There was a mango festival this weekend at the stadium, a 10 minute walk from home. There were yellow green boards all over the town announcing the 4th mango festival.
We in this part of the world, I dare say, know about mangoes more than others. I used to make such a show of being a connoisseur of mangoes while in France! I would pick one up, peer at it, sniff it and then put it back with a shake of my head. No sir, this isn't a good 'Mangue'!! And there was no one out there to tell me otherwise. But this festival put in my place and proper! I realized that I knew only three of four varieties and that too, only their names - Alfonso, langra, chausa, himsagar and a few more. I cannot identify them for the life of me! The wide variety had me jaw dropped! There were 348 varieties spread out on 6 long tables.
There were the ones which looked amazing :-
Nazuk pasand (delicate choice, roughly translated) a regular mango but with an ear like flap sticking out at one end.
Chitla - banana yellow smallish mangoes with green specks.
Kalmi Bela - same banana yellow but with green stripes.
Tota pari asli - (Tota is hindi for parrot) - each mango ends in the most astonishing pointed beak.
Gola (Cannon ball) - is large and heavy.
Laila ki Unglian (Laila's fingers) - really slender tiny mangoes some one and a half inch in size!
Then the variety
Papita - large heavy mango looking exactly like Papayas.
Button - tiny plum sized perfectly formed mangoes
Malika - Long sensuous ones
Husn Ara - A lovely delicate golden colour
Maharani - about the size of a lime.
Then there were the ones with the odd names. I would have liked to ask the organisers about their origin but for the mad rush.
Mishti Sona (roughly translated, sweet darling, in bengali)
Padriwala - The Priest
Bhutto - After Ex-Pak PM Butto?
Mr Ford - (Mind boggles at the name)
Then there were the Bhog, rasgolas, amrit kalash all named after Indian deserts. And lastly there was 'Laila Majnu' a pair of medium mangoes in a dish!
We have been to so many food exhibitions in our little town back in France...all serving their specialites - pate, sausages, breads, biscuits in bite sized portions. So, we were expecting some sort of samples here as well. Alas, these were only for viewing and not for tasting. There were stalls selling mangoes by the crate (roughly 4 kilos per crate) which one had to buy using one's mango buying prowess or like in our case, a wild hunch.
I consoled myself by saying that if they started to give out samples out here, the would a) go bankrupt b) there'd be a wild stampede c) or both!!
Later on I found out that there indeed is a much larger festival in Talkotra in delhi where there they give out mangoes to sample. Well anyhow, this wasn't too bad and the mangoes we bought were quite sweet!
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Thursday, June 24, 2004
The Ambassador
I spied an Ambassador today and was really surprised. A private one at that. The car, and not the embassy head. Imagine!
Time was when the mighty Ambassador ruled the Indian roadways. There were a few others cars. Fiat was one. But Ambassador was The car for many a decade when a tiny car - Maruti -appeared on the Indian car scene and changed its face for ever. Now we have a huge range of Indian cars as well as foreign ones to choose from. Ambassadors are still being manufactured but mostly for ministers, IAS officers, other governmnet officials and taxi cabs. I have not heard of anyone and I mean anyone going and buying one!
How simpler life was back then. I should know. We are in the process of buying a car and the decision making is taking forever. Everyone has his or her own favourite. Zen, Santro, Honda City, Maruti etc etc. Which one looks better, which one gives better mileage and so on and so forth. But no one mentions the Ambassador. I wonder what will happen should I suggest it as my choice? Everyone will surely keel over.
And yet, this sturdy Indian car cannot be dissmissed so easily. It has something in common with - Rolls Royce no less! Till very recently, these two were entirely hand assembled and not rolled off some assembly line! But for entirely different reasons:- Rolls Royce...well because its a Rolls silly and not just another car; and the Ambassador, because thats just how they did it in the begining and never bothered to change! Maybe they haven't changed and are being hand assembled even as I write!
Time was when the mighty Ambassador ruled the Indian roadways. There were a few others cars. Fiat was one. But Ambassador was The car for many a decade when a tiny car - Maruti -appeared on the Indian car scene and changed its face for ever. Now we have a huge range of Indian cars as well as foreign ones to choose from. Ambassadors are still being manufactured but mostly for ministers, IAS officers, other governmnet officials and taxi cabs. I have not heard of anyone and I mean anyone going and buying one!
