tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81289811591607293492024-03-10T17:22:48.003+05:30Seema GoswamiThe Spectator columns and random thoughts and observationsSeema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.comBlogger603125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-79665220177735901092024-03-10T17:22:00.002+05:302024-03-10T17:22:13.293+05:30New Year goals<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Here's my wish list for 2024</b></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is the last column I will write in 2023. But rather than look back on the year that has gone by and reflect on what has past I thought I would look ahead to 2024 — not to speculate on what it would bring but to make a few resolutions about how I would make the best of it. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, here goes!</span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><ul style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Read more; scroll less. What with the world going to hell in a hand basket, my habit of doomscrolling went from worse to worst this last year. I spent countless hours refreshing newspaper sites and trawling through Twitter (or X, as we are supposed to call it now) to follow these events. As a result I ended up better informed than ever before but more depressed than I had thought possible. So, on the grounds that this obsession with bad news can’t be good for me, I have decided that I am going to ration the time I spend keeping up with current affairs. And I am going to go offline for major chunks of time and read, read, read. That seems to be the only way of keeping my equilibrium in a world that appears to have gone mad. </span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Read wider; read better. As regular readers of this column will know, I am a creature of habit when it comes to books. I invariably go back to authors I am familiar with, sometimes for their new books or even to read an old favourite. But as the realisation dawns that I now have more yesterdays than tomorrows it comes with a renewed urgency to discover new writers and try and explore new genres. So in 2024 I am going to eschew my go-to psychological thrillers, murder mysteries and spy novels and try and develop a taste for something else. It could be historical novels, it could be literary opuses that I have missed out on, or something else entirely, but expand my horizons I must. And that also means discovering new authors — some of whom I haven’t even heard of as yet. I will let you know how the experiment goes by the end of next year. </span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Less shopping; more recycling. Like most people my age, I have ended up accumulating far too much stuff. If I were to never buy a pair of jeans, a sari, shoes or a handbag ever again, my current stock should see me through to the end of my years. So no matter how tempting the new collection looks in the shops I am going to walk resolutely away - and rewear all that lies unused in my closet. And all that stuff that I have been hoarding away in the hope that one day I will fit into it again? Well, I am going to steel myself and give it away to someone who can get use out of it. </span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Get strong; get flexible. Ever since my diabetes diagnosis a few years ago, I have become so obsessed with my daily walks that all other forms of exercise have fallen by the wayside. This year, though, I am determined to regain my flexibility and muscular strength with a combination of resistance training and Pilates. Wish me luck even as I wish you all a Happy New Year! </span></li></ul><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);"><br /></span></span></div>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-59211202812340461982024-03-10T17:12:00.005+05:302024-03-10T17:12:51.761+05:30It's a Big Day!<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Or Burra Din, as Christmas is dubbed in Calcutta - and it's magical! </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Growing up in Calcutta, Christmas was always a magical time of the year for me. It wasn’t just that I went to a convent school or that I had Christian friends who would celebrate this day as a religious festival. It was also because Christmas – or Burra Din, as we called it in Cal – had been transformed into a secular holiday by the denizens of the city, who treated it as a special occasion to be marked by fireworks, street lights, neighbourhood parties and community picnics, in which everyone would wear silly hats, eat, drink and make very merry indeed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Strangely enough, there was never any tradition of Christmas presents – or, at least, not in my family. And even though there were plenty of men dressed as Santa Claus roaming around the shops in New Market, we children were never encouraged to write to Santa with a wish list of all we wanted. In fact, all we ever got for Christmas was a cake from the famous Nahoum shop (and very delicious it was too). But we did get taken to Park Street, when it was all lit up for the festival, and were treated to a slap-up meal in one of the posh restaurants on the street – a highlight of my year!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Perhaps it is all those childhood memories that ensure that I start feeling all festive and celebratory as Christmas comes near. I still draw the line at presents because it seems like a needless commercialization of yet another religious festival. I don’t get in a Christmas tree, mostly because I have no room for one. And no, I don’t attend midnight mass either these days though I have done so in the past and been moved to tears by the power of the choral music.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But I do have some Christmas rituals of my own that I use to mark this time of the year. To recreate the Park Street of my childhood, I string up some fairy lights all around my living room and decorate the dining table with sprigs of holly and mistletoe. I am not much of a baker but I am blessed with friends who send over plum cakes around this time so breakfast usually turns into a calorific feast which I keep telling myself is not sinful because, you know, Christmas!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Turkey is not to my taste but you still need a slap-up Christmas lunch. In my house, we go for bangers and mash or lamb and roasted potatoes, with some pasta and risotto for vegetarians, followed up with – what else? – another helping of Christmas cake. Silly hats are optional but everyone must bring a good appetite and memories of Christmases past, which we share around the table along with a few good glugs of champagne or wine.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My stories inevitably hark back to Calcutta and growing up in the city in which Christmas was literally the Big Day (Burra Din). I remember family picnics in Botanical Gardens, where I, along with my childhood friend Kavita, would dance in public with the gay abandon that only children can summon up. And I promise myself that next Christmas I will find my way back there to relive those days one more time.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, on that note, Merry Christmas to all! </span></span></p><div><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></div>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-10427386313248262942024-03-10T17:03:00.002+05:302024-03-10T17:03:12.738+05:30Is life a beach?<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Or is it a hill to climb?</b></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So are you a beach person or a mountains person? Are you the kind of person that loves splashing in the waves and then drying off on warm white sands? Or are one of those who loves snuggling down under layers of covers next to a roaring fire, with a glass of brandy and a good book in hand, while the snow turns the landscape white outside your window? </p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><br /></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Which one am I, you ask? Well, to tell you the truth, I can’t quite make up my mind. There are times when I feel that I was made to lie lazily on the beach, sipping a cocktail under an umbrella, watching the immutable rise and fall of the waves. But then, the sea breeze makes my hair grow all crinkly, the sun makes me all sweaty and red and the sand gets absolutely everywhere, and I feel that I might be better off in the mountains. </p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><br /></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">And I love the mountains! There is something magical about driving uphill on meandering roads and finding yourself looking down on a beautiful vista that changes subtly ever so often. The air is crisp and cold, the weather is bracing rather than blistering, and hot chocolate never tastes better than when you’re sipping it by the light of a bonfire. But then, the cold settles into my bones, the sun goes missing in the mist, and I feel as if I will never feel warm again — and I find myself longing for the beach. </p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><br /></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Is this just me — perverse to a fault — or is this longing for what we do not have an essential part of the human condition? </p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><br /></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">There must be a reason why we all head for the cold of the mountains when the temperatures begin to climb in the plains. And why we plan our escape to the sea the moment winter comes calling. We want to enjoy the cold when it’s hot and revel in the heat when it’s cold. </p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><br /></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I am writing this column in Goa, where I am taking a little break from a Delhi winter that is inflicting record levels of pollution on us, and I have to say that the beach life looks perfect to me right now. The shrimp is fresh, the air is salty, and the sand feels soft and satiny beneath my bare feet. The beach is not exactly empty but there are stretches where you can enjoy a little bit of solitude. What’s not to like?</p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><br /></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">If I had headed to the mountains instead, what would I have encountered in this season? Traffic jams on hill roads because too many other people had the same idea as me, overcrowded hill stations heaving with tourists, crumbling infrastructure — and the guilty feeling that I was despoiling the environment with my very presence. Even the best hot chocolate in the world couldn’t possibly compensate in that scenario. </p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><br /></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So, maybe on balance, I might be better off as a beach person, after all. Glad we got that cleared up well in time for the New Year!</p><div><br /></div><div class="yj6qo" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></div>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-84249034123667804852024-03-10T17:00:00.001+05:302024-03-10T17:00:05.822+05:30What's on the menu?<p><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">The best books are the ones that put some thought into food</span></b></p><div aria-expanded="true" class="h7" jsaction="RUzSf:.CLIENT" role="listitem" style="clear: both; max-width: 100000px; outline: currentcolor; padding-bottom: 0px;" tabindex="-1"><div class="Bk" style="border-color: rgb(239, 239, 239) currentcolor currentcolor; border-image: none; border-radius: 0px; border-style: solid none none; border-width: 0px; float: left; margin-bottom: 0px; position: relative; width: 919.984375px;"><div class="G3 G2" style="border-color: currentcolor currentcolor rgba(100, 121, 143, 0.12); border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; border-radius: 0px; border-style: none; border-width: medium 0px 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><div id=":1sw"><div class="adn ads" data-legacy-message-id="18c2991190480713" data-message-id="#msg-f:1784156703106270995" style="border-left-color: currentcolor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: medium; display: flex; padding: 0px;"><div class="gs" style="margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 20px; width: initial;"><div class=""><div class="ii gt" id=":1st" jslog="20277; u014N:xr6bB; 1:WyIjdGhyZWFkLWY6MTc4NDE1NjcwMzEwNjI3MDk5NSJd; 4:WyIjbXNnLWY6MTc4NDE1NjcwMzEwNjI3MDk5NSJd" style="direction: ltr; margin: 8px 0px 0px; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 0px; position: relative;"><div class="a3s aiL " id=":1su" style="direction: initial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: 1.5; overflow: auto hidden; position: relative;"><div dir="auto"><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The books that got me hooked on reading were the ones by Enid Blyton, more </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">specifically the Mallory Towers series, set in an idyllic boarding house where </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Darrell Rivers and her band of intrepid friends had the most marvellous </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">adventures. But what I loved most about these books were the scenes that</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> described food: the midnight feasts that the girls sneaked off to, the ginger </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">beer (ginger beer? What was that about?) they guzzled on days out with their </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">parents. Some of the food items they consumed were little more than words to </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">me — but they were words that transported me to a world far away from mine, </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">introducing me to tastes that I could only conjure up in my imagination. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ever since those halcyon days of early childhood I have been captivated by </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">books that took food seriously (and by that I don’t mean food books — those</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> are a different species entirely). As a teenager, even as I was enraptured by </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">the love stories at the heart of Georgette Heyer’s Regency romances, my taste </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">buds would come alive when she began describing what was served at the </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">endless balls, routs and masquerades that the heroines attended. I still have </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">no idea what ratafia tastes like but the name itself conjures up a different, </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">more chivalrous age. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It’s the same story when I plunge into Elizabeth Jane Howard’s Cazalet </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Chronicles, as I do ever so often. Set after the First World War, it describes a </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">milieu that is defined by meal times: the nursery teas served to the children; </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">the elaborate three or even four course meals the adults settle down to, the </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">ritual consumption of sherry and port. All of this with the aid of a devoted staff </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">that cuts and chops, boils and roasts, bakes and grills so that those above </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">stairs can feed and flourish. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The most evocative food writing, though, comes from one of my favorite </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">writers: Donna Leon. The hero of her detective series set in Venice, </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Commissario Guido Brunetti, takes his food very seriously indeed. He stops by</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> for a brioche and a coffee at one of his favoured shops on his way to work. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He takes a little break for some tramezzini and a small glass of wine (this is </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Italy after all!) half way through the day if he is not traipsing back home for a </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">nice hot lunch. And dinner is the highlight of the day, featuring antipasto, </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">pasta, a meat course and dessert followed by a glass of Calvados, sipped </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">meditatively while sitting on his terrace with his wife Paola and looking </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">on to the splendid views of Venice laid out before him. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">At the moment I am reading the new Jilly Cooper novel, Tackle. And even</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> though the angelic Taggie, wife of reformed cad Rupert Campbell Black, is </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">now a shadow of her former self, being treated for cancer, I find myself </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">thinking back fondly to the many meals this gifted cook used to conjure up </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">for her oblivious and ungrateful family. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I know they say that the best books provide food for thought. But I find that</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> books that put some thought into food are the best of them all. </span></p><div class="yj6qo" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="ajx" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div><div aria-expanded="true" class="h7 ie" jsaction="RUzSf:.CLIENT" role="listitem" style="clear: both; max-width: 100000px; outline: currentcolor; padding-bottom: 0px;" tabindex="-1"><div class="Bk" style="border-color: rgb(239, 239, 239) currentcolor currentcolor; border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; border-radius: 0px; border-style: solid none none; border-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; float: left; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0px; position: relative; width: 919.984px;"><div class="G3 G2" style="border-color: rgba(100, 121, 143, 0.12) currentcolor; border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; border-radius: 0px; border-style: solid none none; border-width: 1px 0px 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><div id=":1sf"><div class="adn ads" data-legacy-message-id="18c2ae91422b660b" data-message-id="#msg-f:1784180341295769099" style="border-left-color: currentcolor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: medium; display: flex; padding: 0px;"><div class="gs" style="margin: 0px; min-width: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 20px; width: initial;"><div class="gE iv gt" style="cursor: auto; font-size: 0.875rem; padding: 20px 0px 0px;"><table cellpadding="0" class="cf gJ" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border-collapse: collapse; display: block; font-size: 0.875rem; margin-top: 0px; width: auto;"><tbody style="display: block;"><tr class="acZ" style="display: flex; height: auto;"></tr></tbody></table></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-72955418342946857712024-02-18T16:29:00.003+05:302024-02-18T16:29:19.683+05:30On airplane mode<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Here's how to cope if you're headed on another long-haul flight</b></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Last week I notched up another first. I took a long-haul flight that did not serve alcohol on board. Did I hear you ask: what is the big deal? After all, we take domestic flights all the time that are alcohol-free. But this was significant for me because my ritual on all overnight international flights is to get on board, have a couple of glasses of champagne and a sedative (yes, I am a nervous flier) and knock myself out for several hours. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But this time, on Saudia Airlines, that was not a possibility. And I won’t lie to you: that made me a tad nervous (well, even more nervous than usual!). As it turned out, though, I needn’t have worried. There must have been something soporific about the date smoothie (delicious, by the way) that I had the moment I boarded because within an hour I was out like a light. And I woke up feeling far more refreshed than I have ever felt on a long flight. So all those ‘experts’ who keep banging on about how one must never drink on planes (it has a dehydrating effect, alcohol hits you stronger in the air, etc., etc.) may have been right all along! Who knew?</span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, for what it’s worth, here is some far from expert advice from me when it comes to negotiating long-haul overnight flights (with or without the benefit of a drink). </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 34.3px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><ul style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Avoid looking at screens as much as you can. Switch off your inflight entertainment screen the moment you get airborne. Keep your phone, iPad and kindle off (if you absolutely must read then keep the brightness as low as it would possibly go). Instead load an audio book or a play on your device and listen to it on your earphones. Even some relaxing music will do. This will put you to sleep far more effectively than watching an action movie or the latest OTT series. </span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Airlines meals are notorious for being no-taste zones. So rather than go to bed feeling dissatisfied pack a few treats in your handbag. I’m not suggesting you go full Indian tourist by packing theplas/parathas with achar. No, I mean tiny little taste bombs like a Snickers bar or a chocolate digestive or even a small packet of Haldiram’s bhujiya or spice mix. It will give your taste buds a much needed jolt and you will go to sleep much more sated. </span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Airplanes can get really chilly at night. And those thin airline blankets don’t really do the trick. I know that fashion magazines suggest that we travel with our own blankets but honestly, who has the space for it. Much better to slip in a cashmere sweater or muffler in your handbag along with a pair of cashmere or woollen socks. These will keep you warm and toasty as you listen to your audio book and drift off towards the land of Nod. Sweet dreams and safe travels, all! </span></li></ul>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-13489499744429451382024-02-18T16:25:00.000+05:302024-02-18T16:25:02.932+05:30Art vs reality<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Watching the latest series of The Crown seems like an exercise in voyeurism</b></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So the final season of The Crown (or rather, the first four episodes) dropped on Netflix. And there was a certain predictability to the way I dropped everything else and settled down on my couch to binge watch it. And now, after that marathon viewing session, here are some of my thoughts. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><ul style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The more recent the events covered by The Crown, the more uncomfortable the watch. Now that we are into the period in which Princess Diana died tragically, watching the show feels like an exercise in voyeurism. We see her talking with her young sons, William and Harry, on the phone, all three oblivious to the fact that this will be their last conversation. We look on as Prince Charles wakes up his ‘darling boys’ to break it to them that their mother has died. Mercifully, the scene is sans any audible dialogue but just seeing the expressions of devastation on William and Harry’s faces makes you feel as if you are intruding on a family tragedy. (Spoiler alert: that is exactly what all of us watching are, in fact, doing.)