It's a bustling street. In a charming part of the city, where most streets are charming as are the quaint homes, paved streets and the last few signs of a greener past. Where on either side of the bustling street have stood fast establishments the test of time and tide. Graciously have they embraced change and donned a little gloss on the old street. Old wine in new bottle one may say.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Easter is Spring.....
Spring is defined as the transition period between winter and summer. In a way, nature’s gentle way of softening summer’s eventual onslaught. Short though it may be, it’s nature’s way of showing hope and joy after a cold and bleak winter.
It is naturally, celebrated by the peoples of cultures and communities across the length and breadth of this planet in ways which appear different, but are essentially the same.
The specific definition of the exact timing of spring varies according to local climate, cultures and customs. Spring refers therefore, to ideas of re-birth, renewal and re-growth or time for harvests.
It is from these that stems the origin of springtime celebrations across cultures such as, Nowruz or Navroze, Pesakh or Passover, Baisakh and Holi, Poila boisakh and Bihu, Ugadi and Padwa and Easter.
Easter or Eostre in old english, Ostern in germanic, Paskha in greek, Pascua in spanish, Pasqua in italian, Paques in french etc.
To offer thanks for a good harvest that survived the cold winters, is why each of the above festivals is celebrated.
Each offering obeisance in most celebrations to a pagan or folk god or goddess of nature.
In the same vein, Easter, is the central feast in the Christian liturgical year. As with many other cultures in India,Easter is a moveable feast. In that, it is not fixed in relation to the civil calendar. To put it simply, Easter falls on the
first sunday after the full moon following the northern hemisphere’s vernal equinox.
Easter also marks the end of the season of lent, which is marked with fasting and observing penance. This is an important period. A forty day period of austerity is observed as a sign to feel, in one’s individual way the suffering endured by Christ.
What it really means is, to develop a sense of strength and will power to overcome attitudes and habits that limit our abilities to live better and improved lives. The forty day period in a way is a trial period which should eventually last a life time. Christ led life by example and hoped people who wanted to be free of shackles would also lead by example. Lent therefore is a period, in some small measure, to emulate Christ as the perfect mortal, even in His suffering.
Therefore He becomes immortal.
His death and resurrection for the sake of humanity is celebrated as Easter. Which also means re-birth, renewal and re-growth. A chance for second innings. Traditions of the easter bunny and easter eggs are pagan or folk customs that enunciate the allegory to re-birth and renewal.
That is what Easter and spring is about. Death is followed by life. Winter which is black and kills all life is followed by Spring which brings life.
It is naturally, celebrated by the peoples of cultures and communities across the length and breadth of this planet in ways which appear different, but are essentially the same.
The specific definition of the exact timing of spring varies according to local climate, cultures and customs. Spring refers therefore, to ideas of re-birth, renewal and re-growth or time for harvests.
It is from these that stems the origin of springtime celebrations across cultures such as, Nowruz or Navroze, Pesakh or Passover, Baisakh and Holi, Poila boisakh and Bihu, Ugadi and Padwa and Easter.
Easter or Eostre in old english, Ostern in germanic, Paskha in greek, Pascua in spanish, Pasqua in italian, Paques in french etc.
To offer thanks for a good harvest that survived the cold winters, is why each of the above festivals is celebrated.
Each offering obeisance in most celebrations to a pagan or folk god or goddess of nature.
In the same vein, Easter, is the central feast in the Christian liturgical year. As with many other cultures in India,Easter is a moveable feast. In that, it is not fixed in relation to the civil calendar. To put it simply, Easter falls on the
first sunday after the full moon following the northern hemisphere’s vernal equinox.
Easter also marks the end of the season of lent, which is marked with fasting and observing penance. This is an important period. A forty day period of austerity is observed as a sign to feel, in one’s individual way the suffering endured by Christ.
What it really means is, to develop a sense of strength and will power to overcome attitudes and habits that limit our abilities to live better and improved lives. The forty day period in a way is a trial period which should eventually last a life time. Christ led life by example and hoped people who wanted to be free of shackles would also lead by example. Lent therefore is a period, in some small measure, to emulate Christ as the perfect mortal, even in His suffering.
Therefore He becomes immortal.
