Where is that perfect cup of coffee?

My tryst with coffee started at railway stations at the Nescafe dispensing machines. I would press into it two Rupees and fifty Paise and get a small Styrofoam cup brimming with the liquid topped with lovely foam. I had it whenever we travelled by train as the machines were mostly available at stations en route a long distance destination. I remember how I savoured it to the last drop. Alas I do not find these machines anywhere now, least of all railway stations. Airports do have them- rather fancy ones but I don’t trust these machines to deliver an excellent cup of coffee, the coffee looks great, but oh the first sip is always the last sip.
My tryst with evolved coffee (the ones that where coffee is not just coffee but espresso, cappuccino, cherry laced, mocha, chocolate, latte and other seemingly endless versions that the coffee serving staff is trained to ask the customer when all he wants is a simple cuppacofee!
I have always dreamt of having a cup of coffee under the lovely awnings on a Paris sidewalk, in the many cafes that line European streets. It is still a dream. The books I read in college led to visions where I discussed philosophy in a smoke filled cafés with painters, artists, and it was always Paris, it was always the beret, the Gauloise and of course Sartre and Camus, of days spent on cheese, wine and Baguette under the arms and to top it that great cup of coffee. Over the years I must have invested a fair bit in foreign currency for that full-bodied, satisfying sip. As an investor since I am more in the mould of Warren Buffet, I still do not consider my investment as wasted, I am into it for long-term! But so far, so wrong, or so empty, my name should be de Nada as far as my luck with this brew goes. I would say the coffee that comes closest to my buds is Bru. The best so far- it is sweet but not too sweet, bitter but not so bitter that I need to empty endless spoonfuls of sugar. Nescafe is too sweet and it leaves an aftertaste and oh oh a coffee breath. So if you are in a closed meeting room with zero ventilation, chances are that the customer is going to take his or her business somewhere else.
There a bottle called Café COlombe- I think brought out by Nestle- and I think you do get it here. I first had this six years ago, when my friend bought it for me at a princely sum of seven Pounds. I was quite stingy with doling it out and had it maybe once in a week. I made that jar- all of 500 gms last me a good six months. Later I had to finish it for the fear of it getting congealed. It was different than out Bru or Nescafe. The coffee was all granules. They would dissolve so easily in water or milk and the aroma that it released when it mixed with either of it was ...well let’s put it that way, it brought tears to my eyes. But one cup was always different than the other.
I still didn’t get the desired consistent results with the best coffee I have had to date.
I still believe that there are two dishes/ drink/ foods that are best made at home- coffee and pasta.
Coffee is best made by yourself or someone who knows perfectly how you like it. The right measure of milk, cream, sugar, water and the right temperature. The hunt is still on. The best hunter is not the one with the biggest gun but with patience and so I have decided it is with coffee.

Oh oh The Times of India does it again..

It’s on page fifteen of the newspaper. A three point seven inch by three point seven inch colour photograph of a woman resting in a martini glass. No points for guessing the attire of the woman in the picture- black garters, feet shod in black stilettos, black thongs, black gloves, her breasts are bare but they are covered by a gloved hand that holds a long pencil/ paint brush..oh wait maybe a cigarette attached to a filter. with inch by seven inch colour picture of. She is of course striking a provocative pose against the backdrop of a purple curtain. Ok now that I have the description out of the way, I really had no idea what the article was about- was it about fashion, was it about art, was it about showgirls (because the woman resembled a showgirl in a glass)?
You idiot readers, the article could be about anything as serious as poverty and unemployment or anything as political as the Naxal problem, didn’t you know we always add pictures like these to make the serious and depressing content of the article more bearable.
Ok so the article actually was about how premature onset of menopause raises death risk and it was titles ‘Ladies, kick the butt or risk early death’. The caption under this very sexual picture was ‘Early menopause is tied to osteoporosis, Alzheimer’s.’
Try as I did, I could not even vaguely connect the picture to the theme. Alzheimer’s, Menopause, black garters, health insurance, medical bills and black thongs….where pray was there any relevance?
Basically it means that women are here, in this world to be used as we please alright! We will use them half naked to show how skin cancer is on the rise and we will show topless pic with pixelated breasts to show how young women who are earning want to have fun even if our idea of fun is simply to be with friends or watch TV or just potter about at home (which is what most people do regardless of gender). But these articles have to be represented with a picture that is sexist, utterly shameless in its use of the female body to depict something completely irrelevant to the language of the picture.
I am still surprised that an article that was made to order for such photographs titled ‘Sinful pleasure- The growing popularity of Ooty’s homemade chocolates……….’had surprise surprise a picture of chocolates! Isn’t that amazing? I mean what do chocolates have to do with an article on chocolates? I was quite expecting a woman wearing a pair of matching black bra and thongs, bending over a kitchen counter and gorging on this pleasure with an expression of ecstasy on her face, her red lips poised to devour…...or whatever
Surely TOI, you are losing touch!

