it all up before the train could even pull out of the station.

Bati in Bengali means Katori or bowl. I suppose this dish was a favourite with children through the ages and so desperate moms tired of washing huge kadhais made this dish in a katori for their little ones. It is simple enough to get done in a katori really. The ancient microwave cooking? Looks like it.

1.     Pick up a few potatoes. This is a finger licking dish so I would gladly put in 10 potatoes but calorie counting and sheer laziness when it comes to peeling and chopping potatoes usually ensure that I restrict myself to just three or four.

2.     Anyway whatever the number – peel and chop the chosen potatoes. Now the critical step in this recipe is the chopping. Much as I hate it I still have to chop the potatoes to make about half a centimetre cubes and you will have to do the same.

3.     Then heat about three tablespoons of oil in a kadhai (mustard oil actually gives this dish a wonderful flavour, but if you can’t stand mustard oil, use regular refined oil)

4.     Add two slit green chillies, half a teaspoon of haldi and salt (to taste) to the oil.

5.     Add the chopped potatoes to the oil and mix well.

6.     Fry stirring for about 2 minutes.

7.     Add 2 tablespoons of water to the potatoes.

8.     Cover the kadhai with a lid and lower the flame to a minimum

9.     Cook covered for five minutes and check to see if the potatoes are cooked by breaking   one with a spoon. If the cubes are small enough they should have cooked. If not allow some more time for cooking.

10.                        Done? Of course! What did you think? Have fun!

A Rocky Honeymoon and a Shortcut Chicken Bake

Every husband unfailingly is an accomplished architect of his wife’s monument of grouses.

My husband is certainly one. He has a large number of such creations to his credit.  Fortunately for him and unfortunately for myself, inundated by the large numbers of such creations – I have lost count.

Not every husband is that lucky however. My Dad certainly isn’t.

My Mom has only one lasting protest to date and it occupies a place of pride in her museum. Forty years later she still lights a lamp to it every wedding anniversary. My Dad knows he will never be forgiven that one grievous offence.

It was an ill timed offence. It happened on their honeymoon when they were on the Scan Tour.

 When I first mentioned the Scan Tour to my own husband he instantly assumed it had something to do with the interpretation of CT Scans. He imagined it would be a heritage walk through a jungle of CT scans and he was instantly hooked. When he found out that it was a tour of the Scandinavian countries of course he instantly acquired partial deafness and I added a storey to my latest magnificent monument of complains.

The straight forward X rays of the seventies fortunately did not have much room for sightseeing. So unlike my prosaic husband, my gynaecologist father remained a poet at heart.

His romantic wedding gift to his bride was a poem. The verse waxed eloquent about how they would now always sip their morning cups of tea together. The poem ended with the surprise he had planned - a trip to a place where the sun did not set.

They landed in Helsinki in Finland.

Early the next morning, they rang for bed tea.

Tea what tea? This was the land of Coffee drinkers. There was no tea here - bed or otherwise.

A chaste Calcuttan who had to be kissed awake every morning by her cup of tea, Mother was scandalised.

The exploration of the new land soon morphed into a quest for the elusive cuppa, as a splitting headache followed her around.

Finally as she relented and sipped the coffee she looked daggers at her new husband. His promises in his elaborate poetry were already coming apart.

Not Sweden, not Denmark, not Finland and not Iceland. No one in the peninsula served tea.

The incident scarred my Mom forever.

She replaced her tea cup with a beer mug.

 She still drinks beer mugs full of tea every morning to make up for the tea she didn’t drink that week.

Happy anniversary Mom and Dad!

Chicken Bake

There is something about December. Maybe it’s the chill in the air (though it is almost imperceptible in Mumbai) but it makes me want to bake. I would gladly join my husband in the category of people who only like to eat bakes but if I did who would bake? So I bake – but of course I cheat there as well.

1.    Open a packet of boneless breast of chicken.

2.    Chop it up into small pieces (as small as you have the patience for – is all I’m going to say). Then wash it well.

3.    Peel a good number of potatoes. I used five. Chop them up as well.

4.    In a pressure cooker, add two tablespoons of oil.

5.    Tip the chopped chicken in and then add some pepper and salt to it. If you like masaledar continental khana go ahead and add some garam masala as well.