His death and resurrection for the sake of humanity is celebrated as Easter. Which also means re-birth, renewal and re-growth. A chance for second innings. Traditions of the easter bunny and easter eggs are pagan or folk customs that enunciate the allegory to re-birth and renewal.
That is what Easter and spring is about. Death is followed by life. Winter which is black and kills all life is followed by Spring which brings life.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Summer BBQ nights....
Summer has returned to exhaust and drain human lives and more so with a vengeance that most have come to recognise as the worst in recent years. So, come summer, worst or not, what do the ever ready bandra buggers do? Beat summer. Out come the short pants, vests, netted or not, strappy tops and cool hairdos and most of all the barbeque pits!
Generally a bbq needs no reason as long as the company is good and there’s meat roasting on the pit. But, a birthday is a perfect reason to make it better. What better than a little old bandra house tucked away in the little lanes of the village with a back yard with no testy building neighbours around.
The preparation ofcourse starts 2 days in advance. T, the master chef when it comes to bbqs, gives a list of all the ingredients. He and a friend get the best beef mince available at Joseph’s, while I head to pali for the ingredients and Jude’s for fresh poyee to make the perfect bbqued burger. Music is taken care of with the best DJ in G. Deepak’s at pali ensures we keep the summer heat under check.
Birdy’s has the perfect cake for the birthday. The master chef arrives and so begins the mixing of the ingredients, the chopping and smashing and last minute scurrying for more ingredients. Some friends and I assist the chef as the music is set up. The night is balmy to say the least. Speakers are put in place and finally the BBQ pit arrives!!! Finally the back yard looks set for the birthday bbq with the cake in the centre and a bottle of white wine from poona. The master chef has finally toiled hard and got the burgers ready to be grilled on the pit.
The boys and girls have settled down in the backyard under the summer night sky with good music, good food, good drink to keep the summer heat at bay and really good cake. The burgers and cole slaw disappear faster than it took the chef to make it all.
As the night wears on, the group becomes smaller and huddles together under the early morning sky with a round of games as the music becomes softer.
The barbeque in the village hasn’t ended, it has only just begun, as has summer and it won’t be long before we rustle up another fabulous bbq recipe.
I know we’re all waiting....
Generally a bbq needs no reason as long as the company is good and there’s meat roasting on the pit. But, a birthday is a perfect reason to make it better. What better than a little old bandra house tucked away in the little lanes of the village with a back yard with no testy building neighbours around.
The preparation ofcourse starts 2 days in advance. T, the master chef when it comes to bbqs, gives a list of all the ingredients. He and a friend get the best beef mince available at Joseph’s, while I head to pali for the ingredients and Jude’s for fresh poyee to make the perfect bbqued burger. Music is taken care of with the best DJ in G. Deepak’s at pali ensures we keep the summer heat under check.
Birdy’s has the perfect cake for the birthday. The master chef arrives and so begins the mixing of the ingredients, the chopping and smashing and last minute scurrying for more ingredients. Some friends and I assist the chef as the music is set up. The night is balmy to say the least. Speakers are put in place and finally the BBQ pit arrives!!! Finally the back yard looks set for the birthday bbq with the cake in the centre and a bottle of white wine from poona. The master chef has finally toiled hard and got the burgers ready to be grilled on the pit.
The boys and girls have settled down in the backyard under the summer night sky with good music, good food, good drink to keep the summer heat at bay and really good cake. The burgers and cole slaw disappear faster than it took the chef to make it all.
As the night wears on, the group becomes smaller and huddles together under the early morning sky with a round of games as the music becomes softer.
The barbeque in the village hasn’t ended, it has only just begun, as has summer and it won’t be long before we rustle up another fabulous bbq recipe.
I know we’re all waiting....
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The Unending Road
It’s an unending road. I can walk it come rain or shine, in stilettos and flip-flops, and everytime revealing something I missed only 24hours ago. It winds past sentinels of the past, some still standing, others that were brought down crashing like the old stone landmark structure that was known as Bank of India but popularly known as ‘Pinto’ Bank in honour of its beloved manager Mr. Francis L. Pinto and the ice factory just across the road from Pinto Bank. A lot of memories frozen forever as the only image of the factory and endless days of summer holidays spent at play down that lane is the image that the fading memory conjures up.
