This blog shall be in the form of bullets, because today, I have a neat and orderly mind.
a) I find myself intensely bored with the same old sambar, rasam and boiled veggies, which form my cooking repertoire. These same things were awesome when mom cooked them for me. Now I loathe the very thought of having to cut up radishes for radish kozhambu, I dislike having to make the "vogarNe" with mustard and hing for the rasam and so on.
b) The foods that make me drool right now: a) fettunicini alfredo and b) risotto.
F/A is soooo bland that I cannot understand why I have this hankering for it. Perhaps I only want some cheese. Anyway, both recipes are there on http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/ which used to be my number 1 reference for non-Indian recipes. Now, after nearly 12 months of relatively healthy eating, just the amount of butter and cheese that lady uses makes me shudder. It's okay for her- she's on a cattle ranch, no doubt she can work off her fat somehow. It is different for me, when the only exercise I get (or am willing to do) is walk, somewhat slowly, to lab (~2.5miles. Not bad, right?) and that too, only on some days.
c) In effort to make something, ANYthing new, I turned to "Regina's International Vegetarian Favorites", which, when I had bought it some two years ago promised to open up a vast world of new and interesting things to cook. Unfortunately, all her truly interesting recipes require a visit to the grocery store (or many grocery stores). And of course, the only stuff I have readily available are those suited for (bah!) humbug Indian cooking. Anyway, I chanced upon this recipe called "Curried Cauliflower Soup" in her book. It is your normal Gobi sabji, which she then purees.
I should have just made my stupid sabji and eaten it. But no, I went ahead and pureed it and now all I am reminded of is my grandfather. My grandfather, during the year before he died, decided that he was thoroughly bored with chewing food (he later became thoroughly bored of eating itself). During this year, he made the cook puree every single vegetable that she would make for the rest of the family. This way, he would say, he got the nutrition and the taste without the effort.
Curried Cauliflower Soup is depressing. I need to repair it somehow before Ram comes home.
d) I can no longer reliably use the rooting reflex of my baby to check how hungry he is :(
For those not in the know, the rooting reflex in newborns is when you gently stroke the side of their mouth, and if they are hungry, they will open their mouth and root for your finger. Depending on how eagerly Ani would root at a finger, my parents and I could predict how much time we had before he started bawling uncontrollably for his food.
Now, however, he turns towards my finger even when he not hungry, because he wants to chew my finger. I think he is teething, though 11 weeks seems a tad young for that. Nevertheless, he grabs on to anything he can find- his fists, my shoulder, Ram's knuckle etc and chews studiously upon them and makes really loud sucking noises.
Anyway, I guess my little baby is no longer quite as newborn as he was.
e) Ram and I watched "The Judgement at Nuremberg" recently and it is a brilliant movie. I love stories that I can keep recollecting and brooding on for months and months after initially coming across them and this one promises to be in that category.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
A lot of random things
a) The Jewish school, which my apartment overlooks, has a summer "camp" every year. I think it's to turn the not-so-Jewish kids who go to normal schools the rest of the year into the ultra-orthodox types that Sq.Hill specializes in.
The kids who attend it are about 8-10 years old. The camp instructors are in their mid to late teens. Okay so far?
Then get this: every morning, between 9:04 and 9:06 am, they start their prayers to the tune of "You are my sunshine", followed by counting in Hebrew, and then, another prayer, set to the tune of "Row, row, row your boat". Because they can't help themselves, after the Hebrew prayer, they segue automatically into the English songs.
So, first you hear this
"He vo patti, ke he seera
hehopatma lavote
teke phero, nanote-eeyah
thanananananana
you're my sunshine, my only sunshine,
you make me happy when skies are grey"
etc etc
Then the older chaps pick on some little kid who has to go up to the front and lead the counting. Each number is punctuated by a punch in the air (which the kid in the front always does with great enthusiasm... punches kind of look like the "Heil Hitler" salute hahahaha)
Then comes the "Row your boat" song.
