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The Great Invention, Musings

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The Great Invention

Recently I had been to UDIPI RESTAURANT of West Mambalam with my wife to cater the demands of our appetizing stomach.

Actually it was preplanned as one of our entertainment routines. We selected a table well under the fan with enough angles to have glimpse over other visitors. We were fascinated by the act of a middle aged gentleman who were engrossed in making 2 hot idlis into small pieces with spoons and pouring over the sambar liberally on the hot pieces taking care that all of them were completely immersed in the brown liquid.

He was also visibly enjoying his act with his mouth already watered. He had enough patience to wait for those few seconds until the entire pieces had absorbed the sambar to the maximum. He was devouring those delicious pieces with well orchestral spoons with his eyes radiating the level of enjoyment.

Normally when we visit South Indian hotels, we avoid idlis as they are always available at home with least effort. We also believed that it was worth while to go for Masala Dosa, Channa Bhatura and similar items rather than go for the least preferred idli. Even when our choice happened to be idli out of compulsion rather than desire we opted for sambar and chutney separately. So, for a change we were tempted to venture upon the chemistry of idli thoroughly given holy bath with that sambar having seen the testimony of its merits demonstrated by our neighbor.

In no time, we got our prey as they were ready all the time with a steaming hot look. But we had to order specifically as idli-sambar as any other way of expression would separate the couple of iddlies from token sambar and varieties of colorful chutneys. Having got our lesson tutored from the unknown DHRONACHARYA in no time we emptied the plate – but not before getting the helping of some more sambar so that all the pieces were satisfied with the holy association of that divine sambar that was spreading the smell of tiny onions all around.

Idlis are available all over India, rather globally also with a clean certificate for its harmless and easily digestible virtues. As an internet maniac one day I happened to stumble upon the medical opinion of global doctors regarding easily palatable / digestible/ harmless/ inexpensive/ nutritive/ easily and quickly prepared dish that is suitable for patients, children and also old people and felt proud that our IDLI topped the list.

Though south Indians – especially from MADRAS are affectionately teased as IDLI-SAMBAR they have popularized this noble dish by acquiring machineries and learnt the skill of preparation in their respective houses. Yes! It requires special apparatus and knowledge of mixing in the proper ratio and also enough time for fermentation by bacteria.

During my childhood and also up to middle age it was a tedious, laborious and also time consuming process to prepare this sparkling white, round shaped spongy piece of about 3 to 5 inches in diameter and .75 inch in thickness at the center. It is a 3 dimensional object, with the shape comparable to a DISCUS of the discus thrower.

Special boiled rice in 2 parts and one part of urud dal are soaked in water separately for a few hours when both of them become soft for grinding. In olden days, people used 2 stones with one large and with a pit and the other that can go freely inside the pit. Both grains are made into a paste separately with water fed occasionally until the pasted flour can just flow from one vessel to another. Both are mixed manually and salt is added to taste and the preparation is allowed to be stored overnight or about 7 to 8 hrs. Due to fermentation by bacteria it gets sour in taste and also gets its nutritive quality.

Again there is a specially designed vessel in which there are 2 to three plates with round shaped pits of 3 to 4 in each with perforations for steam to pass through. The special vessel is half filled with water, the plates are filled with the paste of flour after laying one thin cloth and arranged one above another inside and the lid of the vessel is covered tightly over.

When it is placed in the oven, the water boils allowing the steam to pass through the holes of the plate there by cooking and making the pieces soft. Nowadays there are electrically operated machines that can do the work in a few minutes and the cooking process is also made easy by pressure cookers. The specialty of its preparation is the whole cooking is purely by steam with out the involvement of oil or direct heat. All the protein, starch and other vitamins are kept intact and is only your choice to select the side dish or even with out any or with sugar in case of patients. They have also started selling idli/dosa flour ready made making it easy to prepare it in our homes in minimum time.

So far nobody could explore the history of IDLI or how many centuries back it still existed. I am of the opinion that just like the invention of ZERO by Indians in the field of mathematics MR. IDLI also deserves unique status in the world of culinary. My wife is just now tempting me with iddlies and thengai chutney! So goodbye for the time! LONG LIVE IDLIS!

Contributed By: J. PANCHAPAGESAN DSP-RETD, CHENNAI jpanchapagesan@yahoo.co.in

Do you want to share your thoughts and experiences? Have you had an unforgettable experience in your life that makes you smile? If yes, this is the place for you! Write to us with your own Inspirational story or an incident in your life that you still remember and draw inspiration from even today – we will feature it here on WritersHideout.net – Email us at info@writershideout.net

My Balcony to The Other World, Musings

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My Balcony to The Other World

I live in a beautiful little house on the fifth floor of our building. My parents particularly chose to live here because it faces the southeast- glorious sunshine, warm in the winters, cool in the summers- and very auspicious in all respects.

