Bartan and Peace

           ‘Bidadi Mane’ ( बिडदी मने ) is a term in Kannada which means a room where the bride’s maternal side gifts are arranged in a wedding, including kitchen essentials.       

               As a child  when I attended weddings in Mysore and Bangalore, the ‘Bidadi Mane’ translated to a plethora of kitchen vessels viz. pressure cooker, aluminium ‘kadhai’, ‘tawa’  steel vessels of all sizes, cooking ladles and serving spoons, glasses, dinner and snack plates, cups etc.            

            It was no different in my wedding. Though I had never cooked the regular day to day meals at home, I had to make friends with my maternal and mil’s vessels in the kitchen. It was a nightmare to wash all those utensils when the maid went on leave.  

                 Whenever we shifted homes, the only things I couldn’t part with, was the kitchen ‘bartan’. And then I would stare at the steel spread in bewilderment, thinking, what’s with cooking and eating three times a day! - which made it impossible to do away with those seemingly stupid vessels!!

                    Singapore: When we shifted to this fabulous city,  I became an expert dishwasher, at least till I got a maid. Whenever we would have guests for meals, while the guests relaxed post meal, I would wash all the plates, spoons, cups, in a jiffy and stack, leaving the other big dishes to do the next morning as it was easier to tackle them, like problems , the next day morning.

         And then, I lost my life partner. And I didn’t cook. Didn’t have to, for almost two years, as work consumed me and we stayed with my in-laws. When we shifted to a separate apartment, I arranged the aluminium cooker, kadhai, tawa, the non-stick family counterparts, the steel plates - full, half, quarter, the ladles of various shapes and sizes, the knives, the spoons, the glasses, the ‘vatis’ etc. in the kitchen drawers. And for once since he left, something felt normal. Peace. 

I was perplexed that cooking for my family everyday had made these ‘bartan’ my mates. I couldn’t understand the connect between peace and the material - the humble ‘bartan’.

Was I attached to the ‘bartan’ or was it the process of cooking for family: taking them out for cooking, serving - washing them sparkling clean - drying and then re-arranging them that gave the calm? I don’t know, as I muse over the ‘Bartan and Peace’ - despite the annoying noise these vessels make while drying and arranging them. ‎

Permanent Address

They had just shifted to Nelli, a town somewhat unheard of. She had to search a good school for her daughter once again and then find something productive for herself.

          Kannan was ambitious & had changed his job recently. She had agreed to take a back seat & looked for free lancing jobs in the hours her husband & daughter would be out. She went to open her account in a nearby bank. The man at the desk filled a form, taking her details in. Then he said, ‘ Madam I need your address proof ‘. She gave him the Rent Agreement. ‘ This won’t do ‘, he said, as it had only Kansan’s name, not hers. He then asked if the landline, cylinder, cellphone bill…anything that was in her name. For the first time she realised she didn’t have anything in her name to show her address proof & no permanent address proof either. The passport had an address where they lived earlier. 

              She bugged Kannan the entire day. She made sure, the next house rental agreement  in whichever place they moved to, would have her name as well. Next came the permanent address proof. Well after a decade of shifting places, they did buy an apartment, the papers of which bore her name as the co-owner. Finally she could write her address proof & the permanent address proof with a flourish.

               Then something as obscure as a virus shook her world, her address. The Man was no more. What then, is a permanent address ? Where does one really live ? She questioned. 

Amit

 I arrived on this Earth

only to depart someday...

Knew it on the surface

when my ‘Rakhee’ brother got whisked away...

by the furious waters of Narmada that day.

‘can never forget the agony of the mother...

who waited for a son to be born

after tons of prayers from dusk to dawn.

The son who gave eighteen years of happiness...

I questioned god then -

‘ Why do you do this ?’

You give happiness only to take it away.

‘learnt the hard way...

nature plays that way...

remembered at times,

forgotten many times...

I also learnt that Man is not his body,

he is ‘soul’ he is ‘consciousness’

But alas, no school teaches -

‘The life of consciousness’

We learn we are our physical attire

from the day we are born

Never taught that this body, one day will be gone.

If only we were taught that existence is energy -

never created, never destroyed...

Grief wouldn’t be a part of life ! 

no mother no father

no brother no sister

no husband no wife.

That you exist as consciousness dear Amit

you are energy incessant...

I learn every moment.

Enrolled into the school of ‘awakeness’

Lesson forgotten 

has once again begun...

to lead me to you...

Psyche exists in parallel worlds...

mine is with you,

on this earth exists - the other one.

# Cutlets - A Quick Satiating Breakfast from leftovers

Ingredients
Leftover -

• sautéed cabbage ( I took the typical Indian pattagobhi sabji )
• sautéed beans ( Indian style beans sabji )
• upma ( a kind of porridge made from semolina & veggies )
• palak dal (cooked lentils with spinach )
• poha ( flattened rice sautéed with vegetables )
• mashed potatoes mixed with finely chopped coriander leaves & green chillies 
• bread crumbs from 4 slices
• 1crushed chapati ( Indian bread )
• salt & chat masala to taste
• Diced & boiled beetroot & carrot cubes

Method -
Except for mashed potato, grind all the above ingredients till coarse. Then mix it with mashed potato. Sprinkle salt & chat Masala to taste. Pat the mixture into oval shapes & shallow fry in a ‘Tawa’ ( flat pan ). Eat it hot. Goes well with bread as a ‘ Patties Sandwich’ as well.