</span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Elizabeth Debicki looks uncannily like Diana and is decked out in an identical wardrobe to depict the Princess’ last days on earth. But for all her cocking her head sideways and looking up shyly in a manner that is supposed to mimic the Princess, she fails singularly in projecting the charisma and star quality that made Diana such a supernova on the world stage. She plays Diana as a victim — perhaps with the benefit of hindsight — when in reality Diana was emerging, post-divorce, as a significant force in her own right. Diana’s strength and power as she took on the royal family are missing in this portrayal which is keen to emphasise her sadness and essential loneliness. </span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You never feel more regretful of the rift that has formed between William and Harry than when you watch the bond between the brothers as they negotiate boyhood together within the protocol-bound confines of the royal family. They laugh and josh with their parents as a team. They both seem suspicious of the sudden closeness blooming between their mother and Dodi Fayed. And when tragedy strikes William is the protective brother who tries to shield Harry from the world and the knowledge that things will never be the same again for either of them. What a shame that brotherly bond could not endure into adulthood. </span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And finally, why does Peter Morgan, the creator of The Crown, hate the late Queen Elizabeth so much? Whatever else you might think of her — and by all accounts, she was not a great mother — she was an adored grandmother in her later years, with all her grand kids testifying to how much she loved them. And yet, even as Diana lies dead and her sons are inconsolable, we don’t get as much as a glimpse of the Queen comforting them — even though both William and Harry credited her with getting them through that awful time. But I guess a remote and unfeeling Queen is what worked best in Morgan’s script, so that’s what we are saddled with here.</span></li></ul><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);"> As they don't say, the pen is mightier than the crown -- at least in the universe</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);"> of the Crown.</span></span></div>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-14743603692764293362024-02-18T16:20:00.001+05:302024-02-18T16:20:04.936+05:30Reduce, reuse, rewind<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>It's time to go back to a simpler age, when waste was frowned upon, and everything was eco-friendly</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One of my favourite things to do when I am travelling abroad is to go grocery shopping in the local markets and supermarkets. Nothing tells you as much about a place as finding out what the locals like to eat, drink and buy (and as a bonus, you get to sample the wares once you get back home).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Of late, however, I noticed that I got disapproving looks when I asked for a plastic bag to pack my purchases in. Nearly everyone else was carrying a cloth or jute tote bag to take their stuff away and here I was, asking for more plastic to pollute the planet. I longed to explain that I have my eco-friendly totes tucked away safely at home (where I use them all the time) but I am on holiday, for God’s sake, so cut me a break. But instead of doing that I have now taken to packing a little thela in my suitcase for all such exigencies.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And every time I do so, I am reminded of my childhood, when going out shopping for fruits and vegetables meant taking your own jhola along. In our household, we used a big circular wicket basket which I would hang jauntily from my left arm as I left the house (once it was full, it was up to my mom to carry it back home). I guess in those days we had no option but to be environmentally conscious when we did our weekly shop. Plastic was a long way away from taking over the world, and all receptacles for shopping were ecofriendly and reusable (and boy, did we get some use out of that wicker basket!).</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thinking back to those halcyon days, I can’t help but marvel at how little waste we generated. Cold drinks and milk were delivered in glass bottles which would be sent back to the vendor after use. The fruit and vegetable peelings were kept aside to be fed to the friendly neighbourhood cow, who would wander by every afternoon to try her luck at our doorstep. If an iron stopped working you fixed it rather than go out and buy a new one. And there was no online shopping which meant there were no thick cardboard boxes to dispose of every week.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Even our carbon emissions were minimal in those days. Air travel was a special treat unless you were super rich; everyone else used trains to get around both for work and play. Most families considered themselves lucky if they had one car, and even that was rarely in daily use. Air-conditioning was far from being the norm; most of us managed with fans, though if you lived in Delhi or Rajasthan you indulged yourself with a desert cooler during the summer. Our fruit and vegetables were grown locally; there was no tradition of bingeing on kiwis flown in from New Zealand or asparagus sourced from Peru. And you certainly did not eat anything that was not in season.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The more I think about it, the more I long to return to those simpler times, when we were kinder to ourselves and less of a burden on the planet. It will probably never happen – but a girl can dream, right?</span></span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-56519237692467914992024-02-18T16:15:00.002+05:302024-02-18T16:15:13.510+05:30It's that time of year again...<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>There are some annual rituals that leave me with a feeling of despair</b></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There are some annual rituals that I look forward to eagerly every year. And I am not just talking about birthdays and anniversaries though those are very special too in their own way. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">No, what I am referring to here are things that bring me joy and announce the arrival and departure of seasons — and eventually the year. There is the flowering of the tesu tree that is the harbinger of Holi; the blooming of the Amaltas that heralds the beginning of summer; and the blossoming of the fragrant Saptaparni as the nights turn cold. There is the arrival of mangoes in the market as the weather heats up and the profusion of oranges to show that winter is coming. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">These are just some of the annual rituals that I enjoy. But then, there are plenty of others that bring nothing but anxiety and angst - and a leavening of anger. Here are just some of them. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><ul style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Winter pollution in Delhi: Without fail, as October bleeds into November, the air quality in the capital takes on an apocalyptic quality. A dense smog descends on Delhi and the air is so thick that it seems more suited to cutting through with a knife than breathing. The moment the AQI begins rising so do the complaints about farm fires in Punjab and Haryana. Those in power in these states blame vehicular and construction activity. The blame game continues until a shower or two improves air quality. And then, everyone moves on to the next news story — until next November when this cycle is repeated. It’s both mad and maddening that nobody finds any solutions in the interim — but that’s where we are.</span></li></ul><ul style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Diwali crackers: Every year the media, schools, colleges, and environmental institutions run endless campaigns in the run-up to Diwali, imploring people not to burst crackers to celebrate the festival because of (see above) air pollution. And every year, without fail, Diwali is marked by explosions all across the night sky because clearly we are incapable of putting out pulmonary health before “having a bit of fun, yaar!” In recent years, there has been a new addition to this ritual. Now objecting to crackers is seen as anti-Hindu (no, I don’t get it either) though I am pretty sure that Bhagwan Ram never set off an Anar in his life.</span></li></ul><ul style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Monsoon flooding in Mumbai: This is the annual ritual that brings with it another annual ritual — the celebration of the “Spirit of Mumbai”. TV screens are awash with scenes of flooded streets and then cut away to people — drenched to the skin — hanging out of local trains or walking in waist-deep water to get to work. I think we are meant to admire their dedication to work. But all I can think about as I watch is how messed up it is that we can never get our drains desilted and our infrastructure sorted before the rains come. Year after year we see the same visuals and nothing ever changes - no, not even my temper. </span></li></ul>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-83048147421255458872024-02-18T16:08:00.000+05:302024-02-18T16:08:06.669+05:30First impressions<p><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: verdana;"><b>How to charm your way into a woman's good graces on a first date</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Whenever you ask young women what are the top five qualities they are looking for in a man, a good sense of humour always makes the cut. But it now turns out that some, if not many, of these ladies are (gasp!) lying when they say that they are turned on by funny men. A recent study (conducted among speed-dating groups) has concluded that women are not more (or less) attracted to men who make them laugh on the first date.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now I can’t vouch for the accuracy of this study, so I did the next best thing. I conducted an entirely unscientific study of my own among the young females of my acquaintance, asking them how best a man could impress them on a first date. And here – for the benefit of my young male readers – is what they said.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><b>·</b><span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><b> </b> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">Appearances are not everything but at least try to look as if you made an effort. Nobody is asking for manicure-pedicure levels of personal grooming but taking a shower and washing your hair before you set out for a date is always a good idea. (And no, asphyxiating your date with copious quantities of some strong musky fragrance will not get you brownie points.) It helps if your shoes are polished, your shirt is ironed and your jeans are not.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><b>·</b><span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><b> </b> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"> Pay attention to your date. That doesn’t just mean listening to her stories and nodding along at the right moments, or even asking the right questions. Be receptive to non-verbal cues as well. If she shows discomfort when the conversation veers towards a particular topic, for instance, be sensitive enough to steer it in a different situation.</span></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><b>·</b><span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><b> </b> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">Too much information is as off-putting as too little. Nobody needs to know about your exciting sex life as a teenager the first time they meet you (or perhaps ever?). Nor do they have much interest in your power struggles at work with your boss or in interminable stories about your sibling rivalry with your sister.</span></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><b>·</b><span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><b> </b> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">There is a fine balance between trying to get to know your date better and asking invasive questions about her personal life. There will be plenty of time and opportunities later – if all goes well – to ask her when she lost her virginity, or why she broke up with her last boyfriend, or…well, you get the drift. At your first meeting, just ask her about her work, her interests, how she spends her free time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">Don’t diss your ex-wife, ex-partner, or ex-girlfriend. You might think this will endear you to her potential successor, but trust me, it will not. All she will be thinking is that this is how you would be speaking about her if you were to get together and then split up later. Bitter, resentful and hateful is never a good look.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><b>·</b><span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><b> </b> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">And yes – with due apologies to the study I quoted earlier – do bring your sense of humour along. That doesn’t mean that you need to memorize some good jokes that you can drop into the conversation at regular intervals (that can get really annoying really fast!). All you need to do is laugh at the absurdities of life with your date – and perhaps you will be laughing all the way to the second date if not right up the aisle!