Secret Tastes of India

Theos, thank you for serving the most elegant cold coffee. Every sip held hope of a better tomorrow. As twilight gave way to evening stars, the soothing therapy in the form of this frothy classic cold, coffee drink partook in our conversation and the shared philosophies. The past and the present mingled in earthy brown in the glass. The bitterness of the coffee rules this drink with a hint of sweetness playing the second fiddle. If you have a sweet tooth like I do, then ask for sugar syrup. Memories, resilience and promises, things that keep us going.  These are tough times, yes. Loss, pain, fear and uncertainty grips us and refuses to leave anytime soon. Yet, we have begun piecing our lives back. We have million follies, yet one virtue, our zeal to stay alive.  My coffee was perfectly balanced and as I twirled the straw, one last time, the autumn breeze whispered, 'Balance shall be restored'.  Yes, I drank poetry...

Once upon a time, when I was a child, I staged a coup against rose. Yes, the flower. I thought it received inordinate footage in all love stories, beauty tales, day to day choices, often at the cost of its prettier colleagues, say a lily or a jasmine. Time went by, I was forced to give up my rose-tinted view of life and become pragmatic. That is when rose re-entered my life to rub some romance and magic on me.  Only with a matured sense of taste could I appreciate the subtle sweetness of rose flavour and aroma. The trick is to get the addition right, just like the right moves in pursuit of romance. So when I sipped the rose-infused tea, the unfulfilled promise of love smiled from behind a curtain like the elusive dream. After a tiring day, the tea calmed the frazzled nerves and I fondly remembered the incomplete love story. A few friendly hugs, some unbroken eye-to-eye moments and then that short ride in a cab. The little brush of shoulders evoked a long-lost feeling an...

When each parent is staunch in her/his food choices, one a vegetarian and another a non-vegetarian food lover, all it takes is some dedicated Saturday planning and an entire Sunday to put together dishes that would appeal to both camps.  Here you can see (left to right)- Doodh Shukto, Komola Katla and Jhingey Aloo Posto to be finished off with steamed Basmati rice.  Shukto, a Bengali staple, its more like a palate cleanser. My mother proclaimed it had immense health benefits, which I doubt, was a ploy to feed us this slighly bitter dish.  Today I attempted to replicate my mother's recipe for Doodh Shukto. Doodh is Bangla for Milk, dear Uninitiated. All you need are various vegetable like Bringal/Eggplant, Potato, Bitter Gourd/Karela/Korola, Jhingey/Ridge Gourd, Carrot, Lauki/Bottle Gourd, Drumstick/Shojna/Moringa, green chillies and of course milk. Vegans can opt for alternative varieties of milk.  Another ingredient that Bengalis swear by, is Posto or Po...

The monsoon left them drenched with the first song of romance. Their paths met on a speeding train as destiny aligned their journeys.  She chatted almost non-stop and he fought the urge to gaze at her moon face the entire time. The eyes laugh a lot, he made a mental note. The cheeks glow with shy pink, she noticed and chuckled.  Their eyes longed to stay locked, they chose to disregard the cacophony around. They mattered and nothing else. As the train slowed down while traversing through acres of mango trees, he leaned out and to her utter surprise, plucked a mango. And there began an epic tale of love... Monsoon is here yet again just like all those years in between. The languid Saturday holds no promise, except the warmth of lemon zest infused Green Tea. The mild thrill of bitter-sour zest sparks a million, brilliant, sensations and she recognises each from that journey back to life.  Cherished memories are a lot like this green tea. They cleanse us with a  freshne...

The two little girls giggled with abandon as they flew with gusto on a make-shift swing. Coir rope and a jute bag is all it took for the swing to come about and they knew where they would hang it on the local olive tree. The girls had spent many an afternoon playing varied children's games under the tree. It was their Kalpataru that sheltered their flights to the world of infinite possibilities and dreams and promised to nurture their aspirations. Old Oly, as they named the tree, was their confidante and had little choice when the girls borrowed one of his sturdiest branches to fix the swing. The swing was another way to let freedom caress their faces and water their heart. The olives tasted tangy and their ideas sweet. As I take small, lazy sips of the pomegranate green tea, a multitude of such snapshots from the past rumble and tumble, eager to please. The softness of the blended flavours of fruity pomegranate and no-nonsense green tea soothes frazzled nerves and lets...