How simpler life was back then. I should know. We are in the process of buying a car and the decision making is taking forever. Everyone has his or her own favourite. Zen, Santro, Honda City, Maruti etc etc. Which one looks better, which one gives better mileage and so on and so forth. But no one mentions the Ambassador. I wonder what will happen should I suggest it as my choice? Everyone will surely keel over.
And yet, this sturdy Indian car cannot be dissmissed so easily. It has something in common with - Rolls Royce no less! Till very recently, these two were entirely hand assembled and not rolled off some assembly line! But for entirely different reasons:- Rolls Royce...well because its a Rolls silly and not just another car; and the Ambassador, because thats just how they did it in the begining and never bothered to change! Maybe they haven't changed and are being hand assembled even as I write!
Sunday, June 20, 2004
Pressing Business
Unlike in France where one does everything, hired help is the norm in India. In India, almost everyone has hired help. Atleast one for most, to many, for the affluent. M-i-l does most of the cooking, there is a woman to do the washing and another who does the floors and dishes. So what was it that I could do? The answer was :- 'Ironing'! I could iron mine and A's clothes. Yes.
M-i-l thought it would be easier if I just gave it to the 'press-walla'. I ignored her advice and struggled bravely with my ironing, in between the power cuts. Without an ironing board, I had to squat by the bed side to iron and the ceiling fan has to be switched off to keep the clothes from flapping. So by the time I finished, I was drenched, hot and bothered and my clothes half creased, no better than before ironing. In the meanwhile, our press walla worked wonders on my in-laws' clothes. Every neighbourhood has one. His shop is just a shack with a back wall formed by stacking bricks in between pillars of the park railings. Bamboo sticks covered with tarpaulin forms the roof, an oven to heat his iron which has a small tray on which glowing embers are put.
No fancy laundry starch, no latest iron with multi faceted options. His ironing board is a rickety wooden table- no doubt a cast off. And yet with these bare infrastructure…he presses and folds our clothes with the precision that would have you swear it was from the best laundry in town. What sharp creases, perfect folds, wrinkle free collars.
After pooh-poohing the need of the press walla, I couldn’t stop ironing all of a sudden and so I began sneaking off one or two of our clothes along with the in-laws’ bundles and yesterday, I boldly marched off with a whole bunch of my own. No more sweating, no more creased clothes, no more getting hot and bothered, wielding a heavy iron and what’s more his rates are really cheap - Re 1/- per clothing and Rs 3/- for a sari. Much less than my electricity bill…if the power happens to be there that is!
Now, I am a frequent visitor. I dont even have to mention my address. He knows it although he never greets me. He merely gives the briefest of nods or if he is in an unusually good mood, he grunts. His tiny bird like wife accompanies him as do his 2 kids – a tiny, solemn little girl. I have tried to speak to her and smile at her, in vain. Perhaps she gets it from her taciturn father. She usually brings the ironed clothes folded across her tiny arms and yells out ‘Press’and waits till someone comes and takes the clothes…she being too tiny to open the main gates let alone ring the bell. She is usually followed by her toddler brother who in contrast is very friendly as he toddles unsteadily up and down the road. He smiles at everyone and stretches out his tiny arms if he sees someone approaching with clothes in their arms!
The press-walla is very important and I suspect he knows it. He is there everyday ironing clothes with that heavy iron from 9.30am till sundown and a normal fixture of the neighbourhood normally that one gets used to. People take little notice of his presence but if he were to be absent even for a day, practically the whole of the neighbourhood would sit up and take collective notice!
M-i-l thought it would be easier if I just gave it to the 'press-walla'. I ignored her advice and struggled bravely with my ironing, in between the power cuts. Without an ironing board, I had to squat by the bed side to iron and the ceiling fan has to be switched off to keep the clothes from flapping. So by the time I finished, I was drenched, hot and bothered and my clothes half creased, no better than before ironing. In the meanwhile, our press walla worked wonders on my in-laws' clothes. Every neighbourhood has one. His shop is just a shack with a back wall formed by stacking bricks in between pillars of the park railings. Bamboo sticks covered with tarpaulin forms the roof, an oven to heat his iron which has a small tray on which glowing embers are put.
No fancy laundry starch, no latest iron with multi faceted options. His ironing board is a rickety wooden table- no doubt a cast off. And yet with these bare infrastructure…he presses and folds our clothes with the precision that would have you swear it was from the best laundry in town. What sharp creases, perfect folds, wrinkle free collars.
