Concoctions.Confessions.Cooking

The belly rules the mind. -Spanish Proverb


Food. God’s greatest gift to mankind. Man’s greatest trait of curiosity and experimentation leading to an ultimate experience of satisfaction, peace and tranquillity.
People have this annoying habit of gender stereotyping right from childhood.  Its ok if boys play with Gi Joe or Hot Wheels, while girls played house or with Barbies. Trouble starts when the scenario becomes vice versa and then gender stereotyping gains another perspective altogether. But what do I care! Then again cooking was never fascinating for me. My funda was simple- if it lands in the stomach within seconds, why on Earth would I take the pain of hours to make something? It was the time when cooking at home was becoming a lost art, with nuclear families having maids to do the job as they lazed around or got preoccupied with other work. My mindset changed with the TV show titled Masterchef Australia. The ease with which the contestants created masterpieces out of nothingness was sheer flabbergasting and jaw dropping.

Today cooking has become a method to relax and churn my creative cells.
People have this notion that cooking is an art. I think otherwise. I feel cooking is like chemistry, you mix and match concoctions and create a whole new formula to appeal taste buds. The art factor only implies in the presentation if you ask me.

My interest in cooking started with trying a hand at baking a cake. Thankfully (with help from Ma of course!) the first effort was not a disaster and thus it motivated me to keep learning how to cook. It was during graduation when I started asking my mother for her recipes, started spending time in kitchen practicing the same. My maid was amused at my interest and interpreted it as – "Biye-r kotha cholche bujhi?" (Is there a proposal for marriage?) – hinting at the social perception that girls try their hand at cooking only to increase their eligibility in the marriage market.

If one asked me what that one dish that could melt me was, it definitely has to be Biryani. It has rice, it has potatoes, it has eggs, it has meat loaded with the aromatic smells of rose water and saffron infused with piping hot lentils of Basmati rice - what is there not to love?

India is known for two schools of Biryani - the light fragrant Lucknowi version and the spicier Hyderabadi version. Kolkata Biryani draws its inspiration from Lucknow school of thought. Another interesting aspect about the two genres of Biryani is the accompaniment with which it is served. Though the usual side dish is raita (a yoghurt based side), in Kolkata, Biryani is often had with a chicken dish (Chicken Chaap is a typical side dish often ordered with Biryani) , for me gorging a plate full without any accompaniment was enough.

It was Eid, my Muslim friends had invited me over for sewayi , halim and of course biryani. I was jumping with joy, but realization had constrained my happiness. I had put on tons of weight a year ago with an almost borderline sugar detected by my family doctor and therefore weight loss was the need of the hour. A year later and 22 kgs lighter even thinking of such temptations was harmful for my health. Then again the ordeal became even more difficult for me as everyone claim themselves to be a foodie but I was born to a clan that revolves their life around food apart from a Bengali - The Punjabi clan . Being foodie is an inherent trait in us and therefore I rather die eating Pizza than eating nothing at all. So I decided that if I cant have Biryani because it is High caloric in content, I simply make a low calorie one! Trouble was , I have never cooked Biryani before!


I first checked whether I had all the ingredients for a low calorie biryani.

Lean chicken – CHECK
Youghurt- CHECK
Rose Water- CHECK
Basmati Rice- CHECK
Vegetable Oil- CHECK
Spices- CHECK

And there I was ready to go! I never had a fixed recipe in mind, I let my taste decide the ingredients for myself. So here you go:

For marination of Chicken:
3 garlic cloves, finely grated
2 tsp finely grated ginger
¼ tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp turmeric
1 tsp of red chili powder
5 tbsp natural yogurt
500g boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 4-5cm pieces
Half tsp of vinegar
Half tsp of sugar

Method
In a mixing bowl, stir together all the spices and yoghurt. Tip in the chicken pieces and stir to coat. Cover and marinate in the fridge for about 1 hr or longer if you have time.
An hour later, I just took out the chicken and set it up on the gas to dry out the water from the curd. Once the chicken was cooked for about 10 minutes later, I placed it aside.

I was figuring out what next to get the “dum” effect in my Biryani with as less of oil as possible , not more than 5 tbsp of oil. My mind went back to Physics.. I remembered the valuable lesson of conduction and convention and decided to apply the same in my cooking.Coming back.
First step was to put up the tawa on the gas and then the vessel on top that will cook the rice and chicken.