The road compels me to continue on our journey to unravel sentinels that still stand in the shape and form of cottages and bungalows as old as the hills, cobbled paths that lead me into a world full of history and charm that is waiting to be decoded. The centuries old crosses that dot corners everywhere makes you want to stop and breathe and not walk on by. The strains of music and chatter on a Sunday afternoon bring back memories of an idyllic childhood. Time seems to stand still but the road tugs and pulls me along in the direction of aromas coming from kitchens of bakeries in the bazaar and eateries that have stood the test of time. It’s plain Good Luck that the road pulls me right up along the old irani still dishing out biryanis and shwarmas for each generation that knows good luck isn’t just to wish upon a star!
The road hasn’t tired and neither have my feet as the unending road takes me past rows and rows of glittering new buildings and establishments, which though an eyesore yet seem to be residing quite peacefully next to the old guard, perhaps learning in whispered tones the hallowed history the upstarts have to contend with. And then I pause and take a second look as the road takes me down past rows of beautiful cottages and new buildings towards another old legend called Candies, that change is the only constant, but it needn’t be at the cost of the past to make the present a misery for tomorrow.
The new will come as the old road has shown and as I get pulled towards soul fry casa and pali I realise it’s upto the old to shape the new. As my road pulls me along, another sentinel guarding lives along the path of this unending road that is Bandra, stands head and shoulders above everyone and everything old and new and reminds us when the chimes fly out from its steeple that in the end ‘ALL IZZ WELL’…..
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Perfection in Imperfection
Everytime I meet people who have my best interests at heart, they make those intentions very clear. That there is no such a thing as a perfect man for whom my bell might clang as though in a fairytale. Only they forget that the fairytale end comes after hard work and effort!
An interesting point comes through in a not so new and oft repeated movie called Perfect Man. It didn't reach cult status and neither did it feature in higly acclaimed circuits, but nevertheless it clearly points out the inherrent fear of disappointment and hurt that most men and women harbour. It's almost as good as an urban legend, to have to 'deal with' and 'get over' a 'broken heart' and 'broken love'. It's as good as saying why did we have to fall and scrape our knees and bleed just to be able to walk straight on two feet. Why was it necessary to fall into pits before we learnt to balance ourselves. But, do we remember those falls and scrapes? Are those blood stains still haunting us? We are walking straight now so why do we have to think back to the days we don't even remember anymore?
A few scrapes do not make us weak and hurt. Had it hurt and disappointed us, some of us would still have been crawling. On hind sight, that would have been a good thing.
The point is very simple. We didn't hide behind fears and disappointment, and stood right up on our feet. So also, there is no reason to run away before letting someone come close, thinking its better to hide instead of getting hurt. What if there is no chance of getting hurt? There is a possibilty that it's one's 'god given' brain working over time because its shovelling deep into files or maybe half a file tucked somewhere under all the cerebral matter, a file that has no relevance today and which is perhaps not an approrpiate index to measure the current situation...
That, perhaps for once, one could just stop to go through the motions of a little difference of opinion, maybe sometimes a lot, a little friction, a little sillyness, maybe some misunderstanding, maybe just some silly attention seeking nonsense...
We never stop to think that perhaps these are just ways of showing remorse, however abstract or the fact that these are helping you learn about each other. You know teething pain? Before the milk teeth and even before the perfect set of enamel appear.
No misunderstanding can be more important than the happiness and intimacy that was shared. We allow these things to overwhelm us to such an extent that we forget the laughs that were shared, the stories that were told, the lazy greetings in the mornings and afternoons that made everyday work life less mundane. We forget how much we looked forward to the ideas that were shared, the troubles that were shared, the feeling that one can share more than just silly banter sent over the clouds in messages that sometimes get lost in translation, that there was adventure in everything.
It is imperfect. But that is exactly what makes it perfect. Two negatives make a positive and so also two imperfections make it perfect. In other words, we learn to work around the imperfections and try to minimise them not eliminate, for not everything can be eliminated.
Yet beneath it all, lies a person who can offer warmth that you wake up to, smiles that makes everday life not mundane, ideas that can shape a different future, madness that keeps the fire alive.
In short, love and concern that one feels for a change, not just for one's everyday existence and for those one grew up with, but for a stranger who strangely never seemed a stranger although tiny scrapes seemed more overwhelming than treating the scrape with some antiseptic and plastering it with band-aid to let it dry and disappear. And there's enough stock of antiseptic and band-aid waiting to be used. Is it then possible for two people, no matter how many scrapes they've given each other, to offer first aid for all the scrapes suffered and hope the scrapes dry quickly......