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-37642240284753207042024-02-18T16:03:00.003+05:302024-02-18T16:03:49.043+05:30The spirit of Pujo<p><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: verdana;"><b>It's alive and well; and prospering outside the confines of Calcutta as well</b></span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: verdana;">Growing up in Calcutta meant that Pujo was a very special time — even for a true-blue Punjabi family like mine. Yes, my mother sowed a pot with khetri (wheat germ) and we had special pujas every evening in the Navratras and performed Kanjak puja on Ashtami like all devout Punjabis. But we also celebrated the Bengali-style Pujo with equal fervour. As a child I particularly enjoyed getting four sets of new clothes to go pandal-hopping on Shashti, Saptami, Ashtami and Nabami, eating the bhog at different pujos to get a true measure of the culinary delights on offer. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And then, fate decreed that I had to leave Calcutta and come live and work in Delhi. For many years after I moved, I couldn’t bring myself to celebrate Pujo the same way as I did in Cal. Yes, I knew that there was a sizeable Bengali community in Delhi which celebrated the festival with zest and fervour. But somehow I couldn’t see myself joining the festivities I always associated with Kolkata in a small corner of Delhi that is always Bengal (Chittaranjan Park, of course). So I would content myself with ruminating on Pujas past and promising myself that next year — for sure! — I would go back to Cal for the festival. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It took me several years to come to the realisation that that was not going to happen. So I did the next best thing. I began attending the Pujos in my immediate neighbourhood in Delhi. These were smaller, more intimate affairs, with many familiar faces, and a genuine sense of community. And I felt that familiar Pujo spirit return to refresh my mind and soul. I soon grew emboldened enough to venture further and attend the larger, more famous Pujos in the capital. And before I knew it, this became an annual ritual. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This year was different, though. The day the festivities began I was due to travel to Jaipur to attend an event — and who in Rajasthan would be celebrating the Pujos? </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, it turned out that a lot of people would be doing just that! As I discovered, there are many as 15 Pujo pandals in Jaipur (reminding me of that old joke: What do you get when three Bengalis get together? Two Pujo Committees!) even though the Bengali community in the city is far from large. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So it was that on Mahasaptami I managed to recreate my Calcutta memories. I put on a new outfit and headed out with my husband to visit Jaipur’s oldest Durga Pujo pandal in Bani Park. And strangely enough, it was this Pujo that most closely mirrored the Pujos I remembered from my childhood. The pandal was small and compact, the Durga idol was beautiful and serene but not overstylised, the bhog was a simple khichri and tarkari, and the place was overrun by the same kind of Bengali aunties and uncles who used to spoil me when I was a kid. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Perhaps that explains why, as I stood there, saying a silent prayer to the Goddess, I felt myself retreat to a child-like state of wonder. Or maybe it was just the Devi blessing me with a few moments of grace. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I would like to think that it was a little bit of both. </span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-6342634222754346012024-02-18T15:59:00.003+05:302024-02-18T15:59:35.737+05:30Add to cart?<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>I'd rather not! Give me a brick and mortar store over online shopping any time</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, I finally bit the bullet. After resisting for years on end, I succumbed to the lure of buying clothes online – but only because the website of one of my go-to stores had much better merchandise available than that on offer at its physical stores. So, I clamped down on my doubts and went click, click, click, and then waited with bated breath for delivery.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And how did it go, you ask?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, it wasn’t entirely an unmixed blessing. I tried on all the dresses that I had ordered, but even though they were ostensibly the same size, they all fitted differently. Some were perfect for my size, some were loose, and some others were tight – go figure! Some looked exactly as advertised on the site; others were nothing like the images that I had clicked on. Some of the fabrics were soft and smooth while some others were rough and harsh.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Let’s just say I had a 50 per cent success rate, with just half the outfits being keepers. The others had to be returned, but no matter how hard I tried to do so online, I could not crack the system. Eventually, I conceded defeat and carried the rejects to the brick-and-mortar store to return them and ask for store credit.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, given that my first attempt wasn’t quite a hundred per cent success, would I do it again? To tell you the truth, I am conflicted on this one. I cannot lie, there is something truly addictive about being able to buy something by just clicking on an icon on your phone. There is a dopamine rush that comes from that sense of having an entire world of possibilities literally at your fingertips.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And yet, the process lacks the element of instant gratification. After paying your dues, you have to wait for a couple of days for your merchandise to arrive. And this is quite unlike the thrill of paying for something in a shop and walking right out with it.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then, there is the whole thing about touch and feel. Shopping for clothes is essentially a tactile act. You run your hands over the contents of shelves, you riffle through racks, you rub a fabric between your fingers, you slip on a dress in the changing room to see how it falls – and feels – on your body.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You can’t do any of this when you are shopping for clothes online. Instead, you have to rely on images in which the outfits are shown on willowy bodies that bear no resemblance to your own. You have to imagine how they will work on your less than perfect frame – and then hope to God that you got it right.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Perhaps that was why I reverted back to type on my last trip abroad. I went to the physical store of the same brand I had ordered online from in India. And then, I went totally old school. I picked up a collection of clothes, tried them on, rejected some, kept some, and then kept repeating the process till I had all I was looking for.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And you know what? It felt great! So, I guess you have my answer. Online shopping for clothes? Yes, at a crunch. But proper shops are where it’s at, as far as I am concerned.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-37122774115086301312024-02-18T15:55:00.006+05:302024-02-18T15:55:57.096+05:30Heel, girls!<p><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: verdana;"><b>Why do TV shows feature women in impossibly high heels when flats are all the rage in real life?</b></span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: verdana;">As I binged on the first three episodes of the new season of The Morning Show, I was struck by one thing. Every woman on the show was depicted in sky-high stilettos. Now I can understand on-air anchors (Jennifer Aniston and Reese Witherspoon) being portrayed wearing vertiginous heels but I have been around in enough TV studios to know that production staff — who are on their feet all day — tend to wear flats, or even sneakers, to get through their day. So, this struck a rather jarring note, to say the least, in a show that purported to show the real world of morning television. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And after that, I could not stop noticing the incongruous use of stilettos in other shows as well. The new season of The Split — a British legal show set in a firm of family lawyers — had Nicola Walker wearing 5 inch heels as she teetered around her office, attended depositions, went to court, and then to dinner with her family. No woman could survive a day like that in those heels in real life. In fact, if you took a walk around the Inns of Court in London, you would be hard pressed to find a single female lawyer in heels like these. They know better than to wreck their knees and backs by balancing precariously on heels all day. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nearer home, there were the ladies of Four More Shots Please. Dressed in the height of fashion, they vamped it up for their poster wearing — yes, you’re right! — slinky stilettos. And yet, if you were to look at the demographic they represent, you will find that in real life they are more likely to be rocking Converse sneakers, ballet flats or even funky wedges. Stilettos are seen as being as stale as last week’s bread by this generation. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In fact, one of the reasons why the new reboot of Sex and The City, called And Just Like That, was considered out of tune with the times was because Sarah Jessica Parker and her co-stars seemed to live in their stilettos as they traipsed through the streets of New York City. How very 1990s, they critics scoffed, surely the ladies should have embraced the Zeitgeist’s new-found love for flats by now? The fact that they were stuck in the fashion mores of the decade in which they came of age, aged them much more than the wrinkles they had Botoxed away. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The truth of the matter is that stilettos have had their day. A small minority of women may still favour them — think Melania and Ivanka Trump — but for the most part, women have tired of their charms. These days Hollywood stars take pride in wearing comfortable footwear on the red carpet. Julia Roberts even famously went barefoot on the tapis rouge at the Cannes Film Festival, on protest at some women being denied entry in flats the previous year. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It’s safe to say that Cannes won’t be repeating that mistake any time soon. And nor will female stars feel obliged to slip on a pair of stilettos to meet some unspoken standard of grooming. So why TV shows feel obliged to keep up the pretence of stilettos being integral to female glamour is, frankly, beyond me. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-48643364934583392502024-02-18T15:50:00.001+05:302024-02-18T15:50:07.593+05:30It's a party; it's my birthday!<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);"><b>Celebrate your special day no matter how old you get; it's a chance to share new experiences with those you love</b></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b> </b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You would think that, being embedded deep in the bowels of middle age, I would have lost interest in celebrating my birthday (what with it bringing intimations of my mortality ever closer every year). And you would be quite wrong to do so.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The truth is that no matter how old I get – and I really don’t want to dwell on that! – I still get ridiculously excited when my birthday starts looming on the horizon. Months in advance I start pestering my husband to make special plans. I usually have a destination in mind (suitably exotic; preferably Italian) but the rest is up to him. The brief is: Surprise Me! (To his credit, he always does.) And no sooner have I boarded the plane back home than I begin thinking of how I could possibly top this the following year.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I know, I know, at my age I should know better. Each birthday is now actually a marker that brings me closer to the end of my days. But honestly, in all the excitement of exploring Angkor Wat or climbing up Mount Etna or exploring the beaches of Barcelona, I quite forget to count my years. All I know is that I feel ridiculously alive on this day of all others – and what could be more worthy of celebration than that?