“I don’t think we’d have a good marriage if I told him everything. I’m his only morale booster”
“I don’t think we’d have a good marriage if I told him everything. I’m his only morale booster”
It has been over a month since I signed in to WordPress. Things have been hectic and I’ve been traveliing quite a bit. When I did manage to find the time I watched a lot of Downton Abbey. And by a lot I mean A LOT. Also, I though it was Downtown Abbey. Jay was like wow Downtown Abbey like Downtown New York ah? And I was like yeah, thats how they roll. Turns out, that wasn’t how they roll.
I also read and watched Gone Girl. OHMYGOD what a mental story that was! But I loved it.
I took a short trip back to Madras and I got to witness Madras rains after two years. It was blissful. I love rain. It makes me feel so snuggly and so serene and so.. happy. There is nothing like a powercut due to heavy rains, and no food in the house – yeah, I’ve experienced that too. We are facing an extreme drought here in California. It has rained only about six, seven times in the two years I’ve been here.
Whilst in Madras I frequented Saravana Bhavan as much as I could. I have some sad news to report back my fellow Saravana Bhavan lovers, THEY HAVE REDUCED THE SIZE OF THE VADAI!!! Pre this horror when you order one plate vadai you will get : one nice big fluffy, crispy, oil drenched vadai+ chutney + sambar. Now, in the hellish present if you order one plate vadai you will get : four tiny lemon sized vadais + chutney + sambar. Safe to say, I was adequately baffled too. When I first saw the plate I was equal parts surprised and angry, (and a little scared thinking about the future). The waiter said, “Customers ellam complain pannurange madam, aanna management kekemaatikraange.“
Over the past few years I have lived through many changes – getting married, moving away from home, living with a boy, seeing little cousins grow up, but this disaster revolving around the vadai is the most painful. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. And what if I go back to Saravaan Bhavan after a year? I don’t even want to imagine the state of future vadais, its the stuff of nightmares.
So for now I leave you with this – the one decent item left in Saravana Bhavan : sambar vadai (which also has two tiny vadais).
[The wonderful Deepa tagged me to do the 'Why I Write' blog hop. Me being me, had to procrastinate and let the idea fester in my mind before I could start. So here it is. I tag the Zinal Bhadra, Egeedee, Surya Bhattacharya and PeeVee.]
Why do I write?
I write to keep my sanity. Very often I find myself tethering along the edge between normal and crazy. And writing, helps me achieve that balance.
I write to make sense of the world, of the things in my head. Writing helps me see things in a new perspective.
I write because I learnt not to judge people by their face-value. Every person has a story.
I write because there are so many characters in my head. Every person I meet I try to fit them in my hypothetical novel that I have started and stopped numerous times in my head.
I write to lessen my burden.
I write because growing up I felt like I never had a voice.
I write to ease my anxiety.
I write to relive and preserve beautiful moments because that is what makes a person rich. Not wealth.
I write to feel less lonely.
I write because sometimes reality is too monotonous.
I write because I can’t help it. It is a fluid motion and I can’t stop it.
This blog isn’t my only outlet. I have a personal journal where I scribble away. Once I take a step back and look at what I’ve written, I see things in a whole new light.
Over the years writing had become my savior. As an angsty teenager I used to furiously writing in my Nightingale diary. I remember hiding it in places where nobody could find it. Writing has been the only constant in my life, when there were days where I felt I couldn’t talk with anybody I turned to my diary. I was that weirdo who started out with ‘Dear Diary..’ because my diary wasn’t a non living thing, she was my friend. My non judgmental, welcoming friend, who was always interested in what I had to say.
I write because writing is my solace, it is my comfort, my joy and my safe place.
Shakespeare & Company was one of the places in my bucket list that I’d been wanting to visit. While planning our itinerary for Paris I immediately charted out a decent block of time for this book store. On our second day after a visit to Notre Dame, which by the way is stunning, we walked across the bridge to Shakespeare & Co.
The bookstore was originally established in 1919 by Sylvia Beach and is now housed in a gorgeous 17th century building. The ground floor is packed with books from the floor to the ceiling. The musty smell of old books and the warmth makes the place feel like home. The upstairs area is basically a huge library with old, worn out chairs and beds where the hopeful writers and artists are welcome to live. This book store was at one point of time home to the greats – Hemingway and Fitzgerald. There are smatterings of writings on the walls and pictures of Orhan Pamuk, Truman Capote, etc pinned on to doors.
