Bollywood goes Vegan!

 

Bollywood goes Vegan! So screamed the headline in Page 3 supplement of a popular Newspaper.  This made me sit up and take notice.  Oh! Good, I thought, Bollywood has woken up at last and very soon even Hollywood would wake up to the benefits of Veganism or at least Vegetarianism.  When I read the article through, alas, I was a bit disappointed; as per the article, a few actresses (apologies! Actors, to be on the safer side of the feminist hardliners) had converted to Veganism as their dietary choice.  If only 4 or 5 actors (note: female actors) follow Veganism, does it constitute that the entire Bollywood has gone Vegan?  Well, merely reading the headlines without reading the accompanying article is definitely misleading, I thought.  The author of the article could probably be a Vegan, and hence this huge misdirection; probably, the author would have loved it, if the entire Bollywood per se, had gone Vegan.

Based on my upbringing, at one point in time, I had thought that all the people in the World ate only what I ate i.e., the Vegetarian food.  I had absolutely no notion, that people could eat animal meat anywhere in the World.  Well, you see the World consisted only of my family and a few relatives and friends.  I was literally living in a ‘well’ (like the analogy of frog living in a ‘well’, thinking that this is the entire World!), up until I completed my primary and middle school days; and had no knowledge what constituted the World; even though I studied Geography and History like everyone else in my School.  This indicated that I was only mugging up for passing the exams without actually gaining an understanding of anything that we were supposed to study.  Please note, I don’t have anything against those following a non-vegetarian diet including eating beef or anything else that moves on this Earth (like one of my non-vegetarian friends fondly preferred to say).  I seek apologies, in advance if I sound, prejudiced or racist or something else; in today’s hyper sensitive World one should be very wary of what you say.   As a matter of fact, I was just pointing out that, what a dumb student I was!

One day, when I was in class 6 or 7, a classmate of mine invited me to his home.  I went along with him and saw lots of hens and roosters moving around in their house compound.  I was kind of flustered with the smells emanating from the hens’ shed nearby.  The friend told me that they had kept hens because it gave lots of eggs and around their festival time, they prepared chicken dish in their home by killing off one or more of the hens.   That was the first time I had come across a family killing off hens and eating them.  I was kind of confused and my mind was whirring.   I couldn’t understand how anyone could eat these hens with all the feathers and the kind of smells emanating from them (Pardon my ignorance here!).   My food habits were limited to the extent of rice, sambar, sabzi and its associated preparations.   My major conclusion was that this family was an aberration!  Very soon, I, forgot all about my friend’s house visit. 

However, on enquiry much later with my other classmates, I found out that many of them had also tasted chicken dishes at home and they, in fact, had loved it!  What I didn’t know then was that “we” (as in my family/relatives and a few friends) were an aberration and not the other way around!  May be, barring one or two percent of the World population, the rest of the people (mind you, the World population at approximately 7.3 Billion people) in this World love eating animal meat including fish, steak or anything else that moves on this Earth!   Here is a titbit.  All chocolate bars have at least 7-8 insect legs (on an average) incorporated inside it during their manufacture (We are told that it is impossible to avoid insects, roaches and the like while manufacturing chocolates on a mass scale).  Have we all not eaten chocolate bars at some time?  Cool, right?  Then, why else was I feeling so excited on reading the headline about Bollywood going Vegan.  Well, go figure!

The Lord of Learning – Revisit to happier times

We make our way down the main street of Gandhi Bazar on the eve of Ganesh Chaturthi; the familiar sights and sounds, especially the chatter of the people breezily wading through the mad crowds, evoke deep-rooted memories of another era.  Our family was staying at a house in the vicinity some decades ago.  This was the quintessential Bengaluru that has been associated in my mind with its quaint beauty and naivety of the happier times that I am talking about.  The time was when Ganesh Chaturthi, the popular festival of the South, was celebrated with great pomp and gaiety, amidst my abiding faith in Lord Ganesh, that had characterized my mind as a young boy in the seventies.