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Partly, of course, this is a reaction to my childhood. I grew up in a spartan household in which birthdays weren’t really treated as particularly special. As a child I don’t remember ever having a birthday party or even cutting a cake. Instead, I would be hauled out of bed and sent off to bathe first thing in the morning so that I could celebrate my birthday in the only way my parents and grandparents approved of. And that consisted of sitting down in the puja room with a thali full of grains, pulses, fruits, vegetables, mithai and a little cash, saying a little prayer and then sending off the goodies to the nearby temple.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In school, too, there was a very austere atmosphere in place thanks to the nuns who ran things. So, all you were allowed to do on your birthday was to get a bag of sweets which you could then distribute to the rest of your class just before recess (just two sweets, mind you, any more would have been regarded as most sinful!). Maybe the other kids in my class went home to birthday cakes and balloons but, alas, I was never invited to be part of proceedings.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Which is, perhaps, why I am always astonished by the lengths parents of today go to celebrate their kids’ birthdays. They hire party venues, get the clowns in, maybe even a DJ, there are endless snacks and the return gifts are more amazing than anything I ever scored at my own birthday as a child.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Not that it’s gifts that interest me on this day. Thankfully, I am past that stage when I would salivate over a particular handbag and drop copious hints that it would make a great present. Now, it’s new and amazing experiences that I crave for, and the gift of being able to share them with the man I love.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And, of course, it helps if we do this in a scenic corner of the world. It is my birthday, after all!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-79787652095057837312024-02-18T15:46:00.001+05:302024-02-18T15:46:15.666+05:30Find your own tribe<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>The families we choose are often proof that blood is not thicker...</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">How do you define a family? Is it just people linked by DNA and marriage? Is it restricted to mom/dad, kids, and maybe two sets of grandparents? Does it encompass the extended clan, no matter how far removed? Can it ever include those who are not related to you by blood but by laughter and tears instead?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The older I grow the more I realise that there is no one way to make a family of your own. Yes, the first ties that bind are those that connect us to our parents, grandparents and siblings. As we reach adulthood and make our own families, it is that pattern that we seek to replicate, creating little nuclear structures of our own, peopled by our own flesh and blood. And while that is a perfectly viable way to create a family, it is by no means the only one.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My childhood was marked by the fact that I never quite understood where my family ended and the rest of the world began. Those were the days when neighbours would drop in unannounced at each other’s houses; when you ended up eating lunch or dinner in whichever home you found yourself in at the time; and if you fell down and hurt yourself it didn’t matter whose mom picked you up and dusted you off. This was communal living at a time when I did not even understand what the word meant. But it showed me that family bonds can be forged with people who have no familial relationship with you.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Those early experiences have inevitably coloured the rest of my life. When I moved to Delhi three decades ago, I was warned that this was a city which didn’t do family feeling. And I believed that for a bit and kept myself to myself. But then, fed up of being constricted in this manner, I dropped in at my landlord’s place to give his mom some halwa and puri on Kanjak day. That was all it took for the dam to burst open. After that, he simply could not do enough for me. If he was going to pay his electricity bill, he would offer to pay mine at the same time. If the fuse went out he would send someone to fix it. And before I knew it, I had a family of sorts I could rely on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The same was true of work colleagues. We started off as acquaintances, then graduated to friendship as we bonded over looming deadlines and missing copy. And then, one day down the line, we realized that we had become family to one another in a process so imperceptible that we didn’t even clock when the change happened.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, my advice to all of you this Sunday morning is this: don’t be afraid to go out and seek out a family of your own. Introduce your toddler to the granny who lives in the ground floor flat two doors down. You will be surprised by how soon the two of them become fast friends; and how quickly you are subsumed into that relationship.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And if your child can help you expand your family circle at his or her tender age, then what excuse do you have for staying within your own silo?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, that’s right. None!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-79898361584326522562024-02-18T15:41:00.005+05:302024-02-18T15:41:52.909+05:30Location, location, location!<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Should you live in the city centre or move to the 'burbs? Both choices have their pros and cons</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When I moved to Delhi from Calcutta a couple of decades ago, the most stressful thing I had to do was house-hunt. Landlords tended to regard single women with suspicion and journalists even more so. And it didn’t help that my rent allowance wasn’t exactly going to land me a three-bedroom flat.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Unless, of course, I chose to move to Gurgaon. Here my budget would get me a beautiful flat in a condominium which had a gym, a swimming pool, tennis courts, and even a hair salon. I made the trek dutifully and was duly impressed by the apartment. But as I drove back to my office in Delhi, I knew that wild horses couldn’t drag me back to live in Gurgaon, no matter how great the facilities. I had to live in Delhi, a 20-minute ride away from all my usual haunts, even if all I could afford was a barsati flat, in which I froze to death every winter and baked to a crisp every summer.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, that’s what I did. And despite all the hardships this entailed (climbing up three floors four times a day is no fun!) I have never enjoyed myself more than I did in my ever-so-humble first abode in Delhi. I have fond memories of freezing nights spent huddled around a sigri with my friends, while some kebabs sizzled away on the grill; of hosting wine and biryani evenings in my tiny drawing-cum-dining room, with the overflow of guests making themselves comfortable on my bed; of family lunches during which my minuscule kitchen would be jammed full of people trying to get their hands on the next paratha off the tawa.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was that small space that gave me the greatest joy in my life. And I knew that I wouldn’t have been half as happy in a sprawling apartment if my friends and family (not to mention, Lodi Gardens) was at least an hour’s drive away.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I guess it all comes down to priorities. There are some people who prioritize space over everything else and are willing to make sacrifices – like an endless commute five or six days a week – to ensure that they can enjoy it. And then, there are those like me who are willing – even happy! – to live in cramped accommodation just so that they can feel like they are close to the action – and their workplace.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The world is divided between Townies and Burbies; and neither group can understand how the other lives with the choice they have made. Townies marvel at the endless hours Burbies spend stuck in traffic. Burbies don’t get how Townies cope with being restricted to just one bathroom. And so on.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But I guess at the end of the day, the joke’s on Townies like myself. Because, two decades on, in Delhi at least, the city has expanded so much that living in suburbia feels like being in the centre of town. So now friends of mine who bit the bullet and bought spacious homes in Gurgaon find themselves surrounded by the best that city life has to offer: trendy restaurants, luxury hotels, top-end malls, cultural hubs that host the best plays and musical performances, and swish clubs that offer everything from golf to tennis to gourmet meals.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In retrospect, was that barsati a mistake, after all?</span></span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-55984010661698997742024-02-18T15:36:00.001+05:302024-02-18T15:36:15.103+05:30Wheeling it on<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">If you see a young(ish) person in a wheelchair, take a breath before you judge</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It is a bit ironic that only a few weeks after I wrote a column on how one experiences fewer ‘firsts’ as one gets older my middle-aged self got to experience a brand new one. It happened thus. I was accompanying my husband on a work trip to Dubai and in circumstances entirely too silly to recount I ended up injuring my hamstring. So severe was the pain that I spent a couple of days in bed on painkillers, dosed up to my eyeballs, getting up only to hobble to the loo and back – and I managed that only with his assistance.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But then came the day that I had to take the flight back to Delhi – and before that, negotiate the long walk from my room to the hotel entrance. So, of course, a wheelchair was requisitioned and as I gently lowered myself in it to make the journey to the lift, and then through the lobby, I was engulfed by a maelstrom of emotions. There was relief that I was finally heading back home; there was sorrow at being so helpless that I couldn’t walk on my own; and then, there was embarrassment as everyone in the lobby paused and stared at what looked like a perfectly healthy woman being wheeled around.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The airport was no better. The other passengers on wheelchairs seemed to have perfectly plausible reasons to be there. A couple were old and infirm; one had a medical boot on; and so on. And then, there was me, looking fit and spry from the outside but dying from the pain on the inside. But clearly, I kept up a good front because the kindly wheelchair attendant asked me what was wrong given that I looked so young and healthy. I explained my predicament to him but could hardly do so to every able-bodied passenger who gave me dirty looks as I was among the first to be wheeled into the plane.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It got worse at Delhi airport. My husband had booked a buggy to take me to immigration and a wheelchair from then on. But as we tried to board our buggy, we were stopped by an aggressive gentleman who insisted that he had first right on the buggy (that we had booked!) because while I was ‘fine’, he had a ‘small baby’ and couldn’t possibly be expected to carry her himself!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had just about recovered from my ordeal the next day when my feelings of anger and humiliation came bubbling back when I read a tweet that accused Indian passengers of faking being unfit just so that they could jump queues. After all, the tweeter said, he had seen wheelchair passengers go to the buffet unaided and stuff themselves with food and drink, so why couldn’t they just sprint to the gate?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, like we all know, walking ten steps unaided to the buffet and walking 15 minutes to board unaided – while struggling with hand baggage – is exactly the same, right?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And so, against my better judgement, I engaged with that tweet. But I have regretted that interaction ever since. In fact, if at all I have to say something on the subject, it is this: don’t shame people who are in wheelchairs. You will never manage to embarrass the small minority who are faking. All you do is humiliate the ones who are actually in need of that assistance. So, don’t be that person, whether on Twitter or in real life.