After pooh-poohing the need of the press walla, I couldn’t stop ironing all of a sudden and so I began sneaking off one or two of our clothes along with the in-laws’ bundles and yesterday, I boldly marched off with a whole bunch of my own. No more sweating, no more creased clothes, no more getting hot and bothered, wielding a heavy iron and what’s more his rates are really cheap - Re 1/- per clothing and Rs 3/- for a sari. Much less than my electricity bill…if the power happens to be there that is!
Now, I am a frequent visitor. I dont even have to mention my address. He knows it although he never greets me. He merely gives the briefest of nods or if he is in an unusually good mood, he grunts. His tiny bird like wife accompanies him as do his 2 kids – a tiny, solemn little girl. I have tried to speak to her and smile at her, in vain. Perhaps she gets it from her taciturn father. She usually brings the ironed clothes folded across her tiny arms and yells out ‘Press’and waits till someone comes and takes the clothes…she being too tiny to open the main gates let alone ring the bell. She is usually followed by her toddler brother who in contrast is very friendly as he toddles unsteadily up and down the road. He smiles at everyone and stretches out his tiny arms if he sees someone approaching with clothes in their arms!
The press-walla is very important and I suspect he knows it. He is there everyday ironing clothes with that heavy iron from 9.30am till sundown and a normal fixture of the neighbourhood normally that one gets used to. People take little notice of his presence but if he were to be absent even for a day, practically the whole of the neighbourhood would sit up and take collective notice!
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Local Fauna
The monkey menace continues. They don’t visit us everyday - what a relief. They come and check out the fruits on the guava and pomegranate trees and return only when the fruits are just right for plucking and eating. They eat some, throw some, while we sit behind the safety of the screen doors and gnash our teeth. The other day a whole herd descended. Mothers with babies clinging to their underbelly, skippy young adults, old ones along with the alpha male leader who sat on a low branch and surveyed all around him placidly while the rest made a mess of our backyard. They threw all our laundry from where they were hung to dry, tore some of them and bizarrely, left my father-in-law's shirt intact on the line. Perhaps a sense of respect from one head of a house to another?! We made threatening noises, brandished a stick but they paid little attention. They came and left at their own will and for a while, and in a neat reversal of roles ...it was us humans behind bars and they out in the open!
Today, I read in a newsletter that our sector's Resident Welfare association publishes that the monkey menace has increased with some kid being mauled by them and yet we haven’t done anything about it while some of the other sectors have found a suitable solution:- they have hired the services of a langur walla (for those of you who aren’t familiar...these are larger simians with a long tail and black faces) and all he has to do is walk around the monkey infested areas with his langur and all the monkeys simply run away.
And as if this weren’t enough, the newsletter also announces that stampeding cattle in a nearby sector has caused considerable damage to cars parked on the road! Phew what exciting times...
As I am slowing getting acquainted with my neighbourhood...my blogs will now be full of details about it and like this post...you will come to know just how exciting and fun a time I am having!
Today, I read in a newsletter that our sector's Resident Welfare association publishes that the monkey menace has increased with some kid being mauled by them and yet we haven’t done anything about it while some of the other sectors have found a suitable solution:- they have hired the services of a langur walla (for those of you who aren’t familiar...these are larger simians with a long tail and black faces) and all he has to do is walk around the monkey infested areas with his langur and all the monkeys simply run away.
And as if this weren’t enough, the newsletter also announces that stampeding cattle in a nearby sector has caused considerable damage to cars parked on the road! Phew what exciting times...
As I am slowing getting acquainted with my neighbourhood...my blogs will now be full of details about it and like this post...you will come to know just how exciting and fun a time I am having!
Monday, June 14, 2004
SHAME
The olympic torch came and left. We sure have a unique way to show our interest in the Olympic games. Filmstars and big brand sponsorship. I was in the vicinity on that day and the place was awash with posters of a cola giant and an electronic brand some sort of sponsors of the event. And the line-up of celebrities who would carry the torch were filmstars and couple of sports persons bizzarely from cricket which is not one of the sports in the Olympics. At the end of it all, one would have been forgiven for thinking that it was a film world event sponsored by a popular cola.
A lot of people have protested against this mainly in the letters to editors of various news papers and one of them even suggested that there was a brighter side of using filmstars to carry the torch. Atleast it got people interested in the what, where and why of the Olympics! The Union minister for sports said it was not the centre's fault that we had film stars and not sports men and women carrying the torch after it arrived back in India after 4 decades. Where were PT Usha, Leslie Claudius, Milkha Singh.....Instead we had Rani Mukherje, Aishwariya, Vivek Oberoi....
