Ceremony of Happiness!

Entire two storey house was decorated with lights, colorful satin and zari drapes and marigold-ribbons. My cousin's wedding was going to be a splendid one. Perfection in every department was in demand by the bride and her father, my uncle, made sure the demand was met come what may.
Pre wedding rituals, her trousseau for each of those rituals, jewelry to match every outfit, hospitality towards the relatives who had come few days prior to the wedding, food, music, every little detail was being taken care of.

Three domestic helps of the family were asked to work overtime, to wait upon the guests. This was in addition to extra household chores that they were already doing. For which they were to earn additional money. However, the way the three were attending to every job assigned to them and often to what wasn't assigned, money seemed secondary to them. Having been serving the family for years they had by then become a part of the household and they were happily serving the extra hours. They took it upon themselves their individual responsibilities as if the bride was their own daughter.

One evening, two days prior to the wedding, everyone gathered in the living room. A gifting tradition was in order. In this tradition every close relative and friends are gifted clothing-sarees, salwar suits, kurtas; a gesture to thank them for being a part of the wedding ceremony.
The gifting was on and so was the artificial hackneyed line "Oh why me?" "There was no need." "Why the formality?"

While all this was happening, to everyone's surprise, my cousin called the three helps and each were given boxes that were beautifully wrapped in glossy papers just like the other wrapped gifts.
Ecstatic Shikha and Fatima found tussar sarees in their packets, while Mahesh was delighted to find silk kurta in his. The surprises didn't come to an end there. My aunt had gifts for their families too.

I saw a few expressions in the room which unabashedly screamed of disapprovals on such gesture, but those minuscule negative energies couldn't compete with the grand happiness that oozed out of Shikha, Fatima and Mahesh. They felt special, a feeling which was so rare for them, I thought. A smile was fixed on my face, it just felt so right.

My respect and love multiplied for my cousin's family and not to mention there were tons and tons of joy around us.That day I knew that all it takes is sprinkling of some fairy dust in someone's life and happiness in abundance showers around us.

  

Courtesy: india.com

“I am participating in the #DilKiDealOnSnapdeal activity at BlogAdda in association with SnapDeal.”

The Blissful Feast and Mithayis!!

The morning was a usual one, a leisurely Sunday 9.00 am with breakfast and newspaper and some family time. While I was digging into my protein induced meal, my parents were discussing the world and their inhabitants around our family. Not interested in the lead characters of the discussion I chose to concentrate on the headlines of the daily.

Moments later I realized the discussion had come to a halt. I looked up and found two pairs of questioning eyes darting towards me. Mom repeated the question which apparently didn't reach me on its first attempt for I was engrossed in those worldly headlines.

I was asked if I remembered that I had to sponsor bhog at our community club's temple with my first salary. A promise, mother had made to God when I was at interviews. A promise, I was aware of, something that all the ladies of the club made for their children without fail; a tradition had shaped up out of its own.

It never had fancied me though and ergo, the promise or its reminder did nothing to fan my enthusiasm for it. I had nodded my consent earlier but now my heart played a different harp.
The bhog, the blessed meal, would be served to people who are already well fed. People who fasted not because their pantry was empty but because they wanted to lose some kilos. People who never hesitated to throw away excess food they had on their plate out of miscalculation of the quantity. What was the point in feeding such stomachs when there were people famished for days? Such hunger does not occur out of choice. It’s a product that mushrooms out of poverty and its vicious circle.

I knew I had to follow my heart. I discussed my plan with my parents. They thought feeding unfortunate was a noble thing but one cannot back away from a promise either, especially one that made to God. Hence, it was decided I would share a feast with a local orphanage and would also sponsor the bhog.

The day of feast was magical. The warmth, the smiles, the happiness, all so contagious, filled my heart with joy and love. I did not attend the bhog though, which was organized the next day much to the chagrin of my family. I visited the orphanage in its stead, this time with mithayis. This to only witness and experience the smiles that played on their angelic faces. Was totally worth!!

 

Courtesy: India.com

“I am participating in the #DilKiDealOnSnapdeal activity at BlogAdda in association with SnapDeal.”

Gourmet and The Midas Touch!

The Tangra fishes lay in the runny masala curry.