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 20px;"> </span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-12609532714091871732023-09-09T16:06:00.001+05:302023-09-09T16:06:24.727+05:30The book's the thing<p><span style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);"><b>Good books transport us to another world; great ones make us want to live there forever</b></span></span></p><div class="adn ads" data-legacy-message-id="18a51a704aab3659" data-message-id="#msg-f:1775854697658922585" style="border-left: medium none currentcolor; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; display: flex; padding: 0px;"><div class="gs" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 20px; width: 847.984px;"><div class=""><div class="ii gt" id=":17w" jslog="20277; u014N:xr6bB; 1:WyIjdGhyZWFkLWY6MTc3NTg1NDY5NzY1ODkyMjU4NSIsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsW11d; 4:WyIjbXNnLWY6MTc3NTg1NDY5NzY1ODkyMjU4NSIsbnVsbCxbXSxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxbXSxbXSxbXV0." style="direction: ltr; margin: 8px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;"><div class="a3s aiL " id=":17x" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: 1.5; overflow: hidden;"><div dir="auto"><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A few weeks ago, suddenly overtaken by a wave of nostalgia, I pulled out an old, battered copy of Jilly Cooper’s Riders from my bookshelves to relive the memories of my misspent youth. And before you could say ‘bonkbuster’ I was back in the universe of Rutshire, a rural enclave enlivened by the heart-stoppingly good looking (and heartbreakingly caddish) Rupert Campbell Black, the show jumper who rarely met a woman he didn’t want to jump. And even though I knew the story and even remembered some of the more memorable lines I was still sucked into the world that Cooper had created so evocatively. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So much so that I felt a sense of acute bereavement when the book ended and it was time to say goodbye to the characters. Except, of course, that I did not need to do any such thing. All I had to do to remain in that idyllic universe was to download the next seven books in the series. And that’s exactly what I did, racing through Rivals, Polo, The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous. And as of this writing I am immersed in the world of classical music with Appassionata — but still within the confines of the mythical Rutshire. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Cooper may make it look effortless but it takes an amazing amount of skill, imagination and dexterity to create a world in which the reader immerses herself so that she never wants to ever leave it. Few writers, no matter how good they are, manage to do that. And those who succeed are the ones to whom I go back again and again to live in the environs which they have conjured up with the magic of their pen. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The first writer I encountered who managed to do that was Georgette Heyer. I discovered her Regency Romances when I was a teenager and I was immediately transported into another era in which women were squeezed into corsets before being poured into gowns and presented for the delectation of the ‘ton’. But these women were not just beautiful playthings; they were brave, feisty, fiery, even fierce. And in a world that offered them no path of advancement other than marriage, they still managed to leave their imprint on the world. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And what a world it was! There were balls held on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo; there were masquerades in which the identities of villains were unmasked; there were strong women who held their own in a world ruled by men; and there were love stories that lost none of their passion for being conducted in such a chaste universe. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Since then I have discovered a few other writers who have inveigled me into their fictional worlds. There was the late, great John le Carre, whose ‘Circus’, populated by such legendary characters as George Smiley, kept me entertained for decades. There is Donna Leon, who brings Venice alive in her series of detective novels. And of course there is my old favourite, Daniel Silva, whose spy novels starring the Israeli spymaster, Gabriel Allon, are in a class of their own. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">They say that the power of a good book is that it can take us out of our world and into a parallel universe. But it’s only the truly great ones that make you want to live there forever. And I count myself lucky to have found several such worlds nestled among my bookshelves. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><br /></p></div></div></div></div></div></div>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-55687612881930549862023-09-09T16:03:00.001+05:302023-09-09T16:03:06.667+05:30Surviving college 101<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <b>As teenagers across the country begin college life, here are some tips to get them started. </b></span></p><div aria-expanded="true" class="h7" role="listitem" style="clear: both; max-width: 100000px; outline: currentcolor; padding-bottom: 0px;" tabindex="-1"><div class="Bk" style="border-color: rgb(239, 239, 239) currentcolor currentcolor; border-image: none; border-radius: 0px; border-style: solid none none; border-width: 0px; float: left; margin-bottom: 0px; position: relative; width: 919.984375px;"><div class="G3 G2" style="border-color: currentcolor currentcolor rgba(100, 121, 143, 0.12); border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; border-radius: 0px; border-style: none; border-width: medium 0px 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><div id=":169"><div class="adn ads" data-legacy-message-id="18a2caf7ed803727" data-message-id="#msg-a:r5728222044728644125" style="border-left-color: currentcolor; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: medium; display: flex; padding: 0px;"><div class="gs" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 20px; width: 847.984375px;"><div class=""><div class="ii gt" id=":16c" jslog="20277; u014N:xr6bB; 1:WyIjdGhyZWFkLWE6cjY0MzcxMzc2NTgyMTg3NDc2NjMiLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLFtdXQ..; 4:WyIjbXNnLWE6cjU3MjgyMjIwNDQ3Mjg2NDQxMjUiLG51bGwsW10sbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsbnVsbCxudWxsLG51bGwsW10sW10sW11d" style="direction: ltr; margin: 8px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;"><div class="a3s aiL " id=":16b" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: 1.5; overflow: hidden;"><div dir="ltr"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like millions of other teenagers across India, my teenage niece packed her bag</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> and headed out to college last week. Hitee has always been an academic star </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">but I am guessing that she headed for the portals of Ashoka University with </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">the same combination of apprehension and excitement that I did when I </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">entered</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Loreto College to study English literature so many moons ago.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As the pictures of her campus, her new room, her classmates began inundating </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">the family Whatsapp group, I began thinking about my own college years and </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">what I wish I had done – and not done – during that period of my life. Of course, </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">everybody’s college experience is unique but here, in no particular order of </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">importance, are some things that I wish I had known as I studied for my</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Honours degree.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">Worrying about your grades during this period is the default position </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">for almost everyone in college. And for naturally competitive people like </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">Hitee and me it is almost second nature to study obsessively so that we </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">score over everyone else. But looking back now, I wish I had spent less </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">time in the college library and more time in the common room having fun.</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"> Yes, it’s true that getting a good rank in your finals matters when you </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">head out to the real world looking for a job. But it’s equally true that in a </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">few years’ time, nobody cares or asks about what you scored in your exams</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"> – and the odds are that you don’t remember either. So, why spend every </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">waking moment agonizing about something that won’t even matter </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">in the long run?</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">It’s not your marks that are for life; it’s your friends. And this is the</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"> time when you make friends for life. There is an intensity to college</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"> friendships that is difficult, if not impossible, to replicate in later life. </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">Which is why college friends eventually become your 3 am friends </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">(whom you call even in the dead of night when you need help). And why</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"> no matter how long you lose touch with a college mate, you can pick up</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"> effortlessly from where you left off. But the trick is to keep yourself open</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"> to friendships with a wide and diverse group. Don’t restrict yourself to </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">people who are just like you; seek out those who have had very divergent </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">life experiences. This is the best way of enriching your own life, </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">both now and in the future.</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">Don’t worry about being a ‘Cool Girl’ (or boy) or whatever the kids </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">are calling it these days. It may seem like a big deal to be in with the hip</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"> (again, please insert Gen Z alternative) crowd right now, but trust me, </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">it’s not worth the bother. You don’t have to change yourself to fit in with </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">any group – and any group that requires you to do so is not worth joining. </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">So, wear what you like, eat what you want, listen to the music of your </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">choice, watch your own kind of shows, and pay no attention to the </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">‘trendies’ mocking you.</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">But most of all, have fun. Have fun learning new things. Have fun</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"> meeting new people. Have fun discovering what you are good at. Have fun </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">working out what you are becoming. And above all, have fun being yourself </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">– because everyone else is taken.</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></p></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-28951241533827226452023-08-25T18:39:00.001+05:302023-08-25T18:39:09.822+05:30The taste of my childhood<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>No matter how hard I try, those tastes are impossible to replicate</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">What is it about childhood taste memories that they are almost always impossible to recreate once you have grown up? I ask because I have been struggling over the past few weeks to recreate the taste of langar dal I used to eat as a child growing up in Calcutta (no, we didn’t call it Kolkata in those days). Living in predominately Sikh neighbourhood and practically next door to a gurudwara where my (Hindu) mother was a regular worshipper, I used to live for those special days when Guru Ka Langer would be served.