An interesting point comes through in a not so new and oft repeated movie called Perfect Man. It didn't reach cult status and neither did it feature in higly acclaimed circuits, but nevertheless it clearly points out the inherrent fear of disappointment and hurt that most men and women harbour. It's almost as good as an urban legend, to have to 'deal with' and 'get over' a 'broken heart' and 'broken love'. It's as good as saying why did we have to fall and scrape our knees and bleed just to be able to walk straight on two feet. Why was it necessary to fall into pits before we learnt to balance ourselves. But, do we remember those falls and scrapes? Are those blood stains still haunting us? We are walking straight now so why do we have to think back to the days we don't even remember anymore?
A few scrapes do not make us weak and hurt. Had it hurt and disappointed us, some of us would still have been crawling. On hind sight, that would have been a good thing.
The point is very simple. We didn't hide behind fears and disappointment, and stood right up on our feet. So also, there is no reason to run away before letting someone come close, thinking its better to hide instead of getting hurt. What if there is no chance of getting hurt? There is a possibilty that it's one's 'god given' brain working over time because its shovelling deep into files or maybe half a file tucked somewhere under all the cerebral matter, a file that has no relevance today and which is perhaps not an approrpiate index to measure the current situation...
That, perhaps for once, one could just stop to go through the motions of a little difference of opinion, maybe sometimes a lot, a little friction, a little sillyness, maybe some misunderstanding, maybe just some silly attention seeking nonsense...
We never stop to think that perhaps these are just ways of showing remorse, however abstract or the fact that these are helping you learn about each other. You know teething pain? Before the milk teeth and even before the perfect set of enamel appear.
No misunderstanding can be more important than the happiness and intimacy that was shared. We allow these things to overwhelm us to such an extent that we forget the laughs that were shared, the stories that were told, the lazy greetings in the mornings and afternoons that made everyday work life less mundane. We forget how much we looked forward to the ideas that were shared, the troubles that were shared, the feeling that one can share more than just silly banter sent over the clouds in messages that sometimes get lost in translation, that there was adventure in everything.
It is imperfect. But that is exactly what makes it perfect. Two negatives make a positive and so also two imperfections make it perfect. In other words, we learn to work around the imperfections and try to minimise them not eliminate, for not everything can be eliminated.
Yet beneath it all, lies a person who can offer warmth that you wake up to, smiles that makes everday life not mundane, ideas that can shape a different future, madness that keeps the fire alive.
In short, love and concern that one feels for a change, not just for one's everyday existence and for those one grew up with, but for a stranger who strangely never seemed a stranger although tiny scrapes seemed more overwhelming than treating the scrape with some antiseptic and plastering it with band-aid to let it dry and disappear. And there's enough stock of antiseptic and band-aid waiting to be used. Is it then possible for two people, no matter how many scrapes they've given each other, to offer first aid for all the scrapes suffered and hope the scrapes dry quickly......
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Joy to the World....
The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to cheer somebody else up. ~Mark Twain
Mark Twain [and others] who is better at coming up with quotes that take the word out of your mouth, than I am, simply and beautifully embodies the start of my favourite month and season of the calendar. It also I thought was the best way and time to re-start my blogging initiatives, not so much as to exhibit my skills as a writer, but mostly as a way of penning down or is it typing down thoughts and musings of an everyday life spent not un-eventfully in a not so everyday village, that sits at the end of the island of Salcette, called Bandra. And inspired by the buggers of bandra.
Living in a beautiful old stone cottage, not old by the village standards as its only about 5-6 decades old, but reminiscent of old days nevertheless and on the brink of not an old story in the village, that of property disputes, it's about trying to savour the last bits of a flavour that Sidney Lobo, Christopher Lobo and the Afzals and Siddiques are trying to kill by saying a few silent prayers every saturday evening at the 6.45 pm mass at St. Peter's. Kneeling only a few pews away from aunty Leon. Afzals and Siddiques finish it on fridays.