On a different and a brighter note- Aishwarya Rai is simply being her good old sensible self and not flaunting her pregnancy. That is completely normal. Attagirl! I would not want strange pairs of eyes on my belly. I am completely uncomfortable with it. Seeing as Ash would trigger a hysteria among shutterbugs, she has wisely stayed away and under the radar. In fact it was Bachchan Sr who flouted the famous family discretion by announcing her pregnancy on twitter and not infrequetly mentions her pregnancy on KBC shows. I am sure Ash squirms at this intrusion. Not done!
All the best to you Ash and thumbs down again to TOI!

“Goons attack Prashant Bhushan in Chamber, Bhushan bashed up in SC chambers’- these are the headlines describing the attack on Prashant Bhushan (who is a prominent member of Team Anna)in his Supreme Court chambers. The report also revealed that the attack happened while he was being inerviewd by Times Now.

Things that instantly came to my mind- How come the Times Now crew didn’t go to his rescue? Or was it an unmanned mission? Cameras were sent to him that were programmed to record his interview while a phone on speaker mode asked him questions? Check this report- ‘The miscreants slapped Mr. Bhushan, hurled blows, tore off his shirt and kicked him as he lost his balance and fell in the melee’ while the camera was rolling. This is the reason I think that the Times Now interview was an unmanned mission. Otherwise the crew would have rushed to his rescue. Relief came in form of his colleagues and juniors who rushed in as they heard the commotion, pounced on the assailants and managed to catch hold of one of them while the two successfully scooted away and out of the ‘heavily guarded’ premises.

Strangely for what this attack represents, the only thing I care for is, why didn’t the interview crew help Mr. Bhushan repel the attack (assuming there was a crew of course) and is Supreme Court heavily guarded?
The thing that concerns me next is the enormous nuisance value that groups like Shri Ram Sene enjoy. They have no coherent sense of objectives, they are intensely, absolutely irrelevant to the politics of today and yet like a buzzing bee, they circle you and make you spend your valuable time, energy and effort in chasing them away (poor bee, I think this is wrong analogy, the bees are engaged in producing honey after all).

Instead of wasting time on investigating Team Anna’s sponsors, please let loose the Income Tax sleuths on groups like these, make FIRs, let the police on their trail, sue them, they should so mired in such extra-curricular (or let’s say extra nuisance value activities) that they will be a spent force once they manage to resolve it. But we have also seen that no one really wins against the government. Check Kanimozhi and Raja and Kalmadi; if the government wills it then groups like ‘alleged’ Ram Sene will be like lost and pathetic torn plastic bags that blow this was and that on the streets.

It’s time to deal with groups like these with ruthlessness, without mercy and of possible to strip them of dignity. I think there is a punishment like that- paint the face black and parade the buggers on a donkey. These are the worst criminals for they disrupt civilian life for no reason, their doctrines are stodgy, dodgy, ancient, misogynist and surprisingly they find followers despite this.

I say time it’s time to get that black paint out and unleash the donkey!