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">All the food was delicious and the kara prasad was to die for, but what lives on most in my memory is the taste of the black dal. A mixture of black urad and chana dal it had a deep, rich taste that left me asking for more…and just a tad more, until even my tolerant mother was deeply embarrassed by my greed. I remember the crunch of the ginger, the kick of the green chili and the caramelized taste of the onions, all brought together by the unctuous goodness of desi ghee.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Overtaken by nostalgia last month, I tried to recreate the recipe in my own kitchen from memory. But no matter how hard I tried, and how many variations I went through, the dal – though delicious in its own way – never really tasted the same. I added the ginger and garlic while slow cooking the dal; I tried caramelizing the onions in desi ghee; I tried frying the garlic separately; I tried using only green chillies and then just the red ones. I even called my childhood friend and langar companion, Kavita Walia, in Calcutta to get her inputs and then used her method to cook it. But while every variation was good in its own way, it was never quite the langar dal of my memory.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have had much the same problem when I try and make the sookha black channa subzi that my mother used to make for the Navratras on the day we worshipped Kanjaks in our home. I know that she used only ginger, green chillies, amchoor and a dash of chaat masala to get that fresh but tangy taste that went so well with puris and halwa. But no matter how many times I experiment with quantities and ingredients or even time of cooking, my channas never taste quite as a good as my mum’s.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ditto, with the black carrot kanji that my grandmother used to make in giant beyams every winter and leave out in the sun for day to ferment. I have tried making it with different kinds of carrots, different sorts of mustard seeds, experimented with black pepper, even added a bit of sirka. But no, the kanji remains stubbornly my own creation, the special touch of my Daadi is missing.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But I guess that is the way of all childhood food memories. They take up such a special place in the palate of your mind that it is impossible for reality to match up to the taste that exists only in your memory. Maybe I can’t recreate my childhood tastes because memory is playing tricks with me. Or it could simply be that nostalgia tastes better than anything that I could possibly rustle up in my little kitchen with the benefit of hindsight.</span></span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-15768927717513632482023-08-25T18:36:00.002+05:302023-08-25T18:36:26.084+05:30No holding back the years...<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <span style="color: #222222;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);"><b>Every decade of your life comes with its own firsts - enjoy them!</b></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There are many dispiriting things about getting older. Your joints creak, your brain slows down, your eyesight weakens, your hair thins, your waist thickens. But what I find most dispiriting of all is how there are so few firsts in your life after you hit your forties and fifties.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When you are young, life is an endless series of firsts. Babies grow their first tooth, eat their first solid food, take their first step, say their first word. As they grow older, they have their first day at playschool, then at kindergarten, and then in proper school, followed, in good time, by their first day in college. As teenagers they have their first crush, their first date, their first kiss, their first big love, and their first heartbreak.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Even entering into adulthood means notching up a fair amount of firsts. There is the biggie of course: your first job, which provokes equal amounts of enthusiasm and trepidation. If you are fortunate enough, you probably have your first serious relationship around this time, which may or may not culminate in your first marriage (and, with a bit of luck, your last as well). You buy your first car (or motorbike), get your first medical insurance policy (though you are still listed as a dependent on your parents’ plan!), and go on the first vacation that you pay for yourself.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Your thirties are the time when the most significant firsts happen. If you haven’t been hitched as yet, this is when you finally bite the bullet and say yes to the ring. This is when most people would have their first baby, sign on a mortgage for their first flat, put together their first investment plan (and other such grown-up stuff).</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But by the time your forties roll on, the era of the firsts is well and truly over. And even the few firsts that occur are not exactly good news. If you among the unlucky ones, this may well be when you notch up your first divorce. But even those blessed with marital bliss will discover their first white hair around this time, the first sign that their youth is well and truly behind them. Their first pair of bifocals will follow shortly, putting them squarely in the middle-aged category.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And what firsts do we have to look forward to in our fifties? Well, there’s always the first colonoscopy and perhaps, the first diagnosis of hypertension or type 2 diabetes. But this may also be the first time you experience the highs and lows of being an empty nester as your kids grow up and fly the coop. But whatever joy you experience as you rediscover the delights of life a deux will be tempered by the first intimations of your parents’ mortality.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Don’t be disheartened though. Your sixties will bring with them the next lot of fun firsts. That may be the birth of the first grandchild (or grandniece or grandnephew), heralding the start of a bright new generation to take over from the old fogeys. You will finally be able to retire from that job that has taken so much out of you and experience for the first time in decades the feeling of freedom from routine. Your entire day will be yours to do as you like, and that’s a first I can get on board with.</span></span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-3473341383790544202023-08-25T18:33:00.001+05:302023-08-25T18:33:30.367+05:30Stored in the cloud<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <b>Monsoon memories from a pre-smartphone era...</b></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Whenever the skies open up during the monsoons, my mind immediately skips back decades to the time when I was a schoolgirl. During this season I would wake up early every day and rush to check if it was pouring down — because if it was chances were that my school would declare a ‘rainy day holiday’ and I could simply stay in bed and read a book. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Those were some of the best days of my life. My mom would make crisp stuffed parathas for lunch; there would be delicious khichdi for dinner, laced with aromatic desi ghee; and if I got peckish in between, I could feast on piping hot pakoras. My best friend in the neighbourhood and I would venture out between meals to dance in the rain on the terrace, floating little paper boats in the puddles of water that had accumulated to keep ourselves entertained and return home wet to the bone, much to the despair of our mothers. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thinking of the fabulous times I had as a child I can’t help but feel sad for the kids of today who will probably never be able to enjoy a ‘rainy day holiday’ in quite the same way. Sure, they may be asked to stay home when the rain comes pouring down but they won’t get the day off. They will simply be expected to log on to their laptops and do their classes online (just as they did during the pandemic). It will be just another school day for them even though the heavens are putting up a spectacular show just outside their window. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Or take the ubiquity of mobile phones, for example. Children and teenagers may clamour for them and eventually badger their parents into getting one for them. But being in possession of a mobile phone merely means that your parents have a foolproof way of getting in touch with you at any time of the day, no matter where you may be — and if they are tech savvy and not great sticklers for respecting your privacy then they will know exactly where you are as well. You could always refuse to answer the phone, yes, but that will just lead to the mother of all dressing downs when you come back home. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So the kids of today will never know the feeling of complete freedom we felt when we ventured out with our friends in the pre-mobile phone era. Once I had said goodbye to my parents and departed for a day out with the friends, they had absolutely no way of getting in touch with me until the point I chose to return home. Yes, that’s right. They had NO WAY of getting in touch with me. Of course, I still had a curfew I had to adhere to. But until the clock struck that dreaded hour I was completely on my own. And it was sheer bliss to be alive and unsupervised. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sure, it wasn’t great fun conducting all phone conversations with friends on the landline that lived in the drawing room. But on the other hand, the absence of a mobile phone and of such apps as Instagram meant that there were fewer avenues for being bullied, ignored or even made fun of. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Honestly, if you ask me, sometimes technology is not what it’s cracked up to be! </span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-65112090028619649482023-08-25T18:30:00.002+05:302023-08-25T18:30:43.333+05:30Just doing their duty<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);"><b>Why do people feel compelled to shop at the duty-free area in airports?</b></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Whenever I go past security while travelling on an international route and hit the duty-free area, I am amazed by the cornucopia of goods on offer. Apart from the regulation liquor, chocolates, make-up and perfumes, these days you have every designer brand from doing brisk business in bags, clothes, shoes and sunglasses. And as I watch people shopping frantically at what is usually (though not always) the end of their vacation, I can’t help but wonder what drives this spending spree.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Have these people kept money aside specifically for this purpose? Have they researched the goods available at the duty-free stores to make sure that they can find a specific object? Are they just trying to take advantage of tax-free shopping? Or is this a last blast of holiday fun before they go back to the dreary business of everyday living?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Are these purchases last-minute gifts for their loved ones waiting for them at home? And if they are buying gifts, what is the motivation behind it? Are they driven by love, say, for a spouse who they have missed on a business trip? Or is the purchase driven by guilt at leaving a child behind while they head out on an adults-only holiday? Is the purchase a strategic one, aimed at pleasing a boss who sent them on a company junket? Or are they just ticking off items on a list sent across by a demanding family member?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There was a time in my life when I used to do my fair share of duty-free shopping. There were, of course, the boxes of cigarettes that friends and neighbours would ask for. And in those dark days of yore when alcohol was not freely available in India, this was always the ideal opportunity to stock up on whiskey, gin or champagne. I never ever bought stuff for my bosses but whenever I headed back from a holiday abroad, I would always buy many boxes of chocolate for my staff, only partly motivated by guilt for abandoning them to work while I had a nice little foreign jolly.