What I enjoy the most however, is the view I get from one of the balconies. There are three might I add, one facing our neighbours, the other towards the back of our compound, overlooking the city, the cacophonious (I think I made this up!) bus-stand, adjoining hotels, and the general hustle-bustle of the accompanying town life. My favourite one however, faces the “other world”. This beautiful strip is lined with my mother’s favourite dahlias, and since it receives the maximum sunshine and affords abundant privacy I love spending time there!

I generally have very specific reasons for visiting my favourite balcony-to dry my hair, to escape the chill in our rooms during the months of December and January, and more often, in a pretext to study in “solace”. I have learnt a number of lessons, rambling in “the balcony near the kitchen”, mind you, but I’ve always been fascinated much much more by the sights and sounds around the place, than the laws and molecules governing my textbooks!

It’s bizarre how inside our house we find it really straining to catch what my mother shouts at me from her room to mine, but standing in that balcony, I can actually find myself tuned into the sounds (I don’t call them noises) of utensils being scraped across the floor, bangles jingling, cricket balls being caught, and children laughing, least aware of anything around them, five floors below!

Families of the lower class workers live in these flats just outside the boundaries of our complex. Some houses are well structured, but those I can see only from a distance. The ones nearest to my balcony have a thatched asbestos roof, they share walls with a ground which we use for dumping garbage, and are adorned with a drain running across all four sides.

Although I can see only two doors, I’m sure the families are huge, because there is always a surprisingly large number of kids running around, and more than often, climbing the roof. Just the other day I was standing there, a towel in my hand, a frown against the blazing sun, and my eyes narrowed to get a better view of the construction in progress beyond one of the buildings. Rather out of the blue, and with a spring in their step, three little boys climbed up onto the roof of the house directly facing the balcony. Technically speaking, it would be the third floor, two floors below my level.

Well, they sauntered up, and- I wish I didn’t have such a horrible vision-looked around to check if the coast was clear (this is basically my lucid imagination, it may have well been nothing of the sort!) and the eldest (or maybe the tallest) of the three took something out of his pocket, and the three began to shift around a bit looking for a nice spot to do whatever they had to (I couldn’t see!)

Anyway, I had gotten a bit too cosy I guess, and was quite properly leaning against the balcony railing, and as bound as it was to happen, the smallest kid spotted me. I looked away with as much dignity as I could muster, standing with my hands folded, and so did he! That was sort of the end of my afternoon outing in the balcony, and I glided back inside the kitchen. It may well have been my entangled mane that struck the kid as something worthwhile to look at, but nevertheless, my guilt at eavesdropping (sort of anyway..) drove me to come up with this entry.

The first author I truly ever enjoyed and who in a way compelled me to bask in the glory of the written word was Ruskin Bond. Even today (six years since I first read a Ruskin Bond story), every time I read a short story, or a novel of his I let myself believe he is actually telling a tale of something that happened to him. His protagonists are always strugglers, either unsuccessful professionally, or with love. They are always close to nature, and to the streets of India. They always deal with some of the most hopeless, yet the most profound day to day issues faced by about ninety per cent of our countrymen. But in all the melancholy and somberness, there’s the zeal to live, the enthusiasm to make the most of the smallest things in life, love, flowers, trees, hills, rivers.

My balcony, is my window to that world. I look at those kids, playing cricket in their lanes, flying kites on their roofs, shabbily clad, with an unmistakable air of malnourishment, and I smile. A part of me even longs to be in their place. I told my father once, he smiled and said, It’s okay if you feel that way, but the thing to think about, is why? I really don’t know why, maybe I look at them playing, running around, and feel they don’t have the responsibility, to study, to work, to do many things that I have to.

But in a way I also feel I am foolish to think of it that way, they obviously have responsibility, when they grow up, they will have to make ends meet, something I may not find as tough in my life. They are free as children, but will I be freer as an adult? I really can’t answer this, can you?

For now, I enjoy my window, I enjoy watching the ladies put up their clothes for drying, I enjoy them chatting up on their verandahs, I love the sound of bat hitting ball, I love to see the little girls in the school uniforms, bouncy red ribbons, slates and tuition bags. Maybe my balcony to the “other world” will someday help me to fulfill my dream of writing about people, writing about life, writing like Ruskin Bond. Till then, it’s my novel, and I read it

Contributed By:  Poorva Gupta  poorva63@gmail.com

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A True Leader, Musings

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A True Leader

First of all I would like to thank my friend Reena who told me about this website and so inspired by her I am trying to pen down my thoughts in form of a short story.

I have been working for 6 and a half years now and have come across many people but there is one person who has really inspired me with his working style, his way of handling people, his knowledge and his urge to continuously learn more and more from a junior or senior colleague, but what really makes him the best person is his concern for other person, he really takes care of his people who are working with him. His name is Mr. C Kishan and he is a senior professional.

Kishan Sir, this is how I address him, is known to me for past one and half years, he works for the same organisation as I do. He stays in Bangalore but often travels to Mumbai because of his work. Whenever he comes Mumbai, I try spending time with him..