P.S. I used these typical Indian kitchen left overs. You can use any suitable leftover including cooked rice & mix it with mashed potato, diced & boiled carrot-beetroot, bread crumbs to make the patties.

Credits - My Mother in law’s secret recipe.

           

Appa

You held me in your arms for the first time
When I was 22 days, I was told.
Amma had her first little one
dressed up in pink, from head to toe.
You often told me about the Long rides on the bicycle  -
When you would carry me in one hand,
And ride with the other...
- Weekend visits to your Friend.
You said, your friends named me ‘touch me not’ -
all I did was howl and cry -
when you left me with them for a couple of hours !
Would quieten only when you held.
While I don’t remember all these, I do recollect -
Me getting angry with the family doctor visits,
When he held Amma’s wrist & looked at his watch -
My world would fall apart -
for, I couldn’t fathom anyone touching you or her - strange it may be.
Innumerable other things, never-to-come-again moments...
Now you lie alone, talking a little bit, glancing now & then,
Reaching for my hand, out of an unknown angst, looking at the ceiling -
And when I tell you ‘Appa you are hallucinating, that’s your medicine(s) -
You Laugh -
and give me that Million Dollar Smile.
You open & shut your eyes, rolling them on the side,
or upwards- looking at nothing.
I watch -
Memories of my month old baby son, flashing by...
He’s grown up now -
You take his place.
I sit, not wanting to leave your side, for -
you aren’t able to get up -
you cannot walk.
I want to be there when you wish to speak -
I cannot reach the realms of your mind...
Experts tell, it will take months, for you to get strength
to turn on your side or sit or stand
I don’t believe an ounce of it.
I remind you about your horse riding days,
the stories about hopping onto your steed -
without saddles,
scouring jungles of Bhadravati to look for Gauri - your favourite Mare.
Your Basketball days in Chennai & Bhilai.
Your brief stint in Kiev, Ukraine.
You listen & yes you remember.
You will be up Pa...
You will, I believe.

The Internet Eon NRI - Non Resident Indian

                                While growing up in a small township, watching planes roar in the sky, was ( & still is, to some extent) a totally heavenly experience. With limited resources, trains were the only option for travelling. One visited Foreign countries if there was plenty of money or on student scholarships or if appointed overseas for a job.
                           Would always hear my aunt and granny talk about some cousin who studied well in college and got scholarship for further studies at U.S, Canada or Australia or U.K. Well, I liked everything English. Early morning BBC news that my father tuned into the radio everyday was the wake up call to get ready for school, and which aroused an interest in mastering the accent. There was some magic, a sort of rhythm the way the newsreaders spoke. Or some sort of ....how should I say that - well, in colloquial Hindi we might use ' Bramhavakya' which means  God's words. The sentences in English, spoken in Native English accent was Bramhavakya - 1. English to some extent in India, is Power, like it or not. And I was a victim ( not knowing how to speak the language, for a long time ) 2. When you spoke the language with Friends or family, you got a mixture of attention, awe and respect. Of course you were looked upon as 'Modern', 'cool'.
                       However the thought of pursuing studies abroad never crossed my mind till my Master's, as the township where I stayed, didn't have many students who were going out for studies overseas. So less motivation therein. There was an opportunity to write a Research paper after my Masters, which if accepted, would give me the ticket to study at Oxford. Well, I opted marriage over a career as a researcher. Now, after decades of raising a kid - job - family, I am on a Foreign soil.
                  And at an age, when one is comfortable, staying with known faces, known addresses, peer age men and women. Staying amongst Foreigners and in Foreign soil, away from family - I am figuring out, as each day goes by. Well, since 'have always been open for a change, this's a beginning. Back home, the NRI status was sort of glorious. What a change !- country hopping and frequent air travel apart from vacationing at exotic overseas locations becoming easy. However I wasn't prepared should I say ? - for the 'Internet era NRI'.
                       You are 'connected' to each one in your family on social media and Whatsapp in particular. You ' belong ' to ' family ' or ' friends ' groups. The 'belongingness' to family and friends 'Online' is so much that its as if you are in India; - when in Reality, you are not. And that's, well, weird and sometimes painful. You get homesick reading the family posts on ' where r u? M reaching in 10 - what's next weeks' plan.....etc' to 'get together pics' and what not ? On one hand it feels good to know what's happening on the home front, while on the other, I think, ' Do I really need to be knowing what everyone is up to or what one thinks, on a day to day basis' ?. Not to mention the disagreements et al., when you don't have the liberty to meet up face to face and clarify, if needed. Where's the charm of meeting up after long time and then share incidences, happenings ? Where's the benefit of Time ? Logically, its the cheapest form of getting things done, while staying distances apart. Well, the dilemma continues....while I have come up with my own strategy of avoiding home-sickness. I have started training my mind to broaden up the definition of home - The Globe can be your home ' and the people around you, well, they can be friends and family as well. After all Foreigners are also people like you. Well its really heartening to note that skin color and languages apart, People are People and relationship platform for people all over, IS still the same. People do share common Human values. The other day I saw a European grandmother and grandfather walking up their three grandchildren in the Botanic gardens, with the same delightedness, my in-laws and parents back home walked my son to the nearby parks, when he was small. And I do have the liberty to fly home and see my people.....till I am home one day, seeing them face to face, everyday.