Tangra looks gorgeous in Borosil Hot pot.

The juicy Chicken Rezella flaunts itself in the deep Borosil dish.

 

The Katla Fish Kaalia made it's grand entry.

Jeera Rice happily highlighting the main course.

 

  

Dahi Kadhi blissfuly settled in the Borosil gourmet bowl.

The last entrant was the strawberry-Vanila ice-cream with choco-chips serenely awaited for their turn in the Borosil squat glasses.

The main course fit for a gourmet had the Midas touch of Borosil :)

This post has been written exclusively for Borosil contest "My Beautiful food- Round 2" by Indiblogger.
To be more Borosil savvy click HERE.

P. S. The pics are property of the author of this blog, CoffeeBeans.

The Trance by Wicked Jalebis!

A beautiful bowl filled with very tempting and engaging Jalebis was kept on the dinning table. The aroma of desi ghee whispered their shudh-ness, a few fine green slices of pistachios hugging each jalebi promised perfectness. The warm crust confirmed its freshness. I was informed that the Jalebis were a treat by our neighbor for her son scored some good grades. Not caring about which neighbor and which son, I concentrated only on the tempting dessert that was smiling sweetly at me. Asking me to gobble them, and be a shameless glutton.

Without any hesitation I picked up one and bit on its outer coil. The orange sugary syrup trickled down my fingers and I licked all of it happily as the child within me had already woken up just by looking at the golden chaashni soaked sweet. Every bite was followed by a crunch sound declaring the perfect deep fried coils. All I wished was some rabri to go along with it. The killer combination of garam jalebi with creamy rabri is unbeatable. Alas, I had to do with only jalebis.

Somewhere in the room, I heard two male voices, probably my cousin and my dad, discussing pretzel being a copy of jalebis…eh! Who cares? All I cared now was about me and my desi ghee crispy sugary munchies that messed my fingers.
Licking every bit of the syrup from my fingers I said,"hmm…okay" to something that was told to me from a distance.
Then the voice rose and my trance was broken. Mom with knitted eyebrows and pursed lips was glaring at me.

"What?" I asked.
"Can't you hear what I told you about not touching those."
"But why? These are for us, aren’t they?"
"No. They are for Lata's son, he topped his class and we are treating him and you ate one fourth of the bowl."

The trance of my favorite dessert had played with my mind so wickedly that nothing that my mom had told me earlier had reached me.
I wasn't complaining.

"Um, the glassware made them look so delicious I couldn't control myself, Mom. Aren't they Borosil?"

Mom huffed and asked my dad to get some more jalebis, this time some for me too. I was definitely not complaining.

This post is exclusively written for My Beautiful Food (Alphabet Soup) contest by Borosil and Indiblogger. You can be Borosil savvy by clicking HERE.

An Affair With Prawn-Pakodas!

I lazily woke up from my Sunday siesta. It was 5 in the evening. I looked out of the window, the lowering sky threatened to lash out anytime. Every bit of the outside world was encased in gloom. A petite bead dropped on the glass of my window, making an unruly trail of its journey towards the window tracks. My lips twitched at the corners; a mischief expression now ruled my face.  "IT'S HOT PAKODA TIME" screamed my soul.

I jumped out of my cozy bed announcing my delicious intentions to the entire world, which was heard by only two earthlings. My parents who were sipping their hot aromatic Darjeeling tea broke their conversation and looked at me. With a childlike smile they echoed my fervor and began discussing which pakodas they would like to devour.  The options were many, from the clichéd onion to my much loved cabbage, from mom's favorite cauliflowers to dad's beloved pumpkin flowers and so on.

I hovered around the table listening to the century's most important discussion and eying the buttery ginger-oats cookies scattered on the beautiful glass plate, while my parents were still finding it difficult to zero in on one option. I picked one cookie and took a bite. It cracked and crumbled and as I chewed further, it melted in my mouth and I could sense a rush of fresh ginger gushing through my body. Just then a roaring thunder was followed by loud clattering on the windowpane. Sheets of icy rain were driving down with vigor.