6.    The chicken tends to stick to the pan and so you need to stir.

7.    Then tip in the chopped potatoes. Fry for a few seconds and then add about 1 and a half glasses of water. The water should just submerge the potatoes.

8.    Now close the cooker. Give it one whistle at full flame and then another four at minimum flame. Keep the cooker closed for a while even after you turn off the gas.

9.    Now open the cooker and find that the potatoes are over cooked and crumbly. Be cruel just pick up the nearest spatula and murder them. Stab until they turn into a kind of a mash. Since I am taking a shortcut I forgive myself even if the potatoes are not uniformly mashed.

10.                       Now sprinkle two tablespoons of maida over the contents of the cooker and mix it in vigorously.

11.                       Then add half a glass of milk. You will find the mixture coming together and the water disappearing. This is a time to be really cautious so spend those 2-3 minutes stirring.

12.                       Now you should have a gooey mixture. Tip it out into a baking dish. Grease the dish for easy washing later.

13.                       Just before you want to eat it put it into the microwave and microwave on high for 3-5 minutes.

14.                       Aaaaand.........your bake is ready!

15.                       Admittedly it is not golden on the top but to get that golden effect you need to put in butter or cheese. I settle for this version because I am unable to afford a new wardrobe.

Scheming Wives and Deadly Egg Scrambles

The moon I’m certain would be meekly handed over to me by my husband if I were to ask.

Of course there would be some scheming involved - like there was some eleven years ago.

One August day my husband was embarking alone on a fun trip to Kolkata. A blushing bride then, all I diffidently asked my departing husband to bring back with him from there was -the Joy Nagar’er Moa.

This Moa is an exquisite sweet. Made of date jaggery and puffed rice, its existence is a closely guarded secret that only true blue Bengalis know of.  

Classically Fauji, my husband of course is not privy to such secrets. He was delighted at my innocent request. Secretly congratulating himself on finding a bride with such meagre demands he flew away, happy enough to comply.

The suitcase was large and the sweet shops were within easy reach. So the holidaying man decided to pursue the promised gift only on the last day of his weeklong trip.

On the morning of that day, he strode into the nearest shop and nonchalantly asked for the Moa. They politely said it wasn’t ready yet. He missed their amused tones and twinkling eyes as they replied and assumed that the sweet would be prepared a little later in the day.

He made several trips to the neighbouring shops that day, but every time was met with the same answer.

As his train’s departure began looming large, the vision of an innocent young bride waiting hungrily at the other end of the journey began to plague him. The Moa however was nowhere in sight.     

 His brewing tantrum spewed. What was taking them so long he demanded?

The reply was politely Kolkatan. “I sympathise with your desire to please your new wife Moshai,” said the shopkeeper.”Date jaggery unfortunately is not that considerate. It still insists on arriving only in winter. The Moas will be ready only in December”

Going back from his weeklong gastronomic orgy of a holiday empty handed was unthinkable. Desperate measures were called for. The space in the suitcase for the large box of Moa was taken up by a tiny box with a gift that was not subject to climatic disposition.

I loved the little box and its exquisite diamond ring.

Egg and Sausage Scramble

The worst thing about going on vacation, is knowing that one day the good time is definitely going to end.

 Coming back and unlocking the door, opening the windows to let out the musty smell and plonking down on the dusty sofa are visions that plague me on the flight back. Club that with an empty stomach and it makes for a sure shot nightmare.

Then eggs jump in to brighten the scene. I always leave eggs in the fridge and some frozen delights in the freezer before I leave.

1.    Crack and beat as many eggs as you think will be enough. With the voracious egg eaters in my family I never take less than eight.

2.    Add a pinch of salt to the egg. Not too much. You’re going to add more salt to the other ingredients later.

3.     Chop up a few sausages into small pieces. About half of what could be considered bite sized.

4.    Heat oil in a non stick frying pan.

5.    On a regular day when the kitchen is well stocked, fry a chopped onion and a chopped tomato in the oil. In emergencies skip this step.