Ingredients for the rice:
4 medium onions long chopped
1 tsp chilli powder
1 cinnamon stick, broken in half
5 green cardamom pods, lightly bashed to split
3 cloves, salt to taste
1 tsp cumin powder
280g basmati rice,
2 potatoes cut in 4 pieces
1 tbsp rose water,
1 tsp turmeric powder

Method
Heat the tawa and place your cooking vessel on it. In that put 5 tbsp oil and fry the onions, cinnamon stick, cardamom, cloves.  Put in the rice, Potatoes, cumin powder, turmeric powder, chilli powder, salt and rose water and mix the concoctions with water. Once the rice is almost about to cook, put in the chicken , mix the concoction again and close the lid of the vessel with kneaded dough. Cook for about 20 minutes and voila, here’s you result.


I put my dish to the ultimate test, getting it tasted by my critic, my parents and the fact that nothing was left of the dish you see on the top of the page was enough justification of my success!

Whoever says cooking low fat stuff was impossible… IN YOUR FACE… while you guys enjoy the temptation and add weight on your tummy, I enjoy a guilt free delight. Who’s luckier now?! ;)

The Jungle Book 2013

Disclaimer: There is no political agenda, no targeting any groups, and no support to any party (the only party I like are those with free food , dance floors and Dj’s). The intention of this post is to salute the spirit of bravery of those who want to make the world a better place but their Access Denied.
P.S. I love the men in my life- Friends, Family, Brothers, Batch mates, Crushes..Nothing against you at all. You guys make me complete!

I wake up and the world around me has changed. My hands tied, my mouth gagged,but my legs spread wide for reasons best known. I see my plight is just like the rest of them: the fairer sex known as  “woman”. 

“Woman?” I thought to myself, as thoughts are the only remaining freedom I possessed.
“Weren’t they the miracle workers, the life givers, the ones worshipped?”

Then why am I gagged? Restricted? Limited?

For a moment, I doubted my existence. Was I really the same woman visualised in my thoughts? Looking at my tied hands, I guess not.

It’s a jungle out there. Democracy lies only within a certain section of masculinity I suppose…. for the rest it is extinct. It’s not that attempts weren’t made to revive it but demanding what was our birth right doesn’t really go down well with the powerful minority out here.
We are promised change but when we don’t see that happening and protest, we are jailed. “So that explains the gagged mouth!” went the loud thought in my head again which I’m glad they can’t hear.

The roads have hounds waiting to hunt on bikes. I’m pretty sure they’re wolves,why else will they move in a pack?  They can’t be lions. Lions move alone fearlessly. But there aren’t any lions around in this jungle. Did the wolves overpower them too? Are they the new dictators of the jungle?

It happened one time I was travelling back home in the metro. It wasn’t crowded and yet I felt a sudden pain soaring from my bottom. In an instant reflex action I slapped the man back who was responsible for that pinch, held his collar and abused him left right and centre. The coward ran away but looking at the people around I wondered who the bigger coward was in the first place!

I have my hands tied today. The jungle doesn’t permit me to raise them any more. Nothing’s written about this restriction though but it is followed unconventionally like the rest of the society. The consequences will be dire if I dare raise them… who knows they might be twisted, turned or worst still…..held by the unknown.

We still have the freedom of speech existing though in this jungle and its freedom beyond limitations. Everyone has the right to feast their eyes on any creature, any body part desired and of course have no shame in “showering” comments or stating their intentions out loud. So what if it was a French woman they wanted to f*** or pick up a mother daughter duo as they sat in their cars.

It happened another time, I was out crossing the road from the metro station when suddenly I encountered the “humble” wolf (humble because he was on a bicycle instead of a motorbike- we still don’t have a classless society you see). He looked at what we consider the first meal for a child, a symbol of motherhood and said out loud in colloquial Bengali “oof koto boro aache!” (My they’re huge). To which being the brash individual that I am replied “Tomar Ma’er theke kom aache @#$&*” (It’s less than your mother’s you @#$&*). It’s shameful that I abuse another woman in my defence, even more shameful that I go down to this level and perhaps risk my life but how else could I subdue this overdose of “freedom”? If he can be limitless in his speech, why can’t I?

We’re equal aren’t we?  Going by my state and many others, equality had become a façade. The world has suddenly become so malnutritioned in moralities that we are envisioned as that last morsel of food available on the face of the Earth...