I don't know whether it was the cookie or the rain or their combination, but it was that moment when enlightenment struck and my taste buds nudged me to decide on prawn pakodas. There was no question of further exchange of dialogues on this. I broadcasted my verdict which was received with two enthusiastic 'yays'. Before the ladies of the house could say "mirchi", dad in his manly baritone shooed us away claiming the kitchen. We were going to enjoy Prawn pakodas made by daddy. *smiles*

A bunch of prawns were quickly removed to defrost and masalas were all set. All we, the ladies, had to do now was sit beside the window, chit-chat and wait impatiently for the appetizing hot and spicy besan coated dumplings as rain lashed out at the transparent glass pane. Sounds of dishes, spoons clinking…clanking began to rise from the kitchen.

Eventually the whiff of deep frying prawns gingerly wafted towards the living room and oh-so sensually entered our nostrils, teasing our senses. My mouth filled up with saliva in no time and I feared I might salivate all over the dinning table. I looked up at mom; she was trying hard not to drool. We giggled and I shouted, "PAKODA PAKODA!!". Chuckling, dad begged to wait for 10 more minutes.

Mom and I now could hardly talk as our watering mouths were a big hindrance. Impatience was now crawling up our spine and even the intoxicating rain soaked mud from our house plants weren't of any comfort; they were just making the wait harder. And finally, dad arrived with a big tray in his hands. He placed it on the table, singing "Tan-Ta-Tadaan".

There they were, placed beautifully on a pretty glass platter, a bouquet of hot curled golden prawns ready to get ravished lovingly. Each of them, soooo inviting. They were all gathered together, some on top of each other, some resting beside another as if discussing who would score more with it's flavor.The tiny ajjwain seeds stuck to the coating enhanced their charm.
The three cute little bowls sitting beside them offered fresh green coriander chutney. With no further ado, I attacked the honey hued deep fried prawns. Picking the largest one I dipped it in the green chutney, parted my lips wide and placed it in my mouth. Etiquette forgotten.

The crispy outer crust crunched between my teeth and my tongue made it it's own. The flavor of the sea enveloped in spices burst in my mouth. The masalas, the ginger, the garlic, the ajjwain all exploded together and danced around my tongue.
The dash of the coriander chutney began its magic in no time and added delightful tang to the hot dumpling that was now paralyzing my senses with its sinful flavor. I munched on the coiled sea-dweller, pleasantly taking in every bit of its essence, not wanting to cut off the connection we were making at that moment. After some good chewing I slowly gulped down the heavenly mish-mash, pleasuring my throat.
 
I looked at the plate, four were already gone. Mom-Dad were gorging with amusing expressions on their faces. I took two this time, dunked them in the chutney and pushed them inside my mouth. My cheeks puffed up. Lady-like conduct forgotten. And the affair with prawn pakodas resurrected with new drive, new passion.
The rains outside continued to strike furiously and inside we continued to glut, finding new meaning with each pakoda.
Surely, an affair to remember!

P. S. Our Prawn-Pakoda Rainy Day saga couldn't have been so memorable without the elegant and stunning Borosil glassware, in which the delicious dumplings and chutney were served. *smiles broadly*

This post has been exclusively written for "My Beautiful Food (Alphabet Soup)" contest by Borosil and Indiblogger. To be more Borosil savvy click HERE and enjoy! :D

Recharging Graceful Locks to Energize Life.

It’s been so long that I have taken a long distance train journey in sleeper class. Last one was when I was a little girl. The train journeys during vacations used to recharge my life that used to get dry with studies and books. Traveling in A/c compartment from Mumbai to Kolkata resulted in a big hole in the pocket, though, it didn’t take long for us to upgrade ourselves to A/c coaches. Loved the facilities that were provided in the cool coaches of the train, although, it's all covered up features gave the feeling of being clamped up in a box. 

 Later flights smiled at us promising a quick journey to our destination in an affordable price. Happy about the glamorous change I often enjoyed hiring its services.
But, there was always something missing in the journeys. I never felt the excitement, the revival I used to feel as a child. Thus, my collection of colorful memories of the journey suffered. I no longer had tales to cherish and bore my friends with them.