What really astonishes me is how earnest everybody is. How ridiculous must you feel to sing a prayer set to a nursery rhyme? Aren't teens supposed to be surly and sullen and rebellious? Not these ones. They must be mutants. Or maybe ultra-orthodox Jews are like that only.
Oh wait. Actually, I just remembered. Back in Bangalore, in the Jain temple next door, they sing prayers set to Bollywood songs. Specifically, to "Ek Do Teen" and "Dhak dhak".
So it's not just a Jewish thing.
I ought to become a prophet and start my own religion. I would call it "Rational Religion" (an oxymoron, if I've ever heard one). It would be like the Free Mason society of this age.
b) Breastfeeding is HARD. I have no doubts as to why two generations of women in America decided to toss the whole thing out and stick to bottles. And at the end of all that hardship, there is no award at the end of it. You, as a hardworking mom, may feel like you have a halo around your head, but it is visible only to you. And your child, though he may (or may not. Who can tell with babies?) care now, probably won't give a shit about it a few months from now.
I'll give this whole business till the kiddo is 6 months old. After that, goodbye breast milk! I'll rub my hands together in glee and regain control of my life and my hormones. October, I await your arrival.
c) Speaking of halos around one's head, I deserve an extra big one, for reasons other than breastfeeding. It has now been 4 days and 21 hours since my parents left for India and I think that the kiddo has been taken good care of by the man and me. In addition to taking care of the kid, I have cooked at home every day (except last night when I broke down and ate a couple of slices of pizza for dinner), done groceries, laundry & utensils, kept the house from descending into shambles, mustered up energy to play a game of badminton with the man nearly every day and oh yes, let us not forget, go to lab for a bit every day. To be honest though, lab work has been relegated to a very low position on list of priorities. Oh well. It will not be for too long.
d) Ram and I have devised a new game with the kiddo. We call it "The Adventures of Captain Cute Litte" and make up new adventures involving the baby. So Captain Cute Little wins the hearts of his unruly crew at sea (by threatening to cry or pee on them) and then discovers new lands and tames its barbaric people. And the next day, he climbs a tall summit (me or Ram, depending on whose story it is) with great difficulty and surveys the landscape. Then he makes friends with the bees and butterflies of the land (toys from the floor gyms) and tells them his story. Stuff like that. Captain Cute Little also changes his name to Sweet Little or Naughty Little or Beautiful Little depending on the fancies of his parents.
Okay, Captain Pee Pott just wet himself, me and the bed. Time to end this blog post.
The kids who attend it are about 8-10 years old. The camp instructors are in their mid to late teens. Okay so far?
Then get this: every morning, between 9:04 and 9:06 am, they start their prayers to the tune of "You are my sunshine", followed by counting in Hebrew, and then, another prayer, set to the tune of "Row, row, row your boat". Because they can't help themselves, after the Hebrew prayer, they segue automatically into the English songs.
So, first you hear this
"He vo patti, ke he seera
hehopatma lavote
teke phero, nanote-eeyah
thanananananana
you're my sunshine, my only sunshine,
you make me happy when skies are grey"
etc etc
Then the older chaps pick on some little kid who has to go up to the front and lead the counting. Each number is punctuated by a punch in the air (which the kid in the front always does with great enthusiasm... punches kind of look like the "Heil Hitler" salute hahahaha)
Then comes the "Row your boat" song.
What really astonishes me is how earnest everybody is. How ridiculous must you feel to sing a prayer set to a nursery rhyme? Aren't teens supposed to be surly and sullen and rebellious? Not these ones. They must be mutants. Or maybe ultra-orthodox Jews are like that only.
Oh wait. Actually, I just remembered. Back in Bangalore, in the Jain temple next door, they sing prayers set to Bollywood songs. Specifically, to "Ek Do Teen" and "Dhak dhak".
So it's not just a Jewish thing.