The procuring of Ganesh idol by the devout on the eve of the festival day was a big source of excitement.  The first and foremost activity was visiting the different stalls put up by small time Retailers, in order to enquire and settle on the correct market price for the chosen size of the Ganesh idol.   The next activity was to find a Ganesh idol that sported a particular kind of ‘tilak’ that was acceptable to the category of the sub-sect of the devout.  I was told to look for a Ganesh idol that sported an “exclamation” (!) symbol painted in black, on its forehead.   Most of the Ganesh idols exhibited in the stalls had three white horizontal bars on its forehead; which was the most common and popular ‘tilak’ among the devout; but I was told that this form of ‘tilak’ on the idol did not meet with our family’s sub-sect parameters.  I did remember that some of the more enterprising vendors had offered to make some minor alterations to the ‘tilak’ on the forehead of the Ganesh idol instantly from a differently designed ‘tilak’ to the one that we had requested.  The style of the ‘tilak’ was a non-issue to the Idol vendors; but to the devout, like us, it mattered very persuasively.  Buying the Ganesh idol with many other required pooja items and cavorting home was like competing in a marathon; with rain gods, usually playing spoilsport (it invariably rained in Bengaluru; the festival normally arriving at the end of monsoon season).

As the day of the festival dawned, having an oil bath early in the morning and donning new clothes stitched for the occasion (ready-made garments were not very popular back then) was indeed, a great excitement.  After the elaborate Ganesh pooja was over, the sumptuous lunch at home was a huge affair; especially, as the meal was embellished with the soft chewy jaggery and coconut dessert packed inside the fried flour shell (the treat was called kadabu in kannada or modak in Hindi/Marati).  Ganesh Chaturthi was incomplete without this sweet dessert; it was believed that Lord Ganesh loved this sweet treat tremendously.  Lord Ganesh had a mouse as his vehicle. If you notice closely, the picture of the mouse is depicted at the bottom of every Ganesh idol.  How can any human being (Ganesh being three-fourth human) ride on a tiny mouse; wouldn’t the mouse get crushed underneath!  This thought was a source of amusement to younger self.   As the story goes, watching from the skies the Moon also did have a moment of humungous merriment at the spectacle of Lord Ganesh, riding on a tiny mouse with his swollen belly and a huge elephant trunk, fall off from his tiny vehicle (the mouse) while roaming around gleefully after having a hearty meal; this sight, was a source of uncontrolled mirth to the Moon.   The story continues that Lord Ganesh became hugely angry with the merry laughter of the Moon and placed a ‘curse’ on the Moon; and due to this irreversible ‘curse’ on the Moon, the devout are barred from viewing the Moon during Ganesh Chaturthi.  As if by some divine intervention, the Moon would be clearly visible between the passing clouds on those Ganesh Chaturthi nights; I distinctly remember that my eyes would stealthily dart towards the skies (perhaps, as a sort of involuntary dare, especially when you are told not to look at the Moon) and upon sighting the Moon from the corner of my eye, I would soon look away with trepidation, remembering the ‘curse’!

The evenings of the festival day held another great excitement.  A few of us mates had a sort of pre-arrangement every year, visiting and prostrating before the Ganesh idols in innumerable homes of neighbours; and sometimes even outside our familiar locality.  Our target, each year, was to visit 108 homes and prostrate before the Ganesh idols.  Before stepping into the homes of unknown people, we used to look for signs of any dogs in the compound.  We were scared of Alsatian dogs.  Once we were sure there were no dogs around, we confidently stepped inside the gate.  As a group, we would step inside the homes and prostrate before the Ganesh idol, one after the other.  Some of the home owners treated us to a small snack or sweet, which was usually, baked chickpea masala or finely ground yellow gram mixed with sugar and coconut. This treat could be one of the attractions for us to venture into this activity.

It was a stupendous task, believe me, going about visiting the homes of unknown people with the target of reaching 108 homes in mind.  However, to my great consternation, I never achieved the target during any of those years.  The rhythm would get broken somewhere between the 20^th or 25^th house visit and I would return back, to my home, citing flimsiest of the reasons to my mates.  Possibly, this could be one of the reasons that Lord Ganesh, the Supreme God of Learning and Education hasn’t blessed me with any great learning or education!