All I had to tell was about the food, the fellow passengers and the train crew.  The world outside which I could only see through tinted glass but could never hear had nothing much to offer.  I could never hear the children running with the train nor hear the train that ran with a grudge to reach the destination. This was never with the sleeper class. There it meant open windows with air breezing in at a speed I couldn't calculate.

Now, I knew I wanted to travel in sleeper class- The journey should equally be fun and memorable like the destination. 

 
I wanted to look out of the window of my seat, stick out my nose from between the bars and breath the outside world and hear them.
I wanted to let loose my hair and feel the air playing with them in merry.
I wanted the air to get lost in my locks while making them dance to its tune while I play with scenarios. 
I wanted to feel the air over myself that smelled of the villages that dwell beside the tracks, the beautiful lively fields that are cared by farmers, the tiny ponds were children take their playful swims.
I wanted to have FUN the way I used to have in my childhood days.
I wanted to refresh my life, recharge myself with the same kind of train journey; the real Indian train journey during my vacation.

So, after so many years, I have decided to have this long distance journey with my family- the old way; Mumbai to Kolkata in sleeper class.
But then, the same fun-filled air would mean me, later, carrying a witch's broom tail on my head.

My beauty lies in four things; my smile, my confidence, my skin and my hair. God has blessed me with straight hair that needs no hot irons to straighten them. They are my lovelies who have been loyally glorifying my face and my personality through out my life.

However even gods face snags and my locks are no exception. Wild winds, angry sun, filthy pollution keep attacking my mane wickedly promising them a dry existence every time I am out. And the sleeper class journey of two days would mean dry, coarse, chaotic, angry hair that would lower my level of zeal. I don't want to hide them inside a scarf or a cap; I want my locks to enjoy themselves too. I need to recharge them before I make them face a wild time in the train so that they can not only have their time of their life along with me, but also be happy, beautiful and alive after we reach the destination.

I hear Sunsilk has a potion that does the trick, it recharges the hair. I am hoping to get my hands on it before I make this trip in April. What do you think; will I get the chance of making my lovelies happy and then have my chance to recharge my life?

  

*****

This post is written exclusively for the Recharge Your Hair Recharge Your Life Contest by Sunsilk in association with Indiblogger.

Dove-licious Best Friends Forever!

The Beginning: They were eight year old girls when they first met. The shorter one was the new girl in the class with shy eyes and an unsure walk. The taller one smiled and slid at the corner of the wooden bench offering the new girl the seat beside her. The new girl smiled back and introduced herself while getting comfortable on the seat which was now going to be hers for the rest of the year. The names were exchanged and both were thrilled to know that they lived in the same area.
“Friends?” one asked, “Friends” the other said. The two eight year olds were unknown of the fact that and it was the beginning of a forever-soul mate friendship. 

The little girls were Namrota (yours truly) and Shruti.

Since that day, we are glued to each other. Inspiring, conspiring, laughing, crying, gossiping… together. We went to school together and the walk back to home meant savoring colorful ice-candies; experimenting different colors every day. Weekends for us were fun-filled with our mock tea parties, little picnic at the local parks and executing our plans to irritate her brothers.  

Class-room Angels: We always sat on the hind side of the classroom as we were amongst the taller pupils. That was a blessing for us. We kept ourselves active and entertained when teachers bored us with the text books and lessons. And an absence of a teacher was ticket to be the queens of the class-room. The black board used to turn into our beloved canvas, pages from the rough book converted into paper-planes, the writing tables became sitting tables. Yes, a walk to the Headmistress’s office followed every time we were caught. 

Bubble-gum Belles: One of our favorite angelic activities, as kids, was to keep blowing bubble gums at public places. The synchronized punctured noises of the ballooned gums were a melodious composition for us. Though, others always misjudged it as devilish activity. *sad face*  

First time Hostesses: We took up our first event management project; her brothers’ birthday party. The twins had turned 10 and we planned an extravagant party for the young guys. We shopped for the party supplies, organized the menu, ordered the most delicious twin cake. Of course bill was paid by Shruti's father, who took the oath of never handing over parties to us again without the supervision of an adult.

But did we have fun? Oh yeah, we did. The party was a super success.

And we still organize surprise birthday parties for the boys every year, which eventually is no longer a surprise.