I ought to become a prophet and start my own religion. I would call it "Rational Religion" (an oxymoron, if I've ever heard one). It would be like the Free Mason society of this age.
b) Breastfeeding is HARD. I have no doubts as to why two generations of women in America decided to toss the whole thing out and stick to bottles. And at the end of all that hardship, there is no award at the end of it. You, as a hardworking mom, may feel like you have a halo around your head, but it is visible only to you. And your child, though he may (or may not. Who can tell with babies?) care now, probably won't give a shit about it a few months from now.
I'll give this whole business till the kiddo is 6 months old. After that, goodbye breast milk! I'll rub my hands together in glee and regain control of my life and my hormones. October, I await your arrival.
c) Speaking of halos around one's head, I deserve an extra big one, for reasons other than breastfeeding. It has now been 4 days and 21 hours since my parents left for India and I think that the kiddo has been taken good care of by the man and me. In addition to taking care of the kid, I have cooked at home every day (except last night when I broke down and ate a couple of slices of pizza for dinner), done groceries, laundry & utensils, kept the house from descending into shambles, mustered up energy to play a game of badminton with the man nearly every day and oh yes, let us not forget, go to lab for a bit every day. To be honest though, lab work has been relegated to a very low position on list of priorities. Oh well. It will not be for too long.
d) Ram and I have devised a new game with the kiddo. We call it "The Adventures of Captain Cute Litte" and make up new adventures involving the baby. So Captain Cute Little wins the hearts of his unruly crew at sea (by threatening to cry or pee on them) and then discovers new lands and tames its barbaric people. And the next day, he climbs a tall summit (me or Ram, depending on whose story it is) with great difficulty and surveys the landscape. Then he makes friends with the bees and butterflies of the land (toys from the floor gyms) and tells them his story. Stuff like that. Captain Cute Little also changes his name to Sweet Little or Naughty Little or Beautiful Little depending on the fancies of his parents.
Okay, Captain Pee Pott just wet himself, me and the bed. Time to end this blog post.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Love in the Air
The NYT Weddings/Celebrations section makes me sigh in romantic bliss every time I read it.
It is only interesting because of the couples they pick- a lesbian one (both women looking very pretty.... if all gay men are incredibly good looking, are all lesbians very beautiful?), an Indian-Chinese pair (huh?! Not possible ANYwhere else in the world, but the US. What would they cook for dinner? Probably pasta), two Rabbis (I had no idea Jewish women, or Jewesses, as Sir Walter Scott might say, could become rabbis. And they were married by two other rabbis. That article, 365 words long, had the word "rabbi" 17 times in it... As an aside, I read "rabbi" as "rabbit", and so was very intrigued by the line "Two rabbits fall in love, although they didn't want to"), and an old white couple who had been together for nearly 40 years before deciding to get married. Wow. And they said the reason they finally did get married was financial- so they could take care of each other. Hmmm... very sweet, I suppose.
Do you know why I can guarantee that the NYT Weddings section would be a bust if they chose other conventional couples? Try reading the testimonials on a matrimonial site, like Shaadi.com or Bharat Matrimony. B-O-R-I-N-G!! Always accompanied by the picture the couple must have taken for the purposes of the marriage registration (passport size picture of groom in blue shirt and garland, bride in full wedding regalia also with garland, both looking serious, like they know what they are getting into), the text reads invariably as, "And so, since the horoscopes matched, my uncle got in touch with his father and the families met. We talked in the balcony for a full half an hour and after that, we both agreed. We have been married one week now and I think that he is my soul mate"
Or worse, "It felt like we were destined to meet and get married"
One can only take so much of this stuff.
Anyway, here's the link to the section: http://www.nytimes.com/pages/fashion/weddings/index.html
Oh, and as a joke, here's a link to Bharat Matrimony: http://www.bharatmatrimony.com/
Scroll down and click on Success Stories (they have changed this since the last time I was here, which, before you think that I regularly check this stuff, was about 4 years ago... before RK and I decided to get engaged, and when my mom still had my details up. Embarrassing to admit, but I am honest like that)
I wonder how the process of finding mates will change in the next 20 years. Perhaps we will have holograms that we can project of ourselves and which can interact with the holograms of our potential partners.
