Summer's here..


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Green is the colour of my thirst
and insides. I saw him waist down
in iridescent green
And now I am half woman, half liana
Swallowing green greedily
As I plunge
To take root inside of him.

(c) Shalu

Each Thursday evening Mr. Nair loads his dilapidated blue truck with food material to carry all the way from Thrissur, Kerala to his makeshift store at IISC's D gate. There's much excitement when he arrives, Murphy transistor blaring. He hoicks his mundu dangerously high and squats amidst his salted fish, raw bananas, papaddams and pickles and ( Read more... )

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Interesting times these: fraught with live-wire tension, manic highs and lows and tumultuous emotions. I brim with quietude as I stand detached outside of me looking at me look at the world. Ongoing events unfold so that I learn of a nation’s conscience jarred by a brutal rape and murder, of a beheading at the Indian-Pakistan border and its sad ( Read more... )

माँ यह कैसा जूनून है/ यूं सिगड़ी की तरह सुलगने की चाह
धीमी आंच को हवा देना/ फिर लपटों में लिपट कर स्वाह होने की चाह
यूं रिस-रिस पिघल-पिघल/ कभी अलग न होने की चाह
इस चाह की चाहत में/ सब खो देने की चाह..

(c) -शालू

Gujiya is a traditional Indian dumpling made of mava/khova (milk solids) contained inside a delightful pocket made of maida (fine refined flour) and sooji/semolina flour. It's cooked all over India and goes by various names like "Karanji, Ghughra, Karachika, Nevris, Pedakiyaand Kajjikayi." I also make savoury variants whereby the khova containing ( Read more... )

I grew up on a steady diet of it. The Punjabi variety is prepared out of luscious red carrots (none of your orange saw-dusty carrots please.)


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I think comfort food and I think gulab-jamuns. These are sweet dumplings made out of khova/khoya (like ricotto cheese but made not with whey but whole cream milk reduced over low flame until only the milk solids remain) and immersed in flavoured sugar syrup. I judge you by the melt-in-the mouth goodness, goo-ey warmth and softness of your gulab- ( Read more... )

I've lovely memories of Onam-army crowds insist on partaking of each others festivities/cuisine/joie de vivre and what have you with much gusto. Strangely Onam=Murukkus (word associations.) Growing up, I've very fond memories of a Mrs. Thangappan stationed at Limithang, Bhutan while my dad was posted there. Her Onam sadya and pookalams, ooh. I only ( Read more... )