Someone asked me the advantages of being a man….I cited many colloquial reasons.
When I asked him the advantages of being a woman ... "To sleep their way to success, give birth, not sharing the burden of a compulsory earning and shop at others expense" was the answer. Although it was said apparently in "joke" having such a mind-set in a well-read urban society, seemed more like a joke to me than his words.

We were promised a change. They didn’t cheat us on that. We should have been more specific with our wish.

It’s a jungle out there. The survival of the fittest.

We ought to be covered if we don’t want out legs spread.

We must walk with our hands down if we want them untied.

We must not raise our voice if we want to remove that gag or else we’ll get to read status’ like this : “When a woman threatened to report a cab driver because he refused to take her to a nearby locality, he retorted by saying - Muh band rakho..! Aurat ho, apni aukaat meraho.. ..nahi toh ek kheench ke dunga.. (keep your mouth shut! You’re a woman,stay in your limits or else one slap I’ll give you!" Saying this, he drove off.. I was too zapped to react...” [Arjyesh Ray’s Facebook status dated July 25, 2013]

We can just be visualised as the Tandoori Murgi ready to be devoured with alcohol or perhaps an object in the household that doesn’t have a warranty or service centre hassles. Our “jawaani” is always “badnaam” in their eyes.

They say we cannot be understood not realising how opinionated and judgemental they are themselves when it comes to us.

If we have curves… We’re fat
If we don’t… We’re flat
If we wear make-up… We’re fake
If we don’t… We’re down market
If we dress up and have guy friends… We’re sluts
If we don’t… We’re narrow minded villagers
If we’re blunt …We’re Bitches
If we’re quiet… We have an attitude problem

My voice limits itself to just words now. Actions speak louder but a Pen is mightier than the sword for me to fight my way out of this misogynistic jungle.Whatever be the choice of weapon, “A hero can be anyone. Even someone doing something as simple and reassuring as putting a coat around someone's shoulders, to let them know the world hadn't ended.."

Till then....this is what the living in the Dark Age feels like....

Pen-Seived

     "We write to taste life twice; in the moment and in retrospect”
      - Anais Nin

We let ourselves lose on a simple blank piece of paper. Our bodies spill the terror, the love, agony, anguish, laughter, hope.

 A PEN was another name given to our voice, another name given to our tongues. It didn’t matter how cheap or expensive, venomous or sweet that tongue was, the words that came out got all the limelight.

 Every notebook told stories—stories about those long lost days of the student life, stories of discovering newer experiences of travel, stories of close guarding secrets you’re most likely not to divulge, stories of sheer nonsense---- stories defining YOU.

 The advent of technology was a welcoming change. We got our first computer way back in the year 2000 and things just started changing from thereon. The pen lay motionless on the table for months at home while the notebook served its purpose only in school. Copying manually became a thing of the past. Xerox and printouts took on the front seat. As for writing……..it just got lost somewhere in the chaos……..


Flashback:

It was class V where a sense of growing up started to give its initial feelers. It's symbol? The transformation from pencils to something known as the INK PEN.

The device came along with an array of other attractions which included cartridges, nibs, ink erasers and the ink bottle of course. We also learnt the alternative use of our nose dropper---to fill up the think tanks!
We grew wary of smudged pages, to blow gently on paragraphs just written before closing our exercise books. The weather always played spoil sport with humidity ensuring yet another obstacle; as if picking up the correct exercise book with a precise thickness of paper to prevent ink bleeding wasn't hard enough.

 Moreover I used to admire my teachers who just grew to accept our Rorschach ridden assignments with immense forbearance and patience.


Present:

Times hav chngd. Sh8ning clothes, wrk, wrds has becum a fad. It's an age of SMS, Whts Apping, BBMing, Emailing. Letters on paper? Post cards? What's tht?

Growing up may include an increased height and age - in some cases even maturity, but for everything else Reduction of effort is the key mantra. No one enjoys getting mail anymore, or at least no one enjoys seeing a pile of envelopes nor a  brown cardboard box with a smiley arrow on the side.

The joy of flipping through your pile of circulars, bills, and statements and coming across with your name handwritten in red ink sometimes seems like it’s lost forever.

 We live our lives in public now. We check in, add photos, update "whats on our mind" on a moment by moment basis. The food we look forward to seeing on our plates are now just photos on Instagram.

The pen which was mightier than the sword once upon a time, has now reduced its worth .The device that meant pride, spoke of power, excellence, intellect today finds it utility in a to do list, taking down addresses and phone numbers.