I cannot describe the bohemian nature, but I can show you in pictures :
I don’t need to say I love you in those exact words.
I don’t need to prove my loyalty.
No grand gestures or writings in the sky.
You are in me as I am in you, and nothing can separate us.
I don’t need to say I love you, but I want to.
I love you, with every fiber of my life, from the bottom of my heart, I love you.
Happy birthday, Madras. You beautiful thing, you.
Immigration Officer : “Sir, you aren’t supposed to enter here. Can I help you?”
Man with Jamaican accent : “Yes, I’m looking for my baby.”
Immigration Officer : “Your baby??”
Man : “Yes. My fiancé. She’s waiting in the line.”
Best conversation I’ve ever heard.
Girl leaving Pinkberry with a large bowl of yogurt and toppings : “You know, this is more nutritious than a cupcake.”
When we started discussing about our trip to Europe, the first thing I was super excited for was – breakfast. To rephrase, breakfast in Paris. I am a sucker for all things loaded with carbs, and bread, is my weakness. I’m the person who loads up on free bread and butter in restaurants although a good main course is next. There is this Italian restaurant near my house that serves mediocre food but their whipped butter and fresh bread is killer. I LOVE that place. So obviously I was very psyched to try all the different croissants and baguettes.
I’ve had my share of decent croissants but guys, believe the hype when I say that the French take croissants to a whole new level! The first day we decided to have breakfast at one of the many cafés that were strewn around our hotel. All cafés in Paris follow the same theme – red, they all have outside seating and EVERYONE smokes. The tables outside these cafés are placed so close together you could totally join in the conversations and pick food off each others tables without even stretching. One day we decided to have lunch in the outside seating area and this guy was blowing smoke in my face throughout the whole meal. It was unpleasant to say the least.
While visiting most cafés we realized that the ‘locals’ had their coffee standing at the bar. We were the noob tourists “sitting down” for coffee. We later realized that coffee served at the bar is infinitely more cheaper than if you “sat down”. Its one of those “European” things that I don’t get.
Most cafés have a set breakfast menu offering one of each treat – croissant, baguette, pain au chocolat. We tried the breakfast set for a couple of days and switched things up with the Nutella crepes (chewy, chocolatey goodness) and Norwegian smoked salmon with the fluffiest, creamiest, most decadent scrambled eggs I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating. Coffee in Paris is good enough, but the coffee in Rome was the best. If you are visiting Paris first I’d recommend holding off a little on the food until you visit Rome, because that is where the magic lies.
If you were wondering where I’ve been these past couple of weeks well, I was prancing around Europe, seeing beautiful things and eating scrumptious food. We visited Paris and Rome for a week. While we did not manage to see EVERYTHING in Paris and Rome this trip was by no means a vacation. I was exhausted from walking on the first day so we took it easy for the rest of the trip.
Paris is a charming city. There are tiny cafes serving overpriced coffee at every turn, tourists as far as the eye can see, freshly baked baguettes and croissants. I consumed an insane amount of carbs in that four day period. While I did try some French food, it was not made for my Indian palate.
I love to people watch, and Parisian women are now my favorite. None of them brush their hair. They’ve all managed to perfect the just-got-out-of-bed look while still looking like a million bucks. They don’t wear a jeans and t shirt with sneakers like how Americans do. They either wear dresses or knee length skirts. Most of them wear practical, yet chic flats, blazers and no make up. How is it physically possible for you to look so perfect?! I think fifteen minutes is all a Parisian woman takes to get ready in the morning.
Note to self: Master the art of looking put together in fifteen minutes.
It took less than a day to feel like Paris owned me. At the end of four days I did not want to go back to my seemingly monotonous life. There were too many places that I hadn’t explored yet. The Parisian life of hanging out in cafes on a Monday morning, smoking and drinking espressos called out to me.
In the past twenty four hours I have eaten :
1. A slice of bread with Speculoos cookie butter
2. Strawberry flavored yogurt
3. Ten gummy bears
4. Tea with milk and a huge spoon of sugar
5. Half of a berry smoothie
Although I was fasting, I am reeling from an intense sugar high now! This sweet tooth problem is getting way out of hand. Somebody really needs to cut me off.