The love affair with cars

My love affair with cars goes a long way back.  The old-timers in my family, my uncles and aunts, swear to a rather, funny story that when I was a young boy, perhaps, 5 or 6 years old, fervently pleading with my dad to drive home the cars that were parked on the road-side, when the owners of these cars were not around!  Lucky for me that, in later years, I didn’t end up being a car thief!  Another of the family secret is out.  Many of my male cousins are obsessed with cars too.

It was the early eighties.  We had no inkling that a new round of car revolution was just around the corner.  The Ambassadors and Fiats (later Premier Padmini) were on the verge of disappearing into oblivion forever.  As fresh recruits at the Head Office of our Bank, we were awe-struck to watch the spectacle of the Bank’s senior management (or executives as they were commonly referred), arrive in their Ambassador or Fiat cars and walk up the few steps at the entrance of the Head Office to reach their respective Offices or Departments on different floors of the Head Office building.  These senior gentlemen started arriving, one after the other, as if on cue, in a space of few minutes just before the clock struck 10’o clock (the Bank’s start time). The liveried drivers opened the rear door of their cars for these gentlemen and carried an assortment of files, hurrying after them.  This parade of the senior management arriving in their Ambassador or Fiat cars was a great spectacle to us young employees (we were in our early twenties); we stood aside respectfully on the stairs, mutely watching after them.  A few of the fresh recruits, who were slightly brazen enough, threw in a smile and Good Morning salute at them, while some of the timid ones, hurried furtively behind the top executives, avoiding their eye.   After the executive had gone inside the building, we looked pensively at the cars in which they had arrived.  The cars, gleaming in the sunlight, would be lined up in style, in the ample parking space by their respective drivers.

The executive cadre was considered a creamy layer in the Bank hierarchy because each position carried with it many perks and powers.  The allotment of a car was the foremost perk that attracted us, the younger Bank recruits.  The highest aspirations of the younger lot of us recruits those days were measured in terms of being provided a car by the Bank along with driver.   The lure of the Ambassador or Fiat car as a perk drove some of my colleagues to seriously think of taking up the tests for promotions to higher cadre.  There was also a mad rush (considered premium posting) for getting a transfer to such of those branches which had a Bank car attached to it.   These cars were considered branch property and the senior most Manager or Senior Manager was most likely to use it as his personal vehicle!

I remember a time, when the Bank’s Chairman & Managing Director had been provided with a Contessa sedan for his personal use.  Some of us youngsters, had rushed out from our Office, just to look at this car and feast our eyes on the new offering.  We were just used to watching with wide-eyed wonder, a Rolls Royce or some fancy Italian sports car in glossy magazines or posters!  Seeing the Contessa sedan right in front of us, was considered, indeed, our good fortune.  Anyway, for Hindustan Motors, the Contessa sedan was not a success, and bombed badly at the car box-office.

Alas, my biggest aspiration of those days, to drive a Bank car, remain unfulfilled!  Nevertheless, my love affair with the cars has ended.  It is a nightmare to drive a car in good old Bangalore, what with the crazy traffic conditions and parking problems.  Even if, by mere luck, some benevolent philanthropist was to offer me a Ferrari or a Porsche now, I wouldn’t want to go anywhere near it!

Eating out, the Bengaluru way!

Eating out has almost become a way of life with most Bangaloreans in the present-day.  The notion that Hotels and Restaurants served unhygienic food prepared in a filthy kitchen by dirty cooks, is almost becoming passé.  Home food, however, has always been considered healthy, tasty and hygienic.  As I am a big fan of eating out, I may not agree with this hypothesis and hence, I feel that the truth (or taste), as usual, lies somewhere in-between!

My tryst with eating out takes me to my boyhood days when my dad regularly took me out to eat in small restaurants; the Hotels (as these were commonly called in the local parlance) were very few and far between.  Hotels were generally meant to cater to bachelors or out-of-towners; men, living with their families, hardly patronized these Hotels.  Some of these small Hotels (or even coffee-bars, as they were called) were well known for its tasty Dosa and Idli/Wada preparations.  The Darshini-style restaurants were still a long way off.  The Hotels, those days, had stinky kitchens, which looked more like bathrooms (we carefully avoided looking within); unbathed and shabbily dressed waiters serving us tasty (perhaps oil rich) Dosas and other items.  The general notion amongst us regular Hotel patrons was, dirtier the Hotel, tastier the food items!

The Idli/Wada items served with rich sambar tingled our taste buds.  The rich sambar that was prepared using onions (shallots were also used in some Hotels) was heavily dosed with a variety of spices.  Onions were a strict ‘no-no’ at home, forbidden by my grandmother, who generally had a large say in all matters concerning the Kitchen; so, eating this thick, spice-loaded onion sambar was like having a sneaky ‘affair’; with our taste buds dancing away with delight.  The unique blend of onion and potatoes with the gravy loaded with spices, gave a special taste to the Idli-sambar (dipped and mixed) that was consumed in large quantities by the Hotel’s discerning clientele (including self)! There were some hotels which were famous for their Dosas alone; Udupi Krishna Bhavan, Vidhyarthi Bhavan, New Modern Hotel come to mind, on the South side of Bangalore.   There was this Hotel named Modern Hotel in Gandhi Bazar Main Road which has been closed down a long time ago that was famous for its Khali Dosas.  There was a Hotel by name Gajendra Vilas in Chamarajpet, which served crispy chapattis and sago masala Dosa, that had an extra special taste to it.  They have closed down shutters since a long time ago.  The names of the Hotels that were spread across Bengaluru had common names such as Sri Rama Vilas, Krishna Bhavan, Venkateshwara Coffee Bar, etc.   We do not see such names now, perhaps out dated and out of style.

With the mushrooming of Darshini-style restaurants in Bangalore that caters to a large number of growing patrons (literally vying with each other to have a go at any new offering or trying out newer outlets), it is abundantly clear that the restaurant business is here to stay for a long time to come.   Bengaluru, in my mind has the best restaurants and Hotels and can compete in terms of taste and variety, with any such eateries anywhere across the country or even the world (countries only that I have visited!). This being the case in point, I can confidently say that eating out is the best thing that has happened to us, Bangaloreans!

A school boys’ reunion!

A classmate from my primary school days called me up one fine morning out of the blue, to invite me for the wedding of his daughter.  I could not recognize the voice; my mind was completely blank.  He kept insisting enthusiastically over the phone to recognize who the caller was.  I gave up.  After he introduced himself (rather disappointingly, I thought), something inside my brain clicked and I could vaguely remember the chubby little boy with a friendly face.  Now, who would recognize someone you have never seen or heard from, for the past 50 years or so.

Oh! What a day and week that turned out to be; reliving the past memories of my old school days.  I immediately called up another classmate friend of mine, who is still in touch with me for the past 55 odd years and exchanged this good news.  It appeared that it was he, who had provided my number to the new caller buddy from my old school days.

As old memories rushed in, I rummaged through my desks and drawers to search for an old school group photograph that I had somehow preserved (hidden cleverly from my wife, who has this strong penchant for disposing of old things at random despite strong resistance from the other family members!).  On spotting the old classmate of mine in the group photograph, I felt excited like a school boy who is unexpectedly handed an ice-candy.

I made certain of the venue and date of the marriage reception of my classmate’s daughter; although my inner mind kept agitating on attending the reception late in the evening, all-dressed up, and driving to the venue in Bangalore’s traffic conditions.  I would say it was a real achievement in the end, having managed to keep my date at the wedding reception.

As soon as my old friend (buddy of 55+ years) and I, entered the reception venue (a little apprehensively as we did not know anybody there), a young lady usher confronted us at the door and asked us whether we were from the bride’s side or the groom’s side.  We were taken aback at this questioning girl; we blurted out that the bride’s father was our classmate from primary school days.  We could see that the young lady was a bit skeptical with the explanation; however, she hid her disappointment well and bade us sit on one side of the reception hall.  Meanwhile, a dapper middle-aged gentleman (wearing silk brocaded Kurta and Pyjama of “Maanyavar” brand) with greying hairs, approached us with a hesitant smile, stretching out his hand.  You are Ganapathy and Nagaraj, right, he said.  He was all warmth and ebullient.  Our minds were frantically trying to connect the boy from the school photograph with the middle-aged gentleman in front of us.  We embraced each other warmly and got into deep conversation for the next two or three minutes reminiscing excitedly about our school days.  The bride's father went on to confess that he recognized our faces only from the WhatsApp profile photos.  Unluckily for us, we did not have the luxury of recognizing the bride’s father beforehand, as there was no profile photo of his on WhatsApp.  Be that as it may, how long can the conversation last in the middle of a bustling marriage reception? there were other people in the marriage hall vying for the attention of the bride’s father; he hesitatingly told us take our seats and moved away greeting other wedding guests merrily.

We had the fortune of meeting another primary school buddy of ours in the reception hall (our pal Suri) and it was a wonderful reunion of sorts of our old school mates.  It was an eventful evening to remember!  We all swore that we would keep in touch with each other and have a regular sort of ‘meet’ of our old school mates.  We reminisced late into evening about the good times we had as school boys (although I had hated going to school, when I was a kid) and how wonderful those days were (an outright exaggeration, as we were just naïve boys of the Sixties!).

In the long years of having lived my life, I have had the privilege of attending a number of school/college get-together/send-offs; professional get-together/send-offs (innumerable transfers/trainings and even resignations); where there were some moving, emotional speeches made / delivered; addresses or contact numbers exchanged; and tearful hugs with earnest promises made to keep in touch with each other.  Whither those promises and tearful hugs?  Well, that’s life for you; you learn to move on.

Is this emotional reunion of my old school classmates in a wedding reception going the same way?  Hopefully not.  In this age of easy telecommunication access, there shouldn’t be any problem dialing from our mobile contacts, right? Well, keeping my fingers on the dial!

Having a great party time?

The weekend supplements of many newspapers carry the news and photographs of the people having great parties in upscale hotels and restaurants or pubs; the photographs of some of these people holding a drink in hand or swinging away their blues on the dance floor, set me thinking.  What could be the reason that newspapers spend so much of resources on publicising the news and photographs of the partying men and women.  Many of these people partying hard are not even celebrities like movie actors (well, who doesn’t adore cinema idols!) or cricketers or some sportspersons (famous for their exploits on and off the field!) who need attention and publicity for their survival.  Seriously, do the newspaper editors really allow these rubbish materials to be published; fortunately, or unfortunately, it appears so!

Going through these news snippets in question, I saw that one of the photographs mentioned about the partying exploits of some DJ or RJ with their band members in tow.  The families and friends of such wonderful people would, of course, love to read and feast their eyes on the jovial camaraderie of their kinsmen/friends in the newspapers. If, on the other hand, these people are unknown to the readers, what interest would these news and photographs generate?  Don’t you think, reading snippets of partying information of unknown shenanigans or looking at some random photographs is sheet waste of time.

Made me wonder, who would benefit from the published news/photographs of some people having a nice time in upscale restaurant or pubs.  May be some of these partying people are wannabe actors or professionals in their respective fields who bribe the newsmen and photographers to publish them to further their careers;  Or is it that the newspapers need some juicy titbits of information for the financial survival of their newspapers;  Or the upscale restaurants and pubs would pay the newspapers handsomely to get publicity for their businesses; Or could this be some remnant colonial practice left behind by the aristocratic (or is it autocratic) British genteel customs.  We would never know, unless the newspaper publishers or the concerned newsmen spill out the truth behind this practice.

Whatever be the reason, it stuck me that if I were to visit one of these upscale restaurants or pubs during an exciting evening with my lovely and graceful partner in tow, maybe we could be lucky enough to be photographed and published in a popular newspaper!  Oh, dear vanity!

The culinary delight - Madrasi Sambar

This anecdote, during my professional life in a nationalized bank, in the nineties was something of a unique experience; it is worth a recall.