Well the state of affairs is well represented in our showing at the Olympics....
What a shame. Maybe our sports persons should all emigrate to some other country where they value their sportspersons and do not reduce one of the most hallowed sporting events into a cheap tamasha. I feel tremendously ashamed for this and I as an Indian apologise to each and every Indian sports person.
A lot of people have protested against this mainly in the letters to editors of various news papers and one of them even suggested that there was a brighter side of using filmstars to carry the torch. Atleast it got people interested in the what, where and why of the Olympics! The Union minister for sports said it was not the centre's fault that we had film stars and not sports men and women carrying the torch after it arrived back in India after 4 decades. Where were PT Usha, Leslie Claudius, Milkha Singh.....Instead we had Rani Mukherje, Aishwariya, Vivek Oberoi....
Well the state of affairs is well represented in our showing at the Olympics....
What a shame. Maybe our sports persons should all emigrate to some other country where they value their sportspersons and do not reduce one of the most hallowed sporting events into a cheap tamasha. I feel tremendously ashamed for this and I as an Indian apologise to each and every Indian sports person.
Friday, June 11, 2004
A suitable job
Last couple of weeks have been really hectic. Apart from a quick heat stroke and stomach upset, I had some good news – job interviews! One after the other. Imagine. I spend the better part of my stay in France applying to jobs and getting rejected. Infact I received so many reject letters that I could have honestly stuffed a mattress with them! And out here, within a month, I get three!
The first of these were with a to be launched magazine. They are looking for free lancers and liked some of my posts from this blog and asked me to submit some articles and take it from there. Alas…the minute I walked out of the interview, writer’ (or not yet writer but soon to be) block struck. I haven’t been able to pen a single word of the article I am to submit to them!
Next came an offer from a famous publisher’s. This is one job I’d like. Imagine someone paying me to read! I was duly asked for an editorial test. And it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be! How is an omlette spelt? Omelette or ommelette? Ocassion or occasion? And so on and so forth. There were 8 progressively tougher excercises in all and I felt terribly drained at the end of it which I blamed on the heat stroke ofcourse. I am still keeping my fingers and toes crossed!
And just this week, I appeared for and got a job (albeit a short lived one) with a famous artist who wanted some research assistant. I spent two dreary days doing really boring administrative tasks…waiting for things to settle so that things could be explained to me better…and it was, yesterday, in a way. It got really late last night and instead of explaining my role and responsibilities, the artist kept asking me If I shared his concerns (about what may I ask?), did I feel connected with him (what ever does it mean?) and how was I feeling about it all? ‘Chaotic’ was my answer which I guess left him a wee bit disappointed. He wanted to discuss it over dinner…just the two of us which I declined (putting it mildly) and didn’t report to work this morning and wont be in future! Phew!
Wish me luck that I do get the publishing job or something nice…
The first of these were with a to be launched magazine. They are looking for free lancers and liked some of my posts from this blog and asked me to submit some articles and take it from there. Alas…the minute I walked out of the interview, writer’ (or not yet writer but soon to be) block struck. I haven’t been able to pen a single word of the article I am to submit to them!
Next came an offer from a famous publisher’s. This is one job I’d like. Imagine someone paying me to read! I was duly asked for an editorial test. And it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be! How is an omlette spelt? Omelette or ommelette? Ocassion or occasion? And so on and so forth. There were 8 progressively tougher excercises in all and I felt terribly drained at the end of it which I blamed on the heat stroke ofcourse. I am still keeping my fingers and toes crossed!
And just this week, I appeared for and got a job (albeit a short lived one) with a famous artist who wanted some research assistant. I spent two dreary days doing really boring administrative tasks…waiting for things to settle so that things could be explained to me better…and it was, yesterday, in a way. It got really late last night and instead of explaining my role and responsibilities, the artist kept asking me If I shared his concerns (about what may I ask?), did I feel connected with him (what ever does it mean?) and how was I feeling about it all? ‘Chaotic’ was my answer which I guess left him a wee bit disappointed. He wanted to discuss it over dinner…just the two of us which I declined (putting it mildly) and didn’t report to work this morning and wont be in future! Phew!
Wish me luck that I do get the publishing job or something nice…
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