WHAT'S IN THE BOX? A SMALL SLICE OF HEAVEN!

Or a book. Or two. Um, maybe three. Or more. And a similar amount of movies.

The day just can't get more perfect, the day an Amazon.com delivery comes in!

THERE'S A REASON I DISLIKE REALITY SHOWS. SEE?

While the title of this post may be generic, I guess I could amend it to say 'Why I Dislike Most Reality Shows'. Not sure how true that would be, though, seeing the sort of programming there is of the genre on Indian telly today. I'll tear apart discuss a cookery show here for example.

The show in question is the local version of an Australian cooking show, but that's where any similarity ends. I'm personally a huge fan of the Aussie version - stood in line to have cookbooks signed by the hosts at the risk of losing my iPad/ limbs/ life, that's how much I like/ revere them - but this one, um, NEVER. Here's why:

In the previous seasons, an actor was the host. While I have nothing against the said actor (some of his films have been entertaining), my grouse is against the concept of a non-chef (is that even a word? but you know what I mean...) hosting a food show. Food = Chef. Foodie is welcome, but does not sub for a chef. Acting chops do not sub for lamb chops. Capiche?

So that's been rectified this new season, for what it's worth. There are cooks now. You bringing out the bubbly, hoping I'm gonna wrap up this post? Nu-uh, not gonna happen, so plod on!

What's not changed is the melodrama. If it's a food show, shouldn't the focus be:

a. Food

b. Food

c. Food

d. On helping contestants (winners and non-winners alike) move ahead on their foodie dream path

e. On sounding and looking like a food show

What we have instead is a scary concoction of tears, sob stories and some more tears. And oh, by the way there's some food, off and on. Possibly for relief from all the crying, I dunno. 

The episode I shuddered my way through earlier this week had a contestant from rural India sobbing and gasping his way through a story about how he runs a roadside stall and has borrowed money till the cows come home to make it to the auditions. With a lot of cooing and murmuring from the judges, the man in question is awarded the coveted apron, which he almost collapses receiving. He then proceeds to touch each of the judges' feet. I mean c'mon, is this a family tear-jerker or what? Of course, there's suitable Hindi film music that's playing in the background.

Scenario 2: Ridiculously chirpy (read: sounded senile) lady from one of the metros, who giggled and twirled and chirped her way through her audition. Said something about how she's always on her toes, running behind her kids, spouse and in-laws. Twittered and simpered for additional (barf) effect. Do you think she didn't get the apron? Really? Hah!

Clearly, it's not about the food. It's all about the masala, the tears, the gut-wrenching stories, the poor underdog. WHERE IS THE FOOD??

I could go on... and on. Just that it's sorta sickening to. Besides, thinking about it only replays each ridiculous piece of nothing in my head, and that's unspeakable trauma I really can't bear.

My point is, stick to the  international format. If you can't for whatever (inane) reason(s), don't sully the original by attempting to pass off whatever it is you've come up with. I continue to remain a fan of the Aussie series, and the way that one goes, I don't see myself stopping anytime soon. I'd go back and buy the same books and stand in that same I'm-a-groupie-at-a-rock-concert queue just for that same scrawl across the pages. Rinse repeat.

So if you counter-argue that local flavour works, then fine. But DO NOT call it what you do. Call it the Remixed Version That Has Nothing To Do With The Original, thank you very much.

OF RAINBOWS AND... NOTHING ELSE, REALLY

Belated, of course, but then that's just me. When is it that I've shared holiday pictures just as I've returned? God forbid I try uploading photos while on vacation itself. Gasp!

So - *drum rolls* - here is a gorgeous rainbow over Cairns, Australia, taken in November 2012. Thankfully, such dreamy images don't come with an expiry date.

JUST A QUESTION. ONLY ONE

When you sign up on a social networking site, isn't 'social' the operative word?

I don't seem to understand all the brouhaha about privacy settings - who can see which picture, who else can comment on stuff updated, and how the neighbour's dog also adds his own two woofs to the 'likes'. The thing is, somewhere (in those reams of fine digital print that we didn't bother to read at sign up) in the race to mark our presence on these platforms, we do wave goodbye to some amount of privacy.

Sure, I wouldn't want my photograph flashing on say a dating site or *shudder* worse, but having said that, does it really matter if a friend of a friend knows where I was on vacay, soaking up the sun? Yes? Then here's a suggestion - maybe an online web album, with almost obsessive privacy settings is more the deal. That way, you share the link with just the people you want, and you're good to go. No random stranger (a.k.a. friend of a friend of a friend of a friend tagged) is poking pins into voodoo dolls, green with envy that you were in the Bahamas while s/he was at work, at that extremely stimulating (not) desk job.

Speaking for myself, I do use privacy settings, yes. But no, I don't have a coronary just because a photo was liked/ commented on/ shared by someone in my 'friend list'. The thing is, it was put up knowingly, right, with my being aware of that very possibility? So.

No? Still doesn't appeal? Then maybe it's time to pull out scented notepaper, pen and postage stamps. Stay in touch, the extinct good old fashioned way. Carrier pigeons need a job too.