The pain of cycling (on Indian roads naturally)

I love cycling. Of course riding in a car is the height of all comforts on roads that don’t give you much to rave about- either you are in a car or you are crushed. But cycling is freedom. I have a standard BSA bike with horns attached to handles. I don’t why the manufacturer designed the horns in the first place but these are highly uncomfortable because the portion around your wrists constantly keeps brushing against them and these do not allow you to change your grip on the handles in the slightest. I had them removed at the first instance.
Considering Indian roads, the joy of cycling in definitely not in pedalling unperturbed or smoothly. You guessed it, the joy comes when the road is choc-a-block and vehicles are paying two hoots to traffic signals thereby creating a traffic jam (this situation is seamless and is permanent so the joy stays with you longer). I can easily weave in and out of traffic and am out of the jam in minutes while the cars are honking in desperation and a few drivers have even stepped out of their steeds. I am out of that scene like a bullet. Pro number 2 is that I obviously on petrol costs that have multiplied 6 times since 1989 when it me just Rs. 10 per litre to ride my Luna. Since I am currently unemployed, I just fill up petrol worth 1500 rupees, shut it and forget it for at least 20 days.
But folks that is the end of the story of the joy of cycling. Now comes the pain. Besides hitting you where is most hurts, the pain is magnified several times due to roads or rather lack of them. Potholes are the worst on your lower back. Then you also have to negotiate speed breakers, roads that are dug-up, unpaved roads and roads where the surface is coming off- which means basically gravel and stones of all sundry sizes waiting for the bicycle wheel to run over them and hurt you.
Oh I seem to have forgotten huge cars and buses. These monsters play with you. They will either come up quietly behind you and then honk to startle you are just try to bully by honking you into submission. Depending on my mood I either give in wisely or if my belligerence gets the better of my, the driver is in for a rough time for at least the ten seconds that he needs to overtake me. He (it’s always a he) will honk in the expectation that I will move to the side of the road (which is essentially non-existent as that part is dug up, is unpaved and has pipes lining it). I stick to my guns and ride out the entire stretch. If he is a psychopath (that he never is) he will run me over and this never happens judging by the fact that I am hammering this piece for my blog.
Humour apart, cyclists and pedestrians have the worst end of the deal when it comes to using public roads. There is no footpath and if there is one, it’s almost entirely taken over by hawkers and scooterists. There are traffic signals of course but those are notional. These are some silly lights that blink green, red and yellow at regular intervals. Wonder what these are! Probably some celebratory things that the government put up when we won the cricket world cup?
But I ride on and I heed the traffic signals, I ride on and continue giving the finger to the lawless drivers (to my potential detriment), I ride on and increase my vocabulary to agitate exponentially (give gaalis..in short)

The height of the Ridiculous and subsequent misogyny

Male fantasies are so often either misdirected or are a product of constant media hammering.
Take for instance the foolish male fantasising of maids and nurses. Maids and Nurses? These are two professions that if nothing else are symbol of sheer hard work. Work that could start by killing your feet, work that is most unglamorous and far, far away from any activity that would even remotely suggest sexual activity or fantasising thereof.
How can you fantasise a romp with a woman who is constantly hassled (of course it’s her job and people love reminding her/ him by ringing the bell. Now tell me if you love being reminded of your job this constantly by your manager or supervisor) to empty the bedpan, clean the mess YOU have made, shove pills down your throat and put up with your childish behaviour (illness notwithstanding). The nurse makes your life bearable in a hospital that if left to the mercy of the doctors would half their patients to their carelessness. She is the person who works double shifts when needed, sleeps on chairs when exhaustion takes over (because you are not allowed to officially put your feet up) take the tirade and reprimands from hotshot doctors on their chin and move on. There are some who have a smiling face and then there are some who have a snarling, sulky, unhappy one. But then we all do. To make ‘nurse’ the butt of teenage/ midlife/ dirty old man sexual innuendo or fantasy perhaps should be punishable with whiplash on whatever part of the anatomy that is guilty of collaboration.
Then come the maids and I don’t even want to justify the whiplashes. Just suffice it know that this is a punishable offence in extreme.
Listed below are some events/ incidents/ fictional plots that have evoked disbelief and then outrage from yours truly:
Calling Draupadi a prostitute because she married the Pandavas (keeping this as a reference point, it’s a little hard to believe that Yudhishtir is called Dharmaraja especially since he was one of the five husbands!)
Psychopath going on rampage killing prostitutes/ young women because he has seen his mother involved in activities that a child shouldn’t have to witness ever. I wonder if he thought about the men who were as involved? In such events history showcases men in retrospective virtue as having made the journey from innocent little mamma’s lambs to vengeful monsters out to slaughter them. That they were in bed with MEN makes no difference.
What triggered this whole post is an episode in a serial called ‘Criminal Minds’ on Star TV. Once is enough though.