I was posted to work in a branch in the somewhat popular town in Haryana State of Northern India which went by the name of Ambala Cantonment.  I say this place was popular because many of the Indians from the Northern part of the country, knew Ambala very well. Ambala was located on the National Highway; on the border with the Indian state of Punjab and in proximity to the capital Chandigarh. Due to its geographical location, Ambala  was a prominent place with an Army cantonment.

However, many Indians, residing South of Vindhyas, including me, had never heard of the place.  When I received my posting orders, I looked up the India Map (after locating a political map from my daughter’s text book) to ascertain the exact location and enquired from different people on how to get there by train (Google Maps were still way off).

On my first day, I was welcomed to the branch with some warmth but there was also a small measure of disdain.  Some of the local staff, had a nickname for me, a Madrasi.  Anyone hailing from the Southern part of India was a Madrasi, irrespective of the State they belonged.  Since I was replacing another Madrasi, (a fellow Kannadiga), there was not much expectations from me, as this outgoing person had a very somber reputation.  However, I had made it clear to each and every one of the staff member (whoever bothered to listen) that I was from Bangalore, the capital of Karnataka state and my mother tongue happened to be Kannada; more clearly, I had clarified that I was not a Madrasi.  The staff members nodded knowingly, but never bothered to understand the distinction, or how it affected me.  I always remained a Madrasi to them, with a funny name to boot (King of snakes, was what one staff member slyly remarked).

After the first few months of my stay, the staff at the branch started pestering me to host a party of home-prepared Madrasi Idlis and Sambar (I was told that the previous Madrasi incumbent had hosted the staff to delicious Idlis and Sambar on several occasions).  I placed the matter before my wife.  It was agreed that during the branch year end, when only the Managers and Officers staff would be present at the branch, my wife would prepare and serve Idlis with Sambar.

The year-end closing of accounts, is a grueling period for Officers and Managers staff, as the branch balance sheet has to be drawn as on the last day of the year.  The work would entail hours of preparation and would stretch through the night and get completed only by the dawn of the subsequent day.  Following which, all the staff involved in the preparation of the balance sheet would be able to reach their homes only on the subsequent day morning for freshening up. 

When the day of reckoning arrived, my dutiful wife prepared about 80 Idlis, chutney and a bucketful of steaming Sambar to be served to the branch staff as dinner that evening.   I gallantly took up the task of carrying the bulky steel containers on my Bajaj scooter at around 8 PM to the branch.  The staff members present on the day were waiting eagerly to partake of the special Madrasi preparation of the soft Idlis and the deliciously aromatic Sambar.  One of my colleagues, took up the unenviable task of serving one and all, with alacrity.  As there were about 20 staff members, I had indicated that each person present could have up to 4 Idlis per plate and a generous serving of chutney and Sambar.

After delivery of the food items, I had got busy with some office work that required concentration; and had totally forgotten about the dinner that evening.  After a lapse of some time, when my hunger pangs started tingling, I checked with the colleague on the status of Idlis and Sambar.  He directed my attention to the steel containers.  I looked into the containers and saw a pile of Idlis still left over.  There was a huge quantity of chutney too, remaining unconsumed.  However, not a single drop of Sambar remained in the steel container.  I casually enquired with my colleague, what had happened with the huge quantity of Sambar.  He guffawed heartily and informed me that all the staff present had eagerly pounced upon the Sambar container and literally dipped their cups and tumblers into the container, merrily drinking away the delicious hot Sambar.  Only a few of them had consumed some Idlis and chutney.  It seemed that there were no takers for Idlis and chutney.  More than 40 Idlis and a huge quantity of chutney had been leftover, which I took back home crestfallen, to my beleaguered wife.  My wife laughingly remarked that she would have prepared and supplied only Sambar, had she known the taste of the staff of my branch; where was the need of taking pains to prepare so many Idlis and chutney.  I do not know to this day, if the famous Madrasi food, prepared so painstakingly by my wife to be served to the staff of my branch, was a success or failure!