Ambrosia

          “There is no love sincere than the love of food”.

Dreams in which you lie in bed and literally drool! It must have happened to most. It often happens to me.

I’m at a sumptuous dinner or party with food that is the envy of even the Romans and all their Gods. Sometimes it will be the typical wedding food in a Keralite Hindu wedding, sometimes the aromatic Byriani and pulsating mutton curry of the Muslim folks amply proportioned with ghee and at times it will also be the grandeur of the food at a Christian wedding. I would be in anxious hurry and impatience to grab the food and stuff it down, sometimes I will be trying to stretch to grab it even, but alas I cannot move my hand or it superficially perceives the food then I wake up with a forlorn jolt, drooling, literally. The realization dawns that it was not only a dream but a nightmarish end to feel now that I missed the whole tempting array of cuisine.

Then I slip back into the abyss of slumber, with stupor of the dog that was shown the fascinating piece of bone and taken away with cruel audacity.

Food, the one that tickles, and pleasures the taste buds and the mind, that gives the heart its ever eluding content has been my fascination.

I sit back to recollect  the  times  I have had food that stays in the heart and long each day that I be consigned to a remote island paradise where I and just me alone will enjoy all that every day , is not  ephemeral and it never ends,  . A life in Shangri-La!

The best of the country side food of Kerala devoured in the thatched  tenement straddling the green paddy fields that tango in the breeze that is incessant, was like paradise brought down to me. I had that many times, but one, a particular time and place was heavenly simple and plain. Spirit that even Gods will not resist (the Kerala toddy) complimented by well cooked tapioca in coconut and tagged with the wonderfully dangerous looking Valla (a kind of fish found in Kerala back waters and rivulets) curry. Supplemented with roasted duck, frog legs, roasted pork garnished with coconut slices and the Entreat the appam with chicken curry in fried coconut gray. Beef ollathiathu (roasted) being an added indulgence. I wished after, and knew I would not mind, if my heart ceased to throb  it would be with content.

Once I went to a wedding reception in Chennai. It was a Muslim wedding. The food served was of only a few dishes unlike the Christian and Hindu weddings in Kerala that never ends and stays on course after course. The Byriani with chunks of juicy mutton garnished with ghee, roasted chicken sprinkled with sliced onions and tomatoes sautéed with amazing composition of masala, a tremendously subjugating curry of brinjal, and then came the dessert carrot halwa in ghee. I still can at times smell that food though ten and plus years have elapsed since.

Once I and C went for a nonsense called Yoga class, which was a discourse with gimmicks by a widely known man in ocher robes. It was a three day event in Chennai, and what kept us glued there was the lunch they served which was pure vegetarian. I do not recall the dishes but exquisite were they, I’m yet to taste any that will match let alone rival that.

Steak! Versions of that are many. Often we are forced to agree that the chunk of meat grilled and peppered can also be termed “steak”. But the best and the unrivalled buffalo steak was served to me and C while we were in Jackson. There can never be any steak that can be juicy and enhancing as that. It was the feeling, the fear that the hotel staff that waited on us would see us gluttonous Indians that we desisted from asking for a repeat of the dish.

Shewarma, the misleading regional versions were attractive, until I ate the beef shewarma at a Turkish joint  in Johannesburg. It was rolled in bread as big as a huge Nan. Rolled and stuffed without a wee bit space with meat, mayonnaise, grated cabbage, and mustard sauce with other condiments.  I kept licking my fingers and sucking my thump till the end of the day.

There is a very mundane, but nostalgic variety among the cuisine I long for each day. The India Coffee Houses are quite famous for their coffee, maslaa dosa and brisk service, besides other dishes. The masala dosa from the ICH as the outlets are called have the same taste and aroma from Srinagar to KanyaKumari.  A plate of MD as the masala dosa’s are called, complimented with Mutton -Omelet and signing off with aromatic coffee will eclipse any depression and augment rejuvenation. No exaggeration. Each morning I wish for the MD and MO.