 Every compulsion, every thought expressed rather seeks solace on Facebook than a notebook. Thankfully the hand that taught us the A..B..C's , still encourage the endearing commitment between the pen and paper.


After Thought:

Computers, smart phones etc have made our lives easier-jotting down faster than one thinks . But at the end of the day, is it a race between the thoughts and the written word or is it just the written word alone? Is manual form of writing becoming endangered?

I spend 12 hours a day behind a keyboard. Spiral notebooks and fine writing utensils won’t be found among my business tools. To get a glimpse of the future, just look at today's youth. The incessant use of emoticons for that personal touch in expressions instead of curly Qs or loopy Ls is proof enough.

So endangered is the written art that a century from now, our handwriting may only be legible to experts. When our great-great-grandchildren find that letter of ours in the attic, they'll have to take it to a specialist,or to an old guy at the library who would decipher the strange symbols for them.

What are we losing by moving to a keyboard-based form of text communication? Does it even matter?

In spite of all this, I haven’t lost hope. I decided to write this manually first and then type for the online audience. Looking at the doodle I made while writing this note , I realize the presence of an involuntary smile and a sense of relief.

I’m glad man hasn't developed the art of doodling and writing at the same time technologically. No computer can carve your name on that bark of tree, it is you and you alone capable of doing this .

So what, I wonder to myself as I set a physical pen to an actual piece of paper, can I possibly have to say to my friend that she doesn't already know? And even that worry in itself is a symptom of this skill I used to have and use so well. I used to simply begin and then continue, fancy flying from my pen as often as fact, until I ran out of paper and squashed my superfluous name into the corner. I am out of practice. Which is normal and fine, because aren't we all?

We communicate more often, but the degree to which we communicate personally is lesser, surely. Everything’s in snippets and flashes: a hundred and forty character tweets, YouTube videos. No longer do we describe things in detail. No more the lengthy epistle, the expounded opinion, the exaggerated anecdote.

I may be worrying about this unnecessarily; it’s possible that this is a trivial concern. Certainly we've gained more than we've lost with all these new devices, but that’s no reason to let it go completely. And it’s so easy to bring it back.

Think about how nice it would be to receive letters and postcards again, unexpectedly. Not because it’s your birthday, not because of any reason in particular, but just because someone wanted to write their thoughts onto paper and send them to you.

I leave it to you now what do you want to do with that motionless pen lying on your desk for quite a while……..pick up and make someone feel happy or just make it pass through the sieve…..

Food For Thought

“Everything has its beauty, but not everyone sees it”- Confucius


DISCLAIMER: Contains No preservatives…No added flavours…Just added Fa(c)t [of random thoughts!]

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.
WRONG!
Beauty lies in mass appeal.
Then again it’s the MASS that’s APPEALING or rather APPALLING  to the eyes for reasons not so aesthetic.

With the likes of recent incidents on targeting celebrities connected to the world of entertainment, it seems the very purpose of entertainment has added a new “Weight” of ridicule being labelled to its cause where it’s ok to have WEIGHT in your words but when it comes to body, WEIGHT and watch!

“Beauty is a characteristic of a person, animal, place, object, or idea that provides a perceptual experience of pleasure or satisfaction,” so says an online dictionary.
Well, Fat people are subjected to an “experience of pleasure or satisfaction” (in the form of ridicule) by the same people who came up with this definition, so why aren’t they considered objects of beauty? (They fit in perfectly well in the category as per the definition anyway) Why such hypocrisy? Why this Kolaveri Di?!

Society has this inherent quality of criticising – for being too fat or too thin, being employed or unemployed, being married or unmarried…the list never ends! There just HAS to be SOMETHING WRONG with you! After all Nobody’s perfect right?
For me, that “something wrong” was my weight.

It’s like a part of a PACKAGED deal, being subjected to silly taunts and ridicule comes with being fat- every Sonam Kapoor, Arjun Kapoor, Queen Latifa, Adnan Sami , even a former Miss World has to go through the PAIN GAME. “But as long as people love you for who you are, who cares!”
WRONG AGAIN
As long as you can be strong enough to answer back like Adele’s “I sing for the ears NOT for the eyes”, or to crack jokes on yourself like a certain Bharti, can one truly survive.