December however is a different month anyway. The disputes are pushed far back somewhere till summer..no no till the errant nephew and wife have boarded that aircraft that will seal them tightly and deposit them safely back in NYC. That great big red apple for which they dropped everything, including that 'cushy' job with KMPG that had him landed as the most eliglble available for the Mangy daughters in the village. It's the same great big red apple, the snows and poverty of Queens [depending on where in queens] they have dropped and left some several miles away, atleast for a month, and come 'home' for the 'holidays'.
The tree is slowly brought out, because its wrapped up and kept high up on the old cupboard that belonged to great grandmother Angeline in Mangalore, standing tip toe on the stool that belonged to aunty Leon's father when he was a boy growing up long ago in Kadri. It almost got the moniker tripod but fevikwik and a good carpenter saved its good name. How her old dad would have rolled in his grave.
Aunty Leon is not sure how old the crib and the figurines are. She remembers them from the time she went to school and still gets wrapped the same way. The tree need not be fully decorated. The nephew and wife will add their own as well. Or he might bring in the lawyer and file a suit against the old aunt for thinking she can fully decorate the tree and not leave him anything!!! How could she!! especially at Christmas!!
The carolers will come down the street stopping at all the houses and buildings, well almost at all..the gym will have its Christmas carnival...hill road will have more decorations than last year to tempt you on your way back from work unless you take a detour and walk down turner road. All the time telling yourself how much easier it is to walk there than hill raod with all the traffic. The nephew and wife will go to the wife's house near Mt Mary steps and come back with cakes from venus for aunty and wish her a Merry Christmas and the best of health for the coming new year!!
Mark Twain [and others] who is better at coming up with quotes that take the word out of your mouth, than I am, simply and beautifully embodies the start of my favourite month and season of the calendar. It also I thought was the best way and time to re-start my blogging initiatives, not so much as to exhibit my skills as a writer, but mostly as a way of penning down or is it typing down thoughts and musings of an everyday life spent not un-eventfully in a not so everyday village, that sits at the end of the island of Salcette, called Bandra. And inspired by the buggers of bandra.
Living in a beautiful old stone cottage, not old by the village standards as its only about 5-6 decades old, but reminiscent of old days nevertheless and on the brink of not an old story in the village, that of property disputes, it's about trying to savour the last bits of a flavour that Sidney Lobo, Christopher Lobo and the Afzals and Siddiques are trying to kill by saying a few silent prayers every saturday evening at the 6.45 pm mass at St. Peter's. Kneeling only a few pews away from aunty Leon. Afzals and Siddiques finish it on fridays.
December however is a different month anyway. The disputes are pushed far back somewhere till summer..no no till the errant nephew and wife have boarded that aircraft that will seal them tightly and deposit them safely back in NYC. That great big red apple for which they dropped everything, including that 'cushy' job with KMPG that had him landed as the most eliglble available for the Mangy daughters in the village. It's the same great big red apple, the snows and poverty of Queens [depending on where in queens] they have dropped and left some several miles away, atleast for a month, and come 'home' for the 'holidays'.
The tree is slowly brought out, because its wrapped up and kept high up on the old cupboard that belonged to great grandmother Angeline in Mangalore, standing tip toe on the stool that belonged to aunty Leon's father when he was a boy growing up long ago in Kadri. It almost got the moniker tripod but fevikwik and a good carpenter saved its good name. How her old dad would have rolled in his grave.
Aunty Leon is not sure how old the crib and the figurines are. She remembers them from the time she went to school and still gets wrapped the same way. The tree need not be fully decorated. The nephew and wife will add their own as well. Or he might bring in the lawyer and file a suit against the old aunt for thinking she can fully decorate the tree and not leave him anything!!! How could she!! especially at Christmas!!
The carolers will come down the street stopping at all the houses and buildings, well almost at all..the gym will have its Christmas carnival...hill road will have more decorations than last year to tempt you on your way back from work unless you take a detour and walk down turner road. All the time telling yourself how much easier it is to walk there than hill raod with all the traffic. The nephew and wife will go to the wife's house near Mt Mary steps and come back with cakes from venus for aunty and wish her a Merry Christmas and the best of health for the coming new year!!
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Bangalore Bistro
Mediterranean, Lebanese, Moroccan..... it's incredible. A fabulous place for candlelight dinners, salad lunches, live music....need I say more. It's back and better than before and if this doesn't get your appetite going then nothing can.
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