Kitchen Debut: Sanjeev Kapoor was our kitchen-idol and we wanted to have our own cooking show someday. To rehearse our future show episodes, one fine Sunday we entered the kitchen for the first time to stir up some delicious dishes. Our debut, to everyone's surprise including us, was a box office Rs. 200 crore hit. Although the kitchen looked like an unattractive pantry-car.

Curls and Straights: Hers are curly locks, mine are straight tresses. And as we were too young to experiment with our hair, we were not allowed to use straighteners or curlers (not even safe rollers).
We tried our best to get our preferred results, with our own DIYs. I twirled my hair around my finger to get the curls and she stretched hers from root to tip to straighten them; none of which ever worked. Hence, we wished to exchange our manes. But gods had some other plans for us. He didn't listen to us until we were old enough to fashion our hair just the way we like, using all sorts of hair gadgets and products. 

Slumber Party with Teddy: Shruti and I had some of the best moments whenever we had our wonderful slumber parties. The fun lied when in frightening her with ghost stories. I never failed to tell a ghost story despite that she threatened me of severe consequences. Ergo, she always slept with her teddy to keep away the evil that presumably lived outside the window. And as I write this post, the teddy sits still in her cupboard, though bit severed at a few places and a scratched eye. 

Same Team: One of our loved outdoor sports was tennis and we both were terrible at it. We practiced it often to hone our skills to beat the neighborhood girls, but we played on the same side of the net as we couldn't play against each other. People laughed at us, but it meant the world to us and we stuck to it till we gave up on the sport itself. 

Living Room Ramp: The Oh-so beautiful Sushmita Sen walked the ramp and won the Ms. Universe contest. We both were mesmerized by her and wanted to walk like her, talk like her, look like her. So, Shruti's living room became our own stylish ramp and we made her brothers judges asking us questions and we mocked a fashion show followed by a beauty contest between just the two of us. The success of which led to future fashion shows that included other girls from our class.

Diva-liciously Us: We were fourteen and we knew we had to doll up ourselves like the beauties in the movies. Just kohl and lipsticks won't suffice. Again, our mothers were clear that college was our time for such treats and not school. Ergo, with we saved our pocket money and bought face-packs, face scrubs, toners and hair removal cream...we couldn't muster the courage of going for waxing. Saturdays were our days to pamper ourselves. And as her parents were out on job, her house used to be our beauty abode. Nowadays we exchange home-remedies to beautify ourselves. Mission is same, approach is different.

Wine-y Glasses: Invitation to our first teenage party hosted by our seniors from school, who were now in college was first of its kind. We both had turned 18 a few months back and were legally allowed to consume alcohol. She bonded well with wine, in fact it was love at first taste for her but, for me the drink and I couldn't get along well. However, to fit in it with the crowd which was guzzling down the fermented grape juice, Shruti poured a soft drink in my now empty wine glass. The camouflage worked wonders. Our relation with alcohol still remains the same, though I don't need to pretend anymore. 

Shoppers' Stop: College was our getaway for so many things we craved to do during school. One such activity was shopping by ourselves. Our first shopping experience together was at Fashion Street, and no other girls from our group had yet ventured there. It was a matter of pride for us. We talked about it to others as if we shopped at Versace or Gucci. Girls envied us for some time till they too shopped there.

Very Car-ing: After she failed the driving test for the second time, we had an idea to make her feel good; ye we both came up with it. She sat on the wheels of a fancy car, which, belonged to her neighbor's boyfriend, pretending she was driving it. The day was beautiful and Chowpatty beach looked nothing less than the Miami beach and Shruti didn't talk about her driving test for the next two weeks. 

Pouty Click: Our antics still continue till date and this is how we showed our love for the beauty-licious Dove Test that we took. Just couldn't resist from having a cheek to cheek moment.

  

Shruti and I 

Thats us for you guys, I, my Best Friend and our memories, and we are still to make new ones for us in coming years. I always thank my eight year old self for offering her the seat that day. 

*A Toast to our friendship*

This Post is written exclusively for the Dove Guessing Game With My Friend contest powered by Indiblogger.

**Note: Illustrations are borrowed from Inmagine.com and the last photo is my property and is copyrighted, using it in any way without my my knowledge is not permissble.**