It is only interesting because of the couples they pick- a lesbian one (both women looking very pretty.... if all gay men are incredibly good looking, are all lesbians very beautiful?), an Indian-Chinese pair (huh?! Not possible ANYwhere else in the world, but the US. What would they cook for dinner? Probably pasta), two Rabbis (I had no idea Jewish women, or Jewesses, as Sir Walter Scott might say, could become rabbis. And they were married by two other rabbis. That article, 365 words long, had the word "rabbi" 17 times in it... As an aside, I read "rabbi" as "rabbit", and so was very intrigued by the line "Two rabbits fall in love, although they didn't want to"), and an old white couple who had been together for nearly 40 years before deciding to get married. Wow. And they said the reason they finally did get married was financial- so they could take care of each other. Hmmm... very sweet, I suppose.
Do you know why I can guarantee that the NYT Weddings section would be a bust if they chose other conventional couples? Try reading the testimonials on a matrimonial site, like Shaadi.com or Bharat Matrimony. B-O-R-I-N-G!! Always accompanied by the picture the couple must have taken for the purposes of the marriage registration (passport size picture of groom in blue shirt and garland, bride in full wedding regalia also with garland, both looking serious, like they know what they are getting into), the text reads invariably as, "And so, since the horoscopes matched, my uncle got in touch with his father and the families met. We talked in the balcony for a full half an hour and after that, we both agreed. We have been married one week now and I think that he is my soul mate"
Or worse, "It felt like we were destined to meet and get married"
One can only take so much of this stuff.
Anyway, here's the link to the section: http://www.nytimes.com/pages/fashion/weddings/index.html
Oh, and as a joke, here's a link to Bharat Matrimony: http://www.bharatmatrimony.com/
Scroll down and click on Success Stories (they have changed this since the last time I was here, which, before you think that I regularly check this stuff, was about 4 years ago... before RK and I decided to get engaged, and when my mom still had my details up. Embarrassing to admit, but I am honest like that)
I wonder how the process of finding mates will change in the next 20 years. Perhaps we will have holograms that we can project of ourselves and which can interact with the holograms of our potential partners.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Things that make my baby cry
a) Tugging at his own hair too hard
b) Sticking his index and middle fingers down his throat during efforts to find thumb to suck on
c) Pausing while breastfeeding, and then looking for breast in the opposite direction
Babies are silly :)
b) Sticking his index and middle fingers down his throat during efforts to find thumb to suck on
c) Pausing while breastfeeding, and then looking for breast in the opposite direction
Babies are silly :)
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The discovery of breast feeding
A long, plaintive wail brought Eve out of her slumber. At first, she didn't know what it was. Then, "Oh God, oh no... not again", she whispered.
She struggled out of her make shift bed and lifted her son up and gazed at him helplessly. She knew that this plaintive cry would only get worse, would transform into an unending, unrelenting shriek that shook the walls and echoed in the darkness.
And sure enough, it did.
Eve was frantic. She stared at Cain, willing him to stop. She closed her eyes, muttering prayer after prayer. When she opened them, her baby had been transformed. It seemed to her that no longer did the baby have any resemblance to her sweet Cain, his face had been mottled, distorted, eyes scrunched up, face a deep red. No longer was his mouth a lovely rosebud. Instead, it was a monster mouth, opened wide open, shrieking, shrieking and shrieking.
"Oh God, stop! Just shut up!" she screamed back in her own head. How to get him to shut up? She shoved a finger in his mouth- it had worked before. No dice. He merely spat it out and continued unabated. She needed something bigger. Something the approximate shape of his mouth, to shove in and plug that monstrous hole.
Then! She tore off her top and with trembling hands, brought the baby/monster to her chest and stuck her breast into Cain's wide open mouth.