But finally I reach to the food that most of us in the family, I’m sure, miss now. The local Kerala cuisine that my mother’s sister used to cook. It is true that no food can rival the ones mothers’ cook. But when traded with her sister’s gifted hands, the dishes my mother cooks come second only.  The fish fry, the mackerel curry in grounded coconut and coriander powder with the tangy –sour fruit , kodam pulli( (seen only in Kerala), the simple beans thoran , the avial , the olan(  sliced potato in  coconut milk with peas and green chilly), the theeyal ( drum stick and yam slices cooked in fried coconut and coriander gravy),the sambar , the prawn theeyal and prawn fry roasted with liberal dose of onion slices, and what else! I have not come across yet another array of food ,prepared ,which aids with amazing content - the taste buds and leaves the soul in peace.

 It was akin to ambrosia if not one!

Inherit the Wind

I saw the movie a third time around a few days back. “Inherit the Wind” was the 1960 movie version  directed by  Stanley Kramer, of a real time incident in the USA down south in 1925 that shook the conventional notion and conformity of religious diktat on creation. The incident that triggered the prosecution of a public school teacher for teaching “Darwin’s theory of evolution”. Those were the days when government funded schools in America were proscribed from teaching the scientific theory of genesis of man and evolution of life. The religious right vehemently renounced the evolutionary theory, stigmatised Darwin, and declared him an anathema and a persona non grata. It was sin, blasphemous and a crime to teach or believe that man was descended from the monkeys and the apes. Children were taught the Biblical fairy tale of creation and that was considered indisputable and inviolable.

The movie captures the core of the subject, ‘the right to think’, and not just the ephemeral matter of Darwin’s theory of natural selection and evolution, or the sleight of God in creation. The right of the thinking man! It was an individual’s right to think independently, which was endangered in the prosecution of the teacher against whom the whole town of Hilsburgh and the establishment panoplies.

                     Spencer Tracy & Frederic March in the film

I heard about this fascinating story and the movie itself from Aravind, my son. He was then in his twelfth class at the boarding school in Ketty, Nillgirs. The dramatised adaptation of the movie was enacted by the senior boys for the school anniversary. He donned the role of Mathew Harrison Brady the fundamentalist politician who appears in court to pillories the teacher, and his close friend Mani, the role of Henry Drummond who defends the accused. In the movie the role of Brady was brought to admirable life by Frederic March and Spencer Tracy the role of Henry Drummond.

The movie had amazing court room drama, histrionics and crisp dialogues with repartees, all which made one pulsate to think. And feel the ethereal pleasure when the mind is free and thought boundless. The movie itself begins with the old song,”the old time religion”, played in the back ground. It ends with the death of the fundamentalist prosecutor who goes hysteric in the court room and dies there of a massive cardiac arrest. The last shot has Henry Drummond, the defence attorney walking away with the copy of “The Evolution of Species” and the “Bible”.

The dramatised version was a highly awaited one, and the boys and the girls did enormous back stage work with dedication to excel the play. I was eagerly anticipating the day as I and C had never missed a school cultural function or sports for the twelve years our children studied in their alma mater. And that being Aravind’s final year in school, I and C would want to move heavens, keep aside other engagements and tide over all difficulties to be in the front row. Aravind, as the Head boy was awaiting and looking eagerly to sign off in style from the school that blessed him with invaluable life in his formative age.

                     Mani Prasad & Aravind ( Henry Drummond &  Harisson Brady) from school days

Then nemesis in flesh and blood (I cannot help phrasing my feelings strongly), struck and I was left behind with whimper and helpless. C had to travel alone to Ootty to the function. I had to prioritise a meeting that was so vital that I stayed back but was a damp squib in the end. Thanks to the people who timed the meeting and made it a successful not starter, I felt in such way that I even believed that they had a design in my misery and missing Aravind’s dramatics.