I’m a Punjabi girl and being a foodie is an inherent trait. I rather die eating Pizza than eating nothing at all. I always believed that true beauty encompasses things beyond sight or touch, something within---the light of the soul. Therefore being bred on movies like Beauty and the Beast, Shallow Hal, Shrek, I didn’t find my 93 kilo body posing a problem, at least not initially. Little did I realise later on that most fairy tales  have much more under the façade of a "HAPPILY EVER AFTER!". It's always the Prince who has to be poor, ugly, fat, geeky or a frog (I pity the men folk on this) while the Princess has to be beautiful, slim, trim and perfect-- doesn't matter if she's a poor servant or a mermaid!

Being FAT was never easy especially if you have a beautiful mother. Ask me!
From teachers in school, to relatives, to friends, I used to hate being compared. It’s not that I’m not proud of my mother, of course I am. But I did have a problem with people resorting to comparisons than accepting dynamism.

I never learnt how to swim. I’m hydrophobic but most importantly, it’s the fear of wearing a costume and being ridiculed that stopped me from entering the pool.
I feared gym, doctors and health clinics, only because I knew that standing on that scale is my passport to more ridicule or taunts.

I was never comfortable with a full body massage, because I was too ashamed to show my body..even to a woman!

There was always an unwanted consciousness whenever I went out to eat. In most cases people judge you by your eating habits. Fat people have an exception. It doesn't matter how they eat! what matters is what they eat and how much! There's a sort of assumption that Fat= Glutton.
You stand at a fast food joint people assume you'll order the entire menu! Go to any wedding receptions or buffets and the caterers assume that you are bound to take multiple helpings and give you such a look that forget food you'll think you've murdered somebody by picking up that one extra piece of salad!

You run on the road, people start making weird all faces and shower nasty all comments.

Oh GOD! What kind of creature is that!

Run for your lives or you'll die in the Earthquake!




When it comes to compatibility and love, I have rarely seen love stories being complete where the fat falls for the good looking and its reciprocated because obviously people ASSUME (and make an ASS of U and ME) that fat people don't believe in Love or Compatibility. Everyone is busy preoccupied with that PERFECT wedding picture. Who cares about exceptions?!


As much as I loved outings, I feared family gatherings where another aunty (it’s always the aunty never the uncle) would go up to mom and publicly talk about my weight in such a “concerned” tone that would even make a cat think twice before killing a mouse .
“Arre yeh toh pehle se kinni moti ho gayi hai, usko exercise kara… khana kam kara”(“She’s put on more weight than before, reduce her food get her to exercise)!

"Beta look at your mother, even at such age, she has maintained herself so well!Learn something from her!”
“Well Good Morning! I know this all too well, Come on I live with her! And most importantly she’s my mom! At least don’t embarrass her!” ---- I always wanted to say that but realised that the society which ridicules also teaches us respect! (Bloody Hypocrites!)

They say being comfortable in your skin is the key solution to ALL your body issues, but for fat people, your skin becomes a curse, a constant method of living in fear and taunt and so you have no option but to get rid of it. Its like being forcefully kicked out from a pent house to live on the streets for no fault of yours if you ask me!
I'm NOT promoting FATNESS but just making you realise how equally torturous the life of the Larger frame really is, not because one is fat and unhealthy…it’s ONLY about BEING FAT!

To please myself (by pleasing others..like I had a choice back then!) I tried everything, from crash diets, to protein supplements to slimming centres. A friend of mine used to tear pictures of models out of magazines and tape them to her wall. She said it gave her“inspiration” to work out and look good, and that resorting to this would help me lose weight. But how inspiring could it be, I wondered, to surround yourself with pictures of people you could never actually look like? (At least, not without surgery, or an airbrush on photo shop !)

It’s sad but the concept of beauty is usually discussed within the wider consideration of aesthetics.
Flip through any fashion magazine, one is bombarded with images of attractive men and women wearing, or rather not wearing any clothes. The models on the ramp with “PERFECT” washboard abs, flawless skin, the fact that they can fit into anything and look VAVOOM is pretty much what attracts the non-green grass on the other side.

Women have always wavered to whatever the media of their time viewed beauty. In ancient times, beauty envisaged a healthy body to be able to meet vital needs.Therefore women with wider hips and heavy breasts were considered perfect and beautiful.

Botticelli's painting of 'The Birth of Venus' for example, depicts beauty as a woman with porcelain fair skin,long wavy blond hair and a voluptuous lower half, alluring men with the promise of fertility. Today the same woman in the painting maybe perceived as someone with a lack of muscular form, someone with generous thighs and love handles. In other words, Venus would be viewed as plus size icon by today's standards.

But then again, must art be beautiful to be great art? What about the rest of us? Is beauty just an obsession? Or is there a deeper meaning behind our drive to appear younger and more ‘beautiful’? If you ask me, it’s the latter, where we leave no stone unturned to be one of ‘them’, but the more important question is - Am I doing this for them or for ME?

Current runway models get skinnier while designer labels cater for the tall and thin and women put themselves through various forms of torture to look like their favourite celebrity. The designers may flaunt their collection on stick figures, but their consumers are NORMAL people, as NORMAL as those surviving on home cooked food, those on a regular vocational routine…. those like YOU or ME!

Don’t believe me?

Do give it a keen eye during the SALE period and witness for yourself how the M,L and the XL’s fly off the shelves first and how the S and XS stay on XS-ively!

But such is life. When we don’t feel comfortable in our natural bodies, we deny our spirits everything… from dancing to delicious food. We miss out on all the sensuality and joy that life offers.
We deserve to have it all! It doesn’t matter if you are FAT or thin.

People ask me why I resorted to losing weight when I didn’t have an issue with my weight in the first place! (Funny things with people I tell you—you don’t change they have a problem, you change they still have a problem!)
I did it because I WANTED TO, not because I was forced! It’s my life for God’s sake, You can’t help improving it, don’t destroy it!

It’s only when YOU start loving yourself, when YOU start living for yourself,when YOU resort to change without being pressurised and when looking at YOURSELF in the mirror will soothe YOUR eyes is when YOU are truly at PEACE!

Perceptions are subjected to TIME just like everything else. So if a Asha Parekh, or a Silk Smitha bring an appeal to the curvy heavy hips and a Kareena snatches the lime light with Size 0, a Vidya Balan brings the oomph on voluptuousness back!
TONGUES and TAILS WAG! And will keep on doing so! WEIGHT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT!  Anant Ambani is laughed at for his Body, he’ll have the last laugh on your bank Balance! BIG DEAL!

I REPEAT MYSELF when I say I’m NOT promoting heaviness but just making one realise how resentful and torturous the life of the larger frame really is! They aren’t aliens from another planet, they’re HUMANS and one has no right to subject them to any form of ridicule whatsoever! There's a reason why we aren't super heroes/heroines. God made us differently. Yet conceit leads in people in believing to be Perfect! GET REAL GUYS! Perfection is a myth!
So if you can’t be PERFECT, be an excellent example of Being HUMAN! --- if not pounds, you’ll surely GAIN respect!

FOOD FOR THOUGHT!

Reflections: My Journey as a SIMC student

Chapter 3
Griha Pravesh (House warming) and other escapades


The night seemed to have slowed down for some reason. I realized the secret to my wholesome quota of sleep was my Lemon Yellow painted room but more than the room was MY BED and my cylinder pillow which I lovingly called Gol Takia that were prime catalysts.
I was woken up the next morning with a knock on the door. Yawning and stretching lazily on my new crib, I took my wrist watch from under my pillow to check the time.

“Oh God who wakes up a sleeping soul up at 7:45 am!, I wondered as I yawned some more.

Heading towards the door and cursing myself for being so courteous, I was surprised to see 2 early birds on my doorstep.

“Good Morning Raina, we came to fetch you for breakfast, brush and hurry down”.

Poonam, Reshma, Me and the LOVE!! ;)

Yes those two Early birds were Poonam and Reshma, who looked as enthusiastic and bubbly as a child would jump at the sight and smell of new school books waiting to be covered!

Dragging myself out of bed felt like pulling a dead body out of the grave, somehow pulling myself together we reached the mess.  Being at SIMC, or rather any other residential campus, getting up early h as many perks:
a)      The key to making it on time to class is to have breakfast first and then get ready. Saves one a lot of time especially if you have roomies who are comparatively late risers.
b)      The most important point is witnessing and consuming the edible meal of the day- BREAKFAST – the ONLY time of the day when the college mess doesn’t live up to its name thankfully!

Today was one of the many formal occasions of Symbiosis Knowledge Village had to offer, the very first induction of SIU graced by the founding father of brand Symbiosis himself, Dr. Majumdar. His opening lines still haunt me. The image of him on the podium asking “How many of you are from outside Maharashtra?” followed by 99% of the audience raising their hands, to which he graciously smiles and says  “see!! This is the beauty of Symbiosis..!!”

After the event we had our seniors requesting us to stay back for some important announcements, not knowing that staying back would cost us heavy. When we saw two people shutting the huge Auditorium doors, with the villains showing their lusty eyes to us, we knew we felt like damsels in distress!
On the podium was Nalin Agarwal a tall guy with long hair and a moustache---a typical mask of Zorro look (minus the mask and cape of course). Being one of the coolest seniors on campus, he spoke with confidence,

 “Batch 2012..welcome to your official ice-breaking session”.

“Ice breaking session AKA Ragging on stage..aii yii yii! ,” my heart echoed. That did not sound right at all.

“First of all no session is complete without its hosts so,” he picks up our attendance sheet and says “ Rishi Doshi and Chintan Buch would be doing the honours . “

Chintan

There stood two people I had be-friended on SIMC Pune 2012 group in person; both Gujjus but both equally different like London or Tokyo. With a flower on their heads and a formal attire they divided the batch in groups of 10 and assigned us a task to entertain the audience and find the group leader assigned to us.

Rishi

As simple as it may sound, finding the group leader was the toughest of all, considering we had an auditorium full of seniors misguiding and talking irrational to us so as to create a distraction. On finding our first task, we were assigned task number 2—entertain the audience.What I resorted to as means of entertainment is best reserved within the walls and my classmates in college!! As they say say 'Parde mein rehne do, parda na uthaao'

The week followed with umpteen number of classes  with umpteen number of teachers, telling us the same thing umpteen number of times-----“ Media line is not a walk in the park it requires a perfect mix of smartness, hard work and of course dedication.” 

Suddenly I felt transformed in the sets of Shahrukh Khan’s Mohabbatein where there I stood among my other classmates and in front stood Narayan Shanker (In this case my director Chandan Chatterjee) dawning a black sherwaani, bearded and red vermillion on the forehead bellowing out the 3 P’s of Marketing…oops sorry values of the institute----Parampara (Tradition) Pratishtha (Perseverance) and  Principles (Anushasan).
Warping back to reality, I realized one very important thing that day----- SIMC doesn’t follow the 3P’s…more of 3 C’s ---- Connect, Converge and Communicate… *my bad*

Prakrit

Week changed into a month so soon that by the time one said READY…STEADY….it GO-ed!  Time just flew past meeting new faces and new faces everywhere who later on became an integral part of my life.

I remember seeing Prakrit Dhondiyal ---who doesn’t know till date that his ‘Naah’ accent made me smile and Rishi Doshi-- who automatically made me smile sitting right behind me in class, and teasing the shit out of Reshma singing the RKJ song and asking for her precious Qua bottle that she guraded with her life..sigh the sudden twist of fate.

Aabeer

Nimisha

Meeting Aabeer Choudhury and Nimisha Mishra for the first time made me realize that I wasn’t even meant for this place, considering the form of teasing and jokes cracked on me were harsh and fore mostly blunt! Today however these two are an integral part of my life and life without their punches (jokes + sarcasms) seems tasteless :)

Himanshu

And how would my initial escapade be complete without meeting the man who showed SIMC through and through his lens-----Himanshu Punjabi , without whom my ailing grandparents would not have been able to see my new abode.










Faces faces everywhere…Classes classes none to spare…As my 1st assignment and class test approaches, will I be able to sustain what comes my way???

Read on………to Move On!!!

License to Click Part- 1

Discovering the world that I see through the lens of my camera

Reflections : My Journey as a SIMC student

Chapter 2

Room no 556

Having feeling better being consoled and comforted by Parag, I headed back to my new abode, Room 556. It was a hard time looking for it. For one I wasn’t in the frame of mind as I entered with mom and dad, nor in the frame of mind now after they left, to even consider the concept of DIRECTIONS to play in my mind. Taking the help from the hostel guard thankfully, I found my way out.

The moment I stepped into the corridor, another realization dawned upon me, our room was the ONLY junior room in a corridor filled wid seniors! “uh oh” blurted my mind but entering a 3 seater room can be a comforting thought at the same time. The room is large, spacious enough to even play a miniature gully cricket!  3 beds—evenly spaced wid a study table and chair each. Shelves dedicated to pile ur books, puja ghar, food whatever, a cupboard each and a separate washroom and a separate bathing room, and your ready with your ghar grihasti !!