I'M GROUCHING ABOUT POLITICS. AGAIN. AS USUAL.

So I'm happily browsing my way through my account on a popular social networking site over coffee this morning, oohing and aahing over some gorgeous pictures of marine life a cousin's captured, mentally transporting myself on an exotic Bali/ Maldives/ Fiji vacation. Happiness, marred by a another set of pictures that almost made me spill my coffee. Now that would've been a bad thing, huh? Precious coffee lost over what? Politics, I tell you. Meh.

Those disturbing images? Politicians. Those captions and rants? Political. Honestly, why on social networking? Don't understand why the We Love So-and-So Party and We Couldn't Care Less About So-and-So Politician groups/ pages abound, really. My perception of social networking must be warped, clearly, because all I use it for is to connect with friends and family the world over (albeit impersonal, but that's another story to tell). So why politics?

Sometimes, I marvel at those of us who can stay apolitical? unpolitical? through all the news and coverage that happens. But really, it does irk (and I'm being polite) me no end to see all those almost maniac articles and posts praising X and defiling Y. It's a tough job, not taking sides and being a happy fence sitter with a  coffee and reading only the funnies in the papers (okay, horoscopes too), without reacting to any of the garbage that is generously doled out on a daily basis.

Why the apathy? Why the dislike for politics? Well, personally, I think there's enough gore going around without adding further stress. Haven't seen many civil discussions over a drink or a meal that didn't turn into (sometimes ugly) arguments about A versus B. Call it escapist if you like, but I'm not one for the discussion.

Excuse me while I go brew another cuppa. Manna, this.

NO, THERE WAS NO WORM, THANK YOU

Given its giant-ness, though, it was a meal in itself.

VALENTINE? THIS ONE'S ALL ABOUT THE LOVE, YEAH!

Read this somewhere the other day:

"The day God made Dogs

He just sat down and Smiled"

So true.

Here's Kiara, our building pet, darling of kids and adults alike. Getting on a bit in years (the once-gleaming black coat tells its own tale), but a.d.o.r.a.b.l.e. nonetheless. That's just her.

You folks with dogs, you know what I'm talking about, don't you?

AVERSE TO CHANGE? OR JUST PLAIN SCARED?

How many times have you thought about making that move - from your present comfortable job to say, turning entrepreneur? Mental math, back-of-the-envelope calculation, some serious number crunching later, you're still at squat. As are the most (?) of us. (As usual, I don't have statistics here. Ironic, given that I'm talking number crunching, don't you think?)

The thing is, you tend to be afraid. Afraid not so much of change per se, but just how much that change is going to dislodge your current fairly comfortable existence. It's about that security of the salary being credited into your bank account at the end of the month, versus a situation where, until you break even, you have losses staring you in the face. And bills to pay.

Take relationships. Those ones that aren't working anymore? How often do we just hang on to the threads, just hoping and praying that somewhere, somehow things will work out? We often fool ourselves into believing that things are fine, when they're about a few thousand years away from being so. All because to suddenly cut a person out of your life - a friend, a parent, a spouse - is a tough thing to do. And so we plod on.

Or on a girlier (yes! I made that word up!) note, a new hairdo. God forbid that long tresses are chopped short. Hello, they do grow back, y'know. Eventually. Or those highlights you've been dying to get, and envy anyone who seems to be carrying them off with so much aplomb - so much so your face turns an interesting shade of green, never mind whether your hair is coloured or not. You don't, because you're worried what the  significant other/ parent/ neighbour/ co-worker/ pet dog might say. Or worse, judge you.

Scary. That's the word. And so we shy away, take a step back, and dwell on what-might-have-been. Jump in, try something new today - it's a brand new day.

I'M NOT A VALENTINE-Y PERSON BUT...

... couldn't resist this red velvet cake.

Happy St Valentine's, y'all!

LAMINGTONS

While in Australia, one of the things That Had To Be Tried were lamingtons, given that I'd seen them on Masterchef Australia and well, anything Masterchef-y, I'd wanna see/ try. It's just one of those things.

So here they are, just for you:

In their packaging, waiting for me to have a go with the scissors...

Opened, and waiting to be eaten...

And finally -

That yummy, jammy square of perfection.

Drool. Sigh.

Rinse, repeat.

EVIDENCE...

... that not just my tooth is sweet. Gulp.

More to follow...

PATRIOTISM/ CREATIVITY

The picture below is taken at a local crafts fair. While not entirely sure that crafts fair is the right word, it's the closest I can get to describing it. On display were scores of booths with (mainly) women hawking their wares, from spices (masalas) to hand-woven saris and bed linen to various savouries and sweets. These were people from the interiors/ rural Maharashtra, and the idea of this fair (it's an annual event) is to promote the artisans and their craftsmanship. While I (sadly) did not take any more pictures, here's one that struck my eye, as it was only a couple of days post Republic Day.

The Indian tri-colour you see? It's ingeniously made of papad, a wafer-thin, crisp lentil cake that is typically fried and eaten as an accompaniment to a meal. These are three variants - red chilly, plain with cumin and spinach.

Those tubs in front of the display? A smorgasbord of pickles! Yummy! 