6.    Add the chopped sausages to the oil and sauté until they are cooked. They swell once they are done.

7.    Sprinkle some salt if you’ve added onions and tomatoes, if not don’t because sausages are salty anyway.

8.    Now add the beaten egg to the pan. Beat while adding otherwise the salt tends to sit in one place.

9.    Once the egg is in - scramble it around in the pan with a spatula for a minute or two. Don’t overdo it – allow the eggs to be fluffy.

10.                     Take the scramble off the fire, toast a few slices of bread (if available) layer the eggs on the toast and take a bite.

A sure shot remedy for the blues!

Shopping and Shrikhand

The news paper is my husband’s shield and ally.

It is his armour against the torrents of words that are often directed at him and he gratefully hides behind it. He reads most of its contents with a cursory dispassionate interest, but an inexplicable agitation grips him when he reads reports of festivities in the farthest and most inaccessible parts of the city.

I sometimes think my determination to attend all these events as soon as I read about them, may have something to do with his strange behaviour - but I always dismiss this thought as soon as it occurs to me.

An exciting and agitating news report about a Diwali Bazaar once appeared at the beginning of the century, and it landed us in Pune’s Budhwar Peth.

After, we had bowed our heads in reverence at the Daghdusheth Halwai Ganpati temple there I launched myself on the scattered shops and their potential bargains.

Arrogant in my prowess at sniffing out the best bargains, I rapidly moved from the crowd of shops selling diyas, earthen ware toys and coloured animal shaped candy in an open area, to the shops in the surrounding alleys. Icy courtesy and reluctance met me there, but I put it down to the unwillingness of the shopkeepers to part with their wares at a bargain. Excitedly I persisted in dodging and ducking into the maze of shops there in a semi trance.

 As I waltzed down a certain lane, too busy to notice that courtesy had been replaced by curiosity and then by downright questioning gestures, my phone rang.

Annoyed at being interrupted in my dogged pursuit of bargains; especially since the caller was the man I imagined was just a few steps behind me –my husband, I turned around with a deadly frown.

And then my jaw dropped.

In my excitement I had failed to notice that I had walked into a lane populated exclusively by women. In their garish clothes and make up, they were standing around in suggestive postures and looking expectantly at my poor husband who stood awkwardly at the entrance of the lane stoically staring at his toes.

I beat a hasty retreat and asserted my claim on the distressed man.

The ladies were kind enough to refrain from laughing out aloud.

Shrikhand

A mad frenzy usually grips me on Diwali. There is so much to do on that one day that I am left twirling on my toes. The house must be neat (impossible when the husband and daughter are around), the decorations have to be hung up, rangolis have to be made, diyas have to be lit, dishes that I never otherwise attempt have to turn out perfect and of course I have to wear my best outfit and ensure that it doesn’t catch fire.

A certain fail safe recipe then usually rescues me and here it is.

1.     Set a big bowl of curd.

2.     I usually use my biggest Borosil dish and set as much curd as it will hold. To set curd, take some readymade curd and spread about 2 to 3 tablespoons on all the walls of the bowl. Now pour in milk at room temperature and mix. Leave the bowl in a slightly warm area in the kitchen until it sets.

3.     Once the curd has set, take a large sieve and cover it on the inside with a muslin cloth (or a handkerchief).

4.     Place this over a bowl that can hold it and pour all the curd into the sieve.

5.     Cover the sieve with the curd in it with a plate and place the whole contraption in the fridge overnight or for a whole day. The water from the curd drips out of it into the bowl below and you get hung curd.

6.     On Diwali day, put the hung curd into another bowl. Mix in four or five tablespoons of Complan in the Kesar Badam flavour. Add some milk if the curd is too dry. Taste it and add more Complan if you like.

7.     If it is not sweet enough for you, add some powdered sugar and mix it in. Taste again.

8.     Chill the dish and garnish with a few strands of Kesar and a few slivers of almonds if you like.

Stand around and bask in the glory of your dish as it is devoured.