Silence. Beautiful, tear inducing, awesome silence.
She struggled out of her make shift bed and lifted her son up and gazed at him helplessly. She knew that this plaintive cry would only get worse, would transform into an unending, unrelenting shriek that shook the walls and echoed in the darkness.
And sure enough, it did.
Eve was frantic. She stared at Cain, willing him to stop. She closed her eyes, muttering prayer after prayer. When she opened them, her baby had been transformed. It seemed to her that no longer did the baby have any resemblance to her sweet Cain, his face had been mottled, distorted, eyes scrunched up, face a deep red. No longer was his mouth a lovely rosebud. Instead, it was a monster mouth, opened wide open, shrieking, shrieking and shrieking.
"Oh God, stop! Just shut up!" she screamed back in her own head. How to get him to shut up? She shoved a finger in his mouth- it had worked before. No dice. He merely spat it out and continued unabated. She needed something bigger. Something the approximate shape of his mouth, to shove in and plug that monstrous hole.
Then! She tore off her top and with trembling hands, brought the baby/monster to her chest and stuck her breast into Cain's wide open mouth.
Silence. Beautiful, tear inducing, awesome silence.
Gas issues- one of many probable parts
The boy lay, reclined in an indolent pose, his feet propped up, his hands behind his head, on his bed. He stared expressionlessly at the person looking at him so hopefully, beseechingly.
Then, slowly, thoughtfully, subtly, never shifting his gaze, he moved his left leg. And let out a fart. A loud, squelchy, long passage of wind.
There was a minute of electric silence.
Then, the person fell upon him, patted him and said, "Oh, my boy, my son, my champion! What a clever, clever boy! How perfectly ingenious of you!"
Yes.
The baby has farted.
Perhaps we can all go to sleep now.
Then, slowly, thoughtfully, subtly, never shifting his gaze, he moved his left leg. And let out a fart. A loud, squelchy, long passage of wind.
There was a minute of electric silence.
Then, the person fell upon him, patted him and said, "Oh, my boy, my son, my champion! What a clever, clever boy! How perfectly ingenious of you!"
Yes.
The baby has farted.
Perhaps we can all go to sleep now.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Recent readings
A thought provoking and well reasoned article arguing for a ban against garments covering the face: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/05/opinion/05cope.html?hp
France is trying to pass a law that forbids people from wearing clothes that conceals their face. Critics argue that the French are discriminating against Muslim women who wear burqa. This author points out why it is not discrimination.
A book I've been reading recently is a collection of Guy de Maupassant's short stories. I don't think I've ever read Maupassant before, but his name is so familiar because my mom kept talking about him when I was younger. So it is surprising that I don't recall even a single book of his lying around at home. Anyway, the collection is called 'The Necklace and Other Short Stories", a book that seems to be present in every second hand bookstore in Pittsburgh. I'd picked this up nearly three years ago and only now got around to reading it. They are beautiful stories, heartrending, compassionate and honest. I can only get through one story a day, because each story makes me pause and reflect and brood.
Before my maternity leave gets over, I must get hold of short stories by Somerset Maugham and Saki and see which author fits what mood the best.
France is trying to pass a law that forbids people from wearing clothes that conceals their face. Critics argue that the French are discriminating against Muslim women who wear burqa. This author points out why it is not discrimination.
A book I've been reading recently is a collection of Guy de Maupassant's short stories. I don't think I've ever read Maupassant before, but his name is so familiar because my mom kept talking about him when I was younger. So it is surprising that I don't recall even a single book of his lying around at home. Anyway, the collection is called 'The Necklace and Other Short Stories", a book that seems to be present in every second hand bookstore in Pittsburgh. I'd picked this up nearly three years ago and only now got around to reading it. They are beautiful stories, heartrending, compassionate and honest. I can only get through one story a day, because each story makes me pause and reflect and brood.
Before my maternity leave gets over, I must get hold of short stories by Somerset Maugham and Saki and see which author fits what mood the best.
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