I was greeted with the warm smile from Pooja, who sat on the right side of the room on her bed doing some “khichir pichir” on her laptop (her usual habit that Im now well versed with! ) To my surprise I was greeted with another smile to the girl on my left. She sat there wearing a spaghetti and shorts and before I could ask for her introduction, she smiled and said , “Hi am Mansi”—Mansi Bagga , my roomie no 2.

My first impression about Mansi, was that she was confused with life and am not saying this on the basis of her Hi’s but before she made an appearance. As I was arranging my bed, I saw the two sides who I’ll be spending my 2 years with—while Pooja’s side was neat and clean, Mansi’s side witnessed cyclone Katrina---suit case opened, hair iron lying promptly like a cherry on a cake pile of clothes. However, as time passed the living habits between my 2 roomies interchanged!

Our room was unique for various other reasons---

• Mansi was from PR, Pooja from AD and me from Journalism
• Mansi was XS, Pooja was M and me..well L
• Pooja hardly spoke and when she did we could hardly hear, Mansi had her spurts of talking but I know for a fact she can’t stay without it, and me non-stop bakar party!
• Pooja and Mansi were the only 2 NRI girls in our batch, Pooja was from Dubai, Mansi from Bangkok and Me ..LOLOL who cares I have 2 FOREN maal’s wid me now!!

Together we formed the TERRIFIC trio! And Im glad we continue for round 2 this year again J

My phone buzzed with another message. This time it was another classmate I met on the FB page, Mohnish Bose. He had heard from Parag about my arrival and willingly wanted to take me out on a Campus tour. Considering a sweet gesture I tagged along. We passed by the mess and walked straight to the academic block and I see 2 girls giggling away amongst each other. Mohnish introduces the two as Poonam Nanaware and Reshma Raju Emmatty. For me they are like Romeo and Juliet now, who thought they were meant together but circumstantially separated.

These two, though one of them has now moved on , were the 1^st friends I had here at SIMC. In a way I thank both of them for making me less mellow about my separation with mom and dad.

They took me to what I consider heaven on Earth--- they took me to the amphitheater. In the darkness of the night, I saw the city of Pune gleam from high above like one million fireflies – A view one only recalls seeing as a flight takes off and the city reduces to a Lego toy on a shelf and men reduce to ants.

Sitting high above while the world stands below your feet gives a different high all together, for once you feel like Jack Dawson of Titanic, opening your arms stretched wide open and shouting “am the King of the world” *in this case I’m the princess*. My tears evaporated and my frown inverted I thought to myself “I will make it here” and silently smiled.

We reached the mess around 8:30 ish to have my first meal at SIMC. There is depletion of resources and there is abundance of resources and then there’s SIU mess—a perfect mix of the first to points. But then again as my senior Danny points out “you can eat crappy food every day alone..or you can eat eat crappy food every day in the presence of beautiful women” and FRIENDS if I may add .

Another SIMC ritual was realized as we ate---the power cut ritual, bringing out the beast in all of us as the lights in the mess went kaput for a short time, and where u hear people howling, whistling and doing the  “ooga mooga’s” at high decibel levels till the lights came back on and people behaved as though nothing happened. For the first time in my life I bizarrely wish that power cuts take place as frequently as possible at nights! But, oh the efficient management of SIU!

The deadline to enter the hostel I was told 12 midnight…

"sheesh I had come into a fairytale, the Cinderella deadline was there to prove it now” I jokingly thought to myself and smiled. 

As we walked down, the hostel roadway reminded me of Mamta Banerjee’s meetings on the Esplanade Metro roadway---it was filled people…well sitting down on the roads and the leader of the pack was this tall plumpy looking fellow with the ultimate weapon of war----the  GUITAR!!!

The people, sat there singing to this guy’s tunes, a guy called Vidyadhar Raghvan AKA Viddu, a true gem who wants to be like AR Rahman someday and considers Music and food as his “Fuel” *paradox* for life ;). They say Music heals all wounds and clears all sorrows and for a moment I was actually having fun.

Time flew and the clock struck 12—the crowd dispersed like fluttering pigeons, I enter my room. I see Pooja already fast asleep and Mansi on her laptop. I switch off all lights to call it a day, when I hear Mansi squeal like a small innocent child 

“Am scared of the dark”

Smiling sweetly I turn on the night light and retire for the night. 

My first night in an alien world, in an alien room, no back ups but still a faint hope as to everything being allright……..

What happens with me the next day?

Read on to Move on …..