HAPPY REPUBLIC DAY, INDIA!

CHAI!

Of the green, healthy, full of anti-oxidants variety, but chai nonetheless.

Yes, my first love IS coffee - and always will be - but chai's also a good thing to have. (No, having to change the name of this blog has nothing to do with the continued liking.)

Which reminds me. I have these wonderful (or so I'd like to believe, since I was behind the lens) pictures of a visit to a tea estate/ factory in Sri Lanka. Hang on a mo while I dig deep into the innards of my laptop and unearth those pictures... Or maybe have a chai until then.

SQUIRREL IN THE CITY!

Not something we see too often. :)

ONE WEEK DOWN. ALREADY.

Who'd've thunk it?! Before we knew it, 2013 was upon us, and even sooner than that, we're one week into the new year. Whoa there, over enthusiastic twenty-thirteen!

Reminds me of when I was in school (no, nothing about those 'good old days' is coming up, so you can stop reaching out for that mouse already) - Moral Science class called for a list, one that was importantly full of New Year's Resolutions. In capitals, and heavily underscored too. I'd never know what to fill in, and invariably wind up every year with a very sketchy compilation, to be embellished after - casually, of course - taking a peek at the neighbour's laundry list. And maybe the person thankfully seated behind me. Or even two rows ahead. Anything, really, to plump up a list that would vaguely be along the lines of:

- I will clean up my cupboard without Mum reminding me to.

- I will do my homework every evening before I go out to play.

Guilt (from the aforementioned plumped-up lists) would then make me add:

- I will help Mum set/ clear away the table at dinner (which the sister and I did already, just that it made for good copy. Also added a halo or two.)

- I will dust the furniture.

- I will not fight with my friends.

Gawd. You'll realise that making resolutions was never my forte. Let's not even get into discussing actually sticking them out. That does not make polite conversation. Believe me.

Growing up (and with Moral Science class behind me), the easiest thing to do was to politely ha-ha them so-what-will-be-your-resolution-this-year-then questions away, something I continue to do even today.

It's a far better deal to pitch in with the good stuff as and when you see the need for it, isn't it, instead of a stuffy old resolution that you are (possibly forced to) keep, with no real result at the end of the day. 

That said, wish you a very happy 2013 (seeing that clearly the world didn't end), and have a wonderful year ahead. Cheers!

COFFEE AND... CINNAMON

Not cinnamon per se this time. But cinnamon sprinkled on a coupla donuts.

ARE YOU SEEING THINGS? OR MERELY VIEWING?

You know how when you're on vacation you're trigger happy? I'm not saying it's a bad thing; I'm one of the gang. I've been known to take a crazy amount of pictures - in high resolution, no less - that have on occasion resulted in a frantic search for additional memory cards. A mad dash to the nearest store in whichever city, and then only do I breathe a sigh of relief. Actually, not even then - I almost always run out of battery towards the end of a long, happily satisfying sightseeing-y day. Of course, Murphy being Murphy, I'll miss the best photo ops just then. Sigh. Such is life. To combat that, I learnt to bring with me a fully charged cell phone; that way there's a (possibly feeble in terms of quality) backup, but a reliable one nonetheless. But just to plug the iPhone here (and no, I'm not getting paid for this), rest assured that the iPhone 5 does an awesome job. Not remotely feeble. 

But back to the topic at hand.

I was in the middle of taking the most breathtakingly beautiful pictures at The Twelve Apostles, alternately gasping in awe (yes, it's that awe-inspiring) and peering through my (camera) lens. That's when I realised: do you really see as much as you should? Or do you merely view through the lens? Get the difference? While it may sound like merely a subtle nuance, I'm now thinking otherwise. In our rush to capture the image for posterity, do we then wind up actually seeing it only when home, while sorting through the myriad pictures? Would I have seen more, remembered more if I were to see the place, take it all in, absorb its magnificence - albeit sans a camera? I'm not saying no pictures, all I'm thinking out loud is, maybe a little less camera and a lot more eye.

So at The Twelve Apostles, while my camera did a fabulous job, my mind and eyes worked still better: those waves lapping at the rocks, the pristine sand, that wallaby in the wild, the gull soaring effortlessly into the blue... not all on the camera, and not stuff to be forgotten in a hurry.

HOOKED ON TO ENID BLYTON?

If you were, in your childhood (and much, much beyond, as in my case), you'd have loved this afternoon tea as much as I did.

Here you go, a pot of tea (not in picture), with the most scrumptious fresh, warm scones with copious quantities of whipped cream and jam. Staggered out of the cafe probably definitely (much) fatter, but oh-so-much happier. Sometimes, you shouldn't make calories count. Or count them yourself.

ALL-DAY 'BREAKFAST'?

Then why is it called 'breakfast'? Why isn't it just a meal? 

Sure, I get the point that maybe the items on the menu are those that are typically served at that morning meal, but still... It's not like you don't have say, soup and salad at lunch and/ or dinner. For that matter, miso soup is a staple at many? most? South East Asian breakfast tables. So why isn't it an all-day lunch?

Here's the yummiest all-day breakfast I've had recently, at a cheerful, bustling cafe in Melbourne: