The Half-Done Bridge Over Troubled Waters

My generation was not born to swanky shopping malls and upscale restaurants and high rises. Shopping was all about Gariahat and for special occasions New Market. Park street had a presence all through but was non existent for me. It was beyond our reach. It was mostly street food for us- the alur dom, alu kabli* man outside our school or egg rolls and fish fry in our para* or rather in every para and a few small restaurants in Behala* where the under average Chinese food seemed irresistible. Birthday cakes were either homemade or the buttery sugary mass of a chocolate or strawberry cake from Monginis or Kathleen. I would hear about a certain Flurys on Park Street from a privileged lot at school, but for a  plump hairband clad 12- 13 year old and that too one with a low self esteem, a happening place like Park Street seemed as distant as the moon! That does not however mean I was underprivileged by any standards. I had a good school,  good clothes, heaps load of food to eat (being the only child), great books to read etc. It was our way of life sans cafe, computers, branded clothes, dvds, ac, cars etc. A no frill good life it was.

The city underwent a phantasmagorical transformation. What's ironical is the fact that though the change was sudden it was also smooth in the sense that it soon and with ease merged into and onto the fortified walls of a tradition and culture hugging city and soon became a way of life for many like me. The day and age of shopping malls had arrived. These were the days of experiments with food, lifestyle, boutiques, salons. Calcutta embraced these with open arms. I embraced them with open arms and so did many like me. Some criticized too and expressed disbelief in what the city of was coming to. I on the other hand loved being a part of the change.

Having said that it's impossible to stay in the city and feign indifference to another Calcutta, real in every sense of the term. With each floor being added to the intimidating towers, some homes started looking like playhouses. With every sparkling, shining chic stores peeping out of the corners of the road, the dimming lights in some parts seemed even more dull. We asked for more almost forgetting that many didn't even have enough.

One fine day as I clambered onto an auto to make my usual run to office,  I noticed a group of women and children huddled on the pavement. One lady who I assumed to be a mother to the girl she was talking to, pointed at approaching pedestrians and pushed her towards them. The child too obediently scurried forward with open fist and the all so familiar 'begging for alms' phrase. I wonder what the mother must have gone through to push her daughter to a life as this, or was this a way of life for them as simple and routined as brushing teeth or eating three meals a day. The irony is what seems routined to us is probably luxury for them and for many like them- three meals a day...

This also reminds me of a splendid day with my friends in Park Street. The food loving happy lot emerged from Flurys with goodie bags ( I had come a long way since my school days and I now actually thought Flurys wasn't good enough. Ah the snob!)and loitered around a pavement near KFC. A group of young girls approached us for money. We did part with very little of what we had but the girls were not satisfied and tried snatching the packet from Flurys. When we didn't yield to their demand and scolded them for their conduct they tried to hit one of our friends with a loose wire that was hanging near us. We were furious. We even thought of complaining to a traffic police nearby, but then let it pass and went our way, to another mall and back to our ways. Now that I look back and think about the incident I can't really blame the girls for their arrogance. They claimed a drop in the ocean of restaurants, high end stores, tempting ice cream shops, 'stare at your face' burgers and fries. We refused to part with that drop knowing fully well that we would have lost nothing but they would have gained a lot. I don't claim to understand their situation because I never had to live their lives but I don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that it ain't an easy life. I am not ready to give up on my city ways and nor do I intend to be preachy here but if we give up on a few things sometimes, even teeny weeny things that won't make much of a difference to us, we can perhaps make a difference in a lot of lives.... or so I think. Whether we want to or not is up to us, up to you. It's a half done bridge over troubled waters waiting for our approval....

*alur dom, alu kabli- I don't really want to translate this because it wouldn't sound nice in any other language. Let's just say these are mouthwatering streetfood.

*Para- a bengali word for locality

My love affair with 'Speciality'

Here I am propped on a chair in a corner of a spacious, warm and friendly 'Speciality', a neighbourhood cafe in Milpitas. It's not exactly neighbourhood in that sense and is surrounded by drab and dull corporate offices, the only saving grace being a glimpse of the hills at a  distance. I discovered the place a couple of months after I moved to Milpitas because my husband's office happens to be in the vicinity.

I loved the place instantly. I somehow felt at home. Again a tale of two cities this. In Calcutta I spent some of my best days in coffee shops with my best friends, ranting away just about anything. Every celebration, heartbreak, gossip, boredom, ebullience was about some coffee shop in some part of the city. From our gossip sessions in Piccadelly Square and Barista, emotional outbursts or lazy afternoons in Mocha, our so called 'office work' in Cafe Coffee Day, chilling out at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, to the zillion 'just like that' sessions in all of the above, it was always about or in a coffee shop. 

Speciality felt like that minus my friends.

Being a homemaker is not about how easy or how grueling the task is. It is more about priorities because when you spend most of your time being at home it's difficult not to lose yourself in the nitty-gritties of a routined life, something you would probably have ignored had you been working. Doing dishes, making bed, cooking, cleaning climbs up your priority list and reading, writing or engaging in some creative endeavour which you may have otherwise enjoyed, is often the last thing on your mind.

I often grant myself the luxury of breaking away from this run-of-the mill affair. It's a date with Speciality where all i get to do is nothing, except maybe read, write, munch on a muffin, sometimes eavesdrop on conversations( bad habit I know but entertaining nevertheless, from the endless business meetings, interviews to crazy inspirational talks) or start a blog like this one! And I almost always feel connected to my city and friends. A large chunk of a tale about my city is about my friends, and Speciality in a strange way bridges the gap between the California and Calcutta.

I always leave the place with a smile on my face.

Egg Bhurji and a twist

There is this one magic ingredient which almost always saves me when I am too busy or too lazy to put my mind to cooking- the 'sunday khao monday khao Ande"! Be it a simple egg curry, omelette or a bhurji, egg comes to my rescue more often than not. 

Now there is not much to egg bhurji I know and probably does not a deserve a place on a recipe blog. But trust me this one does because added to it is an ingredient which gives a whole new dimension to the straightforward bhurji. This and most of my recipes by the way are my mother's recipes who like most mothers is a wonderful cook.

Egg Bhurji

Serves 2

Ingredients

Eggs- 3 (I ususally use one whole egg and two egg whites because my husband is' grr' health conscious)

Chopped Onion- 1

Chopped Tomato-1

Ginger- garlic paste - 1 tsp (you an use minced ginger and garlic too)

Red Chilli powder- 1 tsp

Green Chillies- 2 or 3

Turmeric Powder- to taste

Salt- to taste

Sambhar Powder (the magic ingredient- i use the everest one)- 2-3 tsp

Oil- 3 tsps

Mustard seeds- 1 tsp (Optional)

Curry leaves- a handful (optional)

Chopped coriander leaves for garnishing

Method

In a bowl beat in the eggs with a little salt and pepper. Keep aside

Heat oil in a wok or a pan.

Add the mustard seeds and the curry leaves. You can omit these if you want.

Once they begin to crackle add the chopped onions and eventually ginger- garlic paste and green chillies. 

Cook till the onions turn a light brown and there is no raw smell of the ginger- garlic paste. 

Now add the chopped tomato and cook till it turns mushy. Add the red chilli powder and salt and mix well. 

Now make a well in the tomato- onion mixture and add half  a tsp oil in the wok.

Put in the eggs and stir it vigorously along with the onion- tomato mixture. Bhurji will be ready in no time. Fry the egg bhurji till its fully cooked.

Now add the Sambhar powder and mix well.

Garnish with chopped coriander and serve with hot phulka. Divine!

A beginning and hot chocolate

Change is the only constant they say. However not all constants necessarily change and it takes a perfectly gloomy day and a few drops of rain to realise that. In the land of egg rolls, crowded streets and festivals, my Calcutta, a day like this would have me running for a hot cup of coffee and a book. In another city, at another time a similar day had me running for a cup of hot chocolate and a book. The city, my home for almost a year now, Milpitas, the suburbs of San Francisco. That reminds me, when I first thought of making myself a cup of hot chocolate I confess i checked the internet for that 'perfect' recipe. Ain't no rocket science, but i know thousands like me across time and space do the same. So why not add my 'perfect' recipe in the vitrual bank....

Hot Chocolate

A cup of milk

1 tablespoon of your favourite coco powder (I use Hersheys)

A pinch of salt (I realised this is the magic ingredient that makes all the difference in hot chocolate)

Sugar a tablespoon or to your liking

a few drops of vanilla essence

a topping of whipped cream and dark chocolate for that extra smile and calories!

There you go.

I should have initiated the post by apologizing to Mr Dickens. A tale of two cities afterall is his doing. My tale of two cities however is just that- a simple tale of two cities and any resemblance to any work fiction or non-fiction is purely coincidental.

At the risk of sounding philosophical i firmly believe that it's almost always about a city or a place we belong to or we have adapted to. We don't live in a vacuum. We always belong somewhere. If a place could speak it would be the creator of a perfect autobiography because it records the minutest details, some that we ourselves often ignore or fail to recognise.

When I moved to California last December I didn't have much in mind. Only the apprehension that my life would change completely with the change of place. A year away from home made me realise a lot more. We never really leave our place behind. We consciously or unconsciously bring in an essence of the place we belong to, to the place we have moved and somewhere they blend perfectly in a palette to create new colours. I for one brought in a lot of Calcutta with me when I celebrated Saraswati Puja here, learnt how to make dal, shukto, alu bhaja, woke up at 5.30 in the morning to listen to Mahalaya, missed roshogolla like crazy. wished there were rikshaws to take me around, thought Vegas was like Calcutta because there was chaos, noise, traffic and people. I also know that when I go back to Calcutta I will take with me a slice of california. I also know that eventually pasta and pies will coexist with dal, torkari.

My posts too will reflect just that-My experiences in California and those of Calcutta, Interesting places and restaurants and a few recipes thrown in here and there- in other words pretty much everything that reflects a tale of two cities.