BELATED, I KNOW...

So maybe I am just lazy don't have the best sense of timing. But anyhoo, here's what caught my eye (much) earlier this year at a local wine-and-other-things-alcohol-related store:

Greetings of the season, y'all!

WHEN THE FRUIT BREATHED FIRE

Dragon fruit, anyone?

Here's some more info on it, for those who may want to know.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pitaya

WHEN FOOD LOOKED GOOD!

That, ladies and gentlemen, is a picture of what was served when I ordered Chicken a la Kiev for dinner at this new place in town. Oh, all right - it's been around forever, just that I seem to be the only inhabitant of Mumbai who had never been there. New to me, right? *grumble*

Deconstructed, that is:
Mashed potatoes made into the chicken, with food colouring for the beak.
Tortilla chips for the wings and tail (?)
The 'egg' was SINFUL - batter fried cheese and melted butter and some other bits of goodness
Served on a bed of rice, surrounded by chips and sauteed veggies (See, I knew it was healthy. Hah!)

Waddled home some gazillion pounds fatter, but oh-so-happy.

CHOCOLATE

Hmm, haven't made any in a while now. But here's a (badly taken) picture from when I did, a few weeks ago:

TELLY ON THE BLINK

So we're in the middle of watching Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince for the nth time, when suddenly Hermione peers out at us from this gloomy, mud-coloured screen. That she's also eerily outlined (for want of a better word) in orangy-yellowish squiggles really doesn't help her case. Or rather, the telly's. Panic. Mad rush to the TV to switch off the mains, count to ten, and switch the TV back on again, silently sending up prayers to the Telly God. Apparently though, he's rather miffed with us: twelve hours later, Hermione still looks the same. Sigh.

Reach out for the laptop, Google Samsung India's helpline, and listen to Tinny IVR Lady for the longest time, before getting connected to "Hello, Ma'am, this is Whatsisname, how may I help you?". Turns out that the 'help' will arrive only after 24 hours, so until then, we have other forms of entertainment to choose from for today:

• Listen to music.
• Read. (Ah. Music to my ears, I don't need the radio now, really)
• Paint. (Damn, where did that canvas get to?)
• Take a walk in the rain. Hmm, maybe towards evening.
• De-clutter my wardrobe. Uh, yeah, sure. *whistles loudly, looking skywards*
• Just spend time chatting with the significant other. Now this can be done!
• Cook. Err, rain check! Rain check!

TABLE?!

Sure, if you insist. That's what it is. A table.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Really, now. *rolling eyes in head*

Okay, if you've finished laughing and picked yourself up off the floor, here's the lowdown: this was a table we - the significant other, a couple of friends and self - sat down at to dine. Okay, seriously, stop laughing! :D Where, just so that you know where to go for your next dose of entertainment? This restaurant at a budget hotel in small town India.

Buuwwahhhhahahahaaa.

ONE BLACK COFFEE, PLEASE!

Seriously, black coffee should be declared a religion. How is it even possible to start off the day *yawn* without a steamin' hot cuppa?

This is what most of my mornings look like:
Wake up smiling grumpy most of the time.
Look around bleary-eyed.
Stumble to kitchen.
Plug in the trusty best friend, uhh coffee maker.
Scoop in the grounds, add the water. Slosh some on hand, of course.
Keel over wait while the coffee manna is brewed.
Inhale the goodness.
Garner enough energy to open one eye, as a result. See what magic coffee can do?
Eagerly grab mug with both hands, inhale the happiness again. And again. Sip. Scald tongue. (Oh, how does that even matter? It's coffee heaven.)
Sip some more.
Open the other eye.
Mournfully look down at the dregs, wondering where heaven vanished to.
And then... start off the day.

Now, can this be anything but a religion?

SICK OF BEING SICK

That's what I am. For the past couple of weeks or so, have been fighting off a miserable cold. And just as soon as I think I'm all better, whoosh! it's back. Blergh.

These days, those manufacturers of tissue paper are rejoicing at the business I've been single handnose-dly been giving them.

Chicken chowder, here I come... again!

THE CITY IS WOUNDED. AGAIN.

As I type, three serial bomb blasts have hit the city. All in places wherein the human population is so dense, that even a stray pup wouldn't find a spot to place a tiny paw. And no, I don't exaggerate.