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But now that almost everything that is available in duty-free is also on sale at the neighbourhood mall, it seems like too much of a palaver to get stuck into shopping at the airport. And frankly, by the time I have negotiated check-in, immigration and security, I am so exhausted that all I want to do is collapse in the lounge with a nice glass of wine. The very thought of browsing through shops, shortlisting things, doing a quick price comparison and then queueing up to pay, seems like entirely too much work.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And yet, airports across the world are full of people doing exactly that. And I can’t help but marvel at (and be bemused by) their enthusiasm for duty-free shopping. I can just about get my head around those who are buying bottles of liquor or make-up and perfume. But I cannot for the life of me understand those who are casually picking up big-ticket items like Hermes and Chanel bags – hardly impulse buys – on their way to the departure gates.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Or maybe I am the one who has got it wrong. Maybe the best way to treat a modern airport is to treat it like a luxury department store. And the right way to recover from queue fatigue is to try a little retail therapy.</span></span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-43740978944969782852023-08-25T18:27:00.002+05:302023-08-25T18:27:34.553+05:30To cook or not to cook<p><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Cooking may not be 'women's work' but it certainly is a life skill</b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have lost count of the number of mothers of young women who have told me, with varying degrees of satisfaction, that their daughters do not cook. Their girls have never as much as stepped into the kitchen, they say with pride. Why, they wouldn’t even know how to boil an egg! And why should they toil in the kitchen, they add with barely-suppressed indignation, when there are worlds outside to conquer?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, I get that: the feminist argument for not getting bogged down with getting breakfast, lunch and dinner ready. And when I was in my teens, wild horses couldn’t have dragged me into the kitchen either, though my mother, God bless her, tried her best to teach me some basic techniques. But no, I thought I was too good to learn how to make perfectly-puffed puris, thank you very much.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I often look back to that younger version of myself and wonder what I was thinking. What was so emasculating about rolling out a roti or making a tarka for a dal? And why was I so threatened by it? It’s not as if cooking a meal meant that my college privileges would be taken away or that I would have to give up on my dream of a career.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The kitchen may have been the preserve of women in that era (maybe it is even now) but that was no reason to banish myself from it. Learning how to cook is a life skill that everyone should possess. Feminism should not translate into an inability to feed yourself – or your family, if it came to that.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My relationship with cooking changed once I moved away from my mother’s place and set up home for myself in Delhi. Now that there was no mum to churn out meals I had to learn to feed myself. I began with baby steps, trying my hand at fried eggs and then an omelet. Then, I moved on to easy recipes like pasta with pesto into which I could bung in a few vegetables, or Thai curries made with sauces that came out of a packet. Only after that did I trust myself to recreate some of my mom’s Indian recipes.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And in the process I discovered something about myself: I actually enjoyed cooking. I loved the meditative calm of chopping vegetables and getting my spices and herbs ready. I loved the process of throwing various ingredients into the pan and seeing them come together in a flavourful whole. And I loved feeding the people whom I loved the most in the world.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In time, cooking became an activity that my husband and I enjoyed together. He is the more inventive cook between us while I am a more instinctive one. But when we put our heads and hands together in the kitchen, it can sometimes (though not always) create a bit of magic.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Looking back now, I can’t imagine a time when I regarded cooking with disdain. But then, I guess, our attitudes to cooking change with time. We may start off seeing it as anathema, then graduate to regarding it as an essential survival skill. It may morph into an adventure sport or just a way to feed your family. Or it may become the way you relax after a hard day at work or bond with your husband/mother/child.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">All you have to do is give cooking a chance. It may yet surprise you.</span></span></p>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-31862989416890775282023-08-25T18:24:00.001+05:302023-08-25T18:24:05.959+05:30Soiree not sorry<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>How to host a dinner party without going crazy</b></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />I have to say that my world tilted on its axis when I read that the original Domestic Goddess, Nigella Lawson, was giving up on hosting dinner parties. You know the kind I mean, don’t you? They featured on most of her TV shows, all twinkly fairy lights, a brilliantly laid table and platters and platters of interesting dishes, drawn from every corner of the world. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, Nigella is giving up on all that now. She has had enough of being the hostess with the mostest. Now when she entertains, she makes one big dish with a few accompaniments, sets everything on a side table and asks everyone to help themselves buffet style. And yes, did I mention that nobody is required to dress up either? Her guests are welcome to trundle in wearing their pyjamas. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have to pause at this point and make it clear to my friends and family that if they ever turn up for dinner at mine in their nightwear, they will be sent right back home to change into something decent. If I can make the effort to cook dinner, they can make the effort to put some actual clothes on. </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But sartorial debates aside, is Nigella right about this? Are dinner parties over? Is entertaining at home now a matter of opening a packet of chips and ordering in a Biryani while everyone lounges around in their nighties? </span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, I hope not. There is nothing quite as gratifying going to a friend’s house and discovering that he or she has spent the day making all the dishes you love; settling down in a room scented with candles while ambient music sets the tone; whetting your appetite with some well-chosen nibbles; and then sitting down to a long, multi-course dinner that you haven’t cooked. I don’t know about you, but I would get dressed up for that!</span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">That said, Nigella has a point. There is no point hosting a dinner party if the experience is just going to stress you out. The idea of having friends and family over is to enjoy time with your loved ones, not fret about whether the soufflés will rise or the jelly will set. (Keeping it simple but scrumptious is the way to go.)</span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So if you still want to entertain in style but don’t want to break out in hives about it, what should you do? Well, here are my top tips:</span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 32.4px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><ul style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Invest time in prep. Choose a menu in which at least 50 percent of the dishes can be cooked a day (or even two) before and stored - and may even be the better for it. That puts less pressure on you on the day of the party. </span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Don’t put anything on the menu that needs to be done a la minute (as in, on the spot). That is an invitation for things to go wrong. </span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Don’t make two menus for vegetarians and meat eaters. That’s too much work. If you have vegetarians on your table make an essentially vegetarian meal and add two meat or fish dishes. Trust me, no one will complain. </span></li><li style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Don’t bother with making dessert. It’s too much of a palaver and by the end of the meal, everyone is too full to do it justice anyway. Just order in a cake or macaroons. Or even some ice-cream - it will help you chill!</span></li></ul><div class="yj6qo" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></div>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8128981159160729349.post-1127795858724401902023-08-25T18:20:00.003+05:302023-08-25T18:20:44.398+05:30Retail therapy<p><span style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: verdana;"><b>Everyone enjoys his or her own version</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Every time I come back from a vacation, my friends always ask me excitedly, “So, what did you buy?” And every single time I have to disappoint them by saying, “Er, nothing really,” adding apologetically, “I am not much of a shopper, you know!”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">That’s not to say that I am some abstemious, self-denying, sanyasin who has lost all interest in worldly goods and possessions. Not at all. It’s just that when I am exploring a new city like Florence or even an old haunt like London, it seems such a waste of time trawling through shops when I could be visiting museums, picnicking in parks, or just wandering aimlessly through the streets.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Also when it comes to buying stuff, I am very much a needs-based shopper and a complete and utter creature of habit. So, when I need some linen shirts or kurtas for the summer, I head to Marks and Spencer and Anokhi. If I need occasionwear then it’s either Abraham and Thakore or Good Earth. Over the years I have tried to expand my retail base, but like a faithful hound, I come back to my familiar haunts to sniff out my usual favourites.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I guess when it comes to shoppers, all of us fall into a few readily identifiable categories. Here are just some of them that I have identified over the years.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Ditherers: My late mother was the first Ditherer I ever encountered in life. She would spend ages debating between the many choices laid out before her. She would go from shop to shop to see that she hadn’t missed out on anything. And then, hours later, she would finally bite the bullet and buy something. But the moment she unpacked it at home, buyer’s remorse would strike. And back to the shop we went the next day to ask for an exchange. That’s a nightmare I will never live through again – and how sorry I am for that.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Researchers: These are the people who never venture into the shops without first logging on to Google to research their many choices, going on Amazon and Flipkart to see what the online prices are like (not to mention the reviews), and then tweeting out to their followers to get their advice to buy anything from an electric car to a moisturizer. Only once they have all this information at their fingertips do they commit to making a purchase. And I have to say that they are rarely dissatisfied with their choice.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;">The Impulse Shoppers: I must confess that I dread going out shopping with this lot. Instead of focusing on what we have set out to buy, they are easily distracted by the first thing that catches their eye in a shop window. And once they start browsing they can’t seem to stop. They pick up so much junk along the way that by the time it comes to making their main purchase, they find they have run out of </span>steam – and money!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><span lang="EN-US" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Same-To-Samers: My husband is the prime example of this. Unlike me, who shops at the same outlets, he actually shops for the very same thing he has bought a dozen times before. So, he ends up with 15 identical blue linen shirts, a dozen identikit jeans, and many pairs of the same shoes. He says it takes the stress out of dressing; I say it takes the fun out of it. You decide which one of us is right!</span></span>Seema Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07256344300404114085noreply@blogger.com0