Experiences in God's own Country

We had a lovely holiday in Kumarakom and Cochin. The Taj Malabar is right on the Arabian Sea. You can simply lie back on bed and watch the shimmering waters and the lazy movement of cargo ships, yachts and tankers. At night of you leave the curtains open , then you can see the lights of Cochin port. It was really magical.
After spending a couple of days in Kumarakom, we headed for Cochin. My friends had gushed so much about the churches and a synagogue that I decided to check these out before I checked into the hotel. The streets leading up to the Fort Kochi area were jammed and the traffic moved at a snail’s pace. Tourists and visitors to the synagogue have to park half a kilometer away and walk it to the main attraction. I fell in love with the milieu. It’s very European. I think the streets are cobblestones and the shops lining it are quaint and charming full of funky, hippy style clothes and antiques. I binged on the antiques- two lamps from a ship caught in a wreck- the seal reads0 RPyal Navy of Scotland, 1920. It has a wick and a kerosene tanker inside. I also found a karandai – a small pot for haldi and kumkum that also doubles up as a lamp once you pour some oil and plant a wick in the hollow. Oh and a 1915 compass that feels good to simply hold in the hand. I don’t know if these really antiques but they look good anyway. Forgot to tell you about ceramic handles that I think Cochin specialises in. Lovely tiny handles with ceramic knobs in pastel shades of blue, red, pink and yellow.
Shopping done, we turned to the Synangue since it closes at 1300 hours and I really did want to have a peek inside.
As we approached the entrance of the red temple, the scruffy guard rudely asked us to deposit our bags and sacks in exchange for a token. He also ordered us to leave our cameras outside. This was shocking. He waved his hand with a finger pointing to our belongings and then jerked his head toward the shack where we were supposed to get the token. I felt like a bloody, cheap person who has been handcuffed for petty thievery and was being explained the rules of getting into the jail.
Well If these are the rules then that bugger ought to tell us politely. It out me off the synagogue so completely that I asked him to stuff the synagogue, saaley tumhaara synagogue tumaharey paas rakho, and to top it all it was a paid attraction- case in point- paid tourist attractions are never worth it- the best things always come for free (while travelling anyway).
Later the shopkeeper in the street and the general manager of Taj Malabar told me that the people there- managers, guards are known for their rude and condescending behaviour. Well I don’t care. I wish there was a way to give feedback to the people who manage/ run the synagogue.
Since I am on this subject, I have heard stories of the similar uncouth behaviour from Israelis in Goa and Manali. They look down on the locals, indulge in abusive language and discriminatory practises are not unheard of. I have only one thing to say- this reeks so much of racism that the Israelis always accuse the others of . Time to check the mirror you Sons of David.

Yep, I work at home, not at work!

SO ladies, its time to buck up! If you dont hold yourself in good light, no one else will. Stop looking and feeling apologetic when you say you are a housewife. Maybe its time to even look for another word to describe our status. Or not! The word itself doesnt matter. Its the perception that you have of your job and it naturally translates into the perceptionthat others have of you.
Whether paid or not both can be described as working for a living. Just putting food on the table is not enough, you gotta plan, store, cook, clean, enable good living conditions, ensure hygiene and the welfare of your family. Its goes beyond '9 to 5'. This kind of work in 24/7. You are always on call like a doctor.
See yourself as an enabler, as a facilitator.
On that note, lets toast to us! (umm i know its kind of early, but what is a good cup of coffee for!)