During our informal chats he has told me many incidents like how in one organization he had retained his juniors and made them super heroes where in he was ask to remove them. He believes that a leader can define the path of his juniors and make them performers.

I, too, have seeded for his guidance several times even though I am from a different department, he has always helped me readily.

Today there are some changes happening in our organisation, new management is taking over and in this scenario no one in our organization knows what will happen next, how many people would be a part of the new group etc.

Under such circumstances, Kishan Sir has really taken care of his department. He has a team of 12-15 people and he has made sure that each one of them is placed and has a job in the new system. As far as his position is concerned, the picture is still unclear and not once I have seen him worried about himself, through out this journey, he has just been bothered about his juniors.

I have been really touched by this act of his.

Today in this world when people are just bothered about themselves, I am glad to come across a super leader who not only guides you but also nurtures you and takes care of you to the extend of placing your interest before his.

Contributed By:   Rolly Kapoor rolly11@gmail.com

My Soldier Friends, Musings

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My Soldier Friends

The train gathered speed as it journeyed past fields and villages, waterfalls and rivulets. I was travelling the Konkan route, known for its beautiful landscape views. Taking a break from my routine office work I was going to visit the tourist haven, Kerala, known for its backwaters and lagoons, coconut trees and ayurvedic massages; which incidentally happens to be my home state too. I was going to visit Kerala after nearly a gap of 12 years.

Having studied and worked outside the state I was eagerly anticipating my trip to my native state, known by the sojourn “God’s Own Country”. I had specifically chosen to travel by rail than by air to have a taste of the Konkan.I sat at the doorstep of the train taking in every bit of the beautiful views. The wind breezed past my face making my hair fly in all directions. But I didn”t  mind it; in fact I enjoyed every bit of the wind. Train doorsteps being the idle place to catch up on the scenery, it was not much before a young man came and asked for some “door space”. Having got acquainted with him as a fellow traveller in my coupe, I let him share some space. He being a regular traveller pointed out to me different minute details of the landscape which otherwise I would have missed. He pointed out waterfalls in the distance, spires of temples situated on hilltops, the river meeting the sea and so on.

He introduced himself as Praveen, a soldier in the Indian Army and a native of Kannur, in Kerala. He was traveling with his fellow soldiers to their respective homes in various parts of Kerala. Soon enough he whistled to 3-4 of his mates to join us and soon I found myself sitting with a group of “protectors of our frontiers” or “defenders of our land”. I chatted with them in native language Malayalam, though I was not so proficient and comfortable with it. They pulled my leg at many instances and made fun of my accent. But I too enjoyed their company thoroughly Having never had relatives or friends who served in the army, I was delighted to meet them and eager to know about their lives. They all happened to be part of the troop deployed in Kashmir. A couple of them had even seen the Kargil war. They recounted how harsh the climate there sometimes could turn out to be and how lonely they occasionally feel. They mentioned the beauty of the valley as also the harsh life of the people there.

They showed me pictures of the snow clad mountains, the apple trees and the valley of flowers as also their bunkers and living. Having never seen snow in my whole life, I was captivated by those pictures and my longing to visit the valley increased more than ever. They smiled watching my sheer glee and joy.

Their young boyish faces with those lopsided smiles hid perfectly the hard lives they lived, the blood they saw and the violence they endured. They recounted how their families always lived a life of anxiety at the thought of their safety and survival. I felt proud of them. I saluted them and revered them. They had shed the cocoons of their safe and secure life to take up arms and stand up to defend our nation. I suddenly felt I should have cared about these “jawans” much earlier. I had never understood how it would be to have a soldier in your family who was constantly at the source of danger. I spent the rest of the journey with these young soldiers, trying to cheer them and give them a few happy moments.

The 32 hour journey slowly came to an end as slowly one by one they disembarked at various stations. By the time the train arrived at the last station, only Praveen and I were left. As the train chugged into the Trivandrum Central station, we exchanged our numbers and bid each other goodbye. He helped me with my luggage and escorted to me upto where my uncle stood to receive me.

He then disappeared into the ordinary crowd at the railway station. But for me he was an extraordinary person, one of my first “Army friends”. I looked at pride at him and his friends as he disappeared into the lanes of the capital city of Kerala. The next few days I was busy meeting relatives and other family friends in various parts of Kerala. In between I also visited Munnar and Thekkady, two hot tourist spots of Kerala. I was happy one day to receive Praveen’s call while on a visit to an aunt’s place. It was nice to see that he too appreciated my company. We chatted for a while. We kept in contact for a couple of years more till the myriad activities of life took us in different ways and our busier lives didn’t allow space for such small comradeship. But somewhere I still remember him and his friends and pray for their safety. Every time I read about soldiers or army or defense I remember them. And I read every article about Kashmir in the newspapers, be it during peacetime or war, just to believe that I am still with them as a friend. I hope that wherever they might be, they be safe and happy.

Contributed By: Gitanjali Maria, maria.gitanjali@gmail.com

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