Tomorrow's headlines will praise Mumbai and her people, about how we're 'resilient', how we 'bounce back', how 'life goes on', how strong the city and her people are... Rehashed, recycled - just the venues of the tragedies change.

But this makes you wonder: where all can you hide? As long as terrorism has us in its clutches, we're just not safe anywhere. Tomorrow, we're all gonna be back at our desks at work, and today will be a memory we'll tut-tut about. Shame. It's so painful. Every time something like this happens, for a minute there you're cold with fear, and almost dread calling up people - you are so afraid of hearing the worst. You feel so helpless... and then your belief that politics is a joke is reinforced.

The question is: How long? Just how many more such incidents wherein the city continues to pay so heavily?

BAKING BREAD (OR BUYING A NEW MICROWAVE)

Did you know that baking bread is one of my favourite things to do to relax unwind serve with the soup at dinner?

So these days, here's what I've been attempting to bake. (Does 'attempting' raise an eyebrow? It should, if like me, you own a convection microwave too! Grumble.)
Flour - 200 grams
Baking powder - 1 heaped teaspoon
Walnuts - a handful (okay, maybe more)
Egg - just the one
Honey - umm, enough to drizzle over the walnuts and soak 'em up. So maybe 2 or 3 generous spoonsful.

Here's what you do:
Mix all the above ingredients, and pop into a pre-heated microwave for about 20 - 25 minutes.
When you hear the ping! - head on the micro, poke head to glass and try to peer in. When unsuccessful (as I nearly always am), open up door and stare at what was supposed to be the World's Best Baked Loaf and scowl. (Or maybe not, it may just turn to stone. No, scratch that, it can't get any worse, can it now?) Or better still, grab car keys and head on over to the nearest electronics store and drool at better microwaves/ Gadgets Designed To Change The Future Of Baking Forever. As I do.

P.S.: No, this fiasco attempt at baking bread does not reflect on my domestic abilities (or lack of them).

WHY COFFEENCINNAMON?

A little late in the day, I know, but here's the logic:
1. I love coffee.
2. I love cinnamon.
3. I love cinnamon flavoured coffee.

Not necessarily in that order.

Also on my list of favourites these days is my new diffuser (pictures to follow) and cinnamon aromatherapy pure happiness oil. So here's the thing: when you light this little tea light, there's the most wonderful cinnamon-y scent that wafts through the living room house. Bliss!
So add to that:
Coffee in my favourite mug
Instrumental music
Dim lighting
A good book
Nothing else comes close to this, when you wanna unwind at the end of a stressful day!

TO HAVE A PERFECT SUNDAY, I WILL...

relax with a hot cuppa tea and the newspapers,
watch Harry Potter I (again, for the nth time) on DVD,
have a leisurely lunch,
blog,
haul self off to Phoenix Mills, watch a movie (Delhi Belly).

Happy to report that I've not even gotten past item #2 on list. (Okay, so I did skip to #4, which is evident)

*dances a happy dance* SO much to look forward to today!

WAITING

Six p.m., and he is obviously running late, she thinks as she patiently waits for him by the sea shore. It is a rainy evening, with a strong breeze and a wild sea vying for attention against the heavy grey skies, promising even more rain in the hours to follow. Shivering, she pulls her stole closer, and sits herself on an empty space on the low stone wall separating the sea from the pavement and the road beyond. Watching the vendors, cajoling people to purchase paper cones full of hot gram spiced up with sea salt and a twist of lime, she idly contemplates giving in and buying one. Just the vague thought of spoiling dinner stops her.

Some distance away, a man casually dressed in faded denims and a plaid shirt hurriedly steps off a bus, umbrella in hand, and starts to walk briskly towards the sea. Mr Mehta from Kumar's Coffee Shop waves out a greeting as he passes by. At the traffic lights, a young boy in a dirty but cheerful blue-and-white striped tee shirt weaves quickly between cars, exchanging copies of the evening papers for a couple of coins. He calls out to the boy, purchases a paper and continues to walk ahead.

There she waits without complaint, he thinks guiltily, and quickly hurries to her. With the familiarity of practice, he reaches out and weaves a small garland of fragrant jasmine flowers into her wind-swept braid. She turns around at the gesture, smiles and moves over for him to sit beside her.

Together, they open up the papers, and scan the Apartments Available section in the Classifieds. Until then, they make do with the privacy the sea and a low stone wall have to offer them in the bustling city of Mumbai.