I waited in anticipation, C’s arrival back with the children late that night as the Pooja Holidays were following the next day. The play was given a standing ovation by the whole audience (parents, children and staff). The best actor was decided in an extremely narrow margin and won by the sweet looking Mani. C mentioned that Aravind sent Mani on stage to collect the award for the best play as it seemed he was anticipating him to be called to collect the prize for the best actor. However though he must have felt a wee bit sad, he said he was happy that Mani was chosen as he admirably portrayed Henry Drummond. It was good to see a healthy competition that ended well. When I met the Principal after a few days he expressed regret that the judges had to deliberate much and decide narrowly the winner for the best act. The play was a great success and when others told me that I was quite unlucky to miss not being there, I felt miserable and terribly sad.

It was only after I watched the film, and without an iota of hesitation eulogise the thespians Spencer Tracy, Gene Kelly and Frederic March that I began to wonder how well the children have enacted the play for it to be so raved about.

Hence I tried to catch up with the lost essence  by watching over and over, the film itself. I would recommend that the film be watched, any which way you can, buy it or down load .The monkey trial as the incident was called in real time had a parting theme as well.

“He that troubleth his own house shall ‘Inherit the wind; and the fool shall be the servant to the wise of heart.” (King James Version of the Bible – the book of proverbs).

La'Belle

                    "Mediterannean". Musee D' Orsay 

There is seldom any doubt that French women are one of the most effortlessly sexy and beautiful .

I was going through some old pictures stored in my lap top, and revisited the pictures of the gorgeous looking lass from France. The picture must be about ten years old and I last saw her before she left the company I was then doing business with. The last I met her was in Strasbourg in their office. And that day she and her boss took me out for lunch. I did correspond with her on business matters and some advice about textile fairs in Paris and Lille which she frequented. Well in fact she was a Textile school product and worked in that Company as a designer and Stylist for men’s wear. Hence her twice yearly visits to India.

She must have been twenty four or there about.

Once on her visit to India, she happened to be in the town over the week end and came to our house for dinner. The next day, a Sunday, we all drove down to Malampuzha in Kerala. As she and her boss wanted to see a bit of “God’s own country”, of which they heard much. (The subsequent year we sent them by car to Kumarakom to erase the unpleasant memories of this forgetful trip). It was an awful experience for the heat and the very ravenous men folks of that place. Being a Sunday there was a sizeable crowd of men and women who ventured out to nauseatingly pry and strip another- beautiful women. The kind of people who are intrusive and agape upon seeing a white (pale) skinned alien woman.

Now she was a very beautiful and debonair. Tall slightly tanned and had exquisite assets that makes women glamorous and attractive to men folks and envy of the same sex. Being her second or third visit to India she was not quite aware of the prejudice and hypocrisies of the land. Wearing jeans and a round neck t shirt that clings to a beautiful  body was indeed quite provocative to the gentry there in Kerala. I and C could feel and she too, the prying and lecherous eyes roving all over her. In fact we had to be more conscious and ensure that none of them got berserk and laid hands on her. There was no dearth for comments that were derisive, mocking and vulgar. It was a wonderful relief when we were back in the car to drive back to our town. The only quite side of the day adventure being the boat ride on the lake, which was away from offensive eyes.

After she left the company the contact just faded out, though it must be the pleasure of every man who appreciates feminine physical beauty and charm, to be in contact with her. 

The next I heard about her, (let me call her M, after the first alphabet of her name), was just a few years ago from the woman who was her boss. Well, M was going steady with a young man who lived in her town of Strasbourg. And they were quite intimate for a while, before she was befriended by another fellow.  She was I presume dating two men at the same time. It was immediately after that, that she found her pregnant. And she decided to marry her new boy friend. Marry they did. Because she had this good news for him that she conceived and will bore him a child. However a few months into marriage she went in for a paternity test and found that the child was from her earlier boyfriend. The man whom she married was not prepared to continue the relationship if she did not medically terminate the pregnancy. This she refused outright. His persuasive skills running out of steam and on a limbo, he (her husband) walked out of the marriage. She was left to fend for herself. 

She eventually gave birth to a child, a boy. She was living by herself, a single young mother, in dire need of a job. In an unenviable state of bringing up the infant and meeting ends meets.

Quite an unfortunate turn of events for a woman who was captivatingly beautiful.

One can laugh away the confusion of parentage and the comedy of errors if one sees it that way. However the same life style is quite in our garden too! Isn’t it?