Food in a foreign land

The scales have never been kind to me. In fact each time I gather up my courage to climb on one, it laughs at my face. I have had a love affair with food for as long as I can remember. I love to eat and it shows. Food is my comfort, my sin, my passion and yes, my fat too. Food however has taken on a whole new meaning since the time I came to Montreal. With every kind of ingredient within easy reach, nothing is out of bounds or too difficult to make. Weekends turn into gastronomic adventures and indulgences hit the roof. But it's a whole different feeling to find the foods from your country, the foods you grew up eating and the food that is so unique to our land in a far away corner of the world. It's the thrill of discovering the perfect daal or the succulent tikka that only a sweaty turbaned punjabi dhaba owner can make, or the crunchy vada of the south Indian origin in far off Montreal.
Only recently our dear friends D and A introduced us to the popular Indian place in Montreal where the owner and serveuse speak chaste punjabi, there is piped bhajan music playing on the player somewhere and pictures of various gods and goddesses adorn the wall along with the ubiquitous taj mahal, Pushap sweets.
The samosas were to die for. After spending a samosa-less, tikki-less, gulab jamun less year, I fell onto the street food wagon like a starving orphan. I guzzled the syrupy sweetmeats, ate through a few plates of Chloe bhature and watched the fair skinned Quebecois tuck into the thalis on offer there.
Stuff that was so routine and part of our everyday consumption in the motherland has taken on a whole new meaning in a distant place. There is dhahi bhallas which taste very much like the real thing, samosas that come in all shapes and with multitude of fillings, chutneys vie for space with their color taste and vibrancy and the south Indian food on offer here is 'simbly awesome'.
In the depths of the Canadian winters I craved my moms home made bhuni khichuri. I would try and replicate dishes I had taken for granted at home and never bothered to learn. I would beg my mom to email me her recipe for cabbage with peas or prawn malai curry as I longed for a taste of home. I made a separate section with a special label for the recipies my mom sent, I started following blogs on Indian cooking in earnest and tried my hand at making and baking Indian dishes and sweetmeats every chance got.
On Diwali this year, as the temperatures plunged to sub zero, I was ticked pink ( orange????) having made my very first gajar ka halwa. So excited I was at my feat that I could not wait to share it with my friends ad fellow food lovers. I began to look forward to our get togethers when I knew our friend D would cook up a batch of divinely succulent mutton curry. I would brave snowstorms to get the frozen Nanak paneer so important was my craving for mutter paneer and we would wait impatiently for the Maxi grocery store to stock up on bhel puri and haldirams bhujia.
I am lucky that my family shares my love for food. Tia loves muter paneer, mutton curry, samosas and gulab jamun with a gusto. It gives me immense satisfaction to see her enjoy a bowl of Indian goodies. My heart swells with pride when she lists her favourite foods as daal bhaat, parantha and kebab.
The taste of home is not so easily forgotten. The memories happy and sad, of celebrations and triumphs, of hard work and laziness, of hot summer days and cold winter nights, of Durga pujas and
diwalis are all linked to food in one way or the other. 
Its a heady feeling to discover a really good place that sells your childhood goodies and share it with your friends. Food is our common language. Each one of us has their own memories associated with the foods we ate in the homeland. 
The scale sits dusty at the bottom of my bed now. I can hear it mocking me, but the comforting smells of aloo methi from the kitchen and the biriyani cooking on the stove has its way of overruling it.
Outside it's a cold and grey day, and inside more food memories are being made, albeit in distant Montreal.

Gajar ka halwa on diwali

Mutter paneer

Fish fry..all dolled up

Year One

Everyone remembers their firsts, the first prize, the first love, the first kiss, first baby..., for me today it would be my first year in Montreal, Quebec. Tia and I landed here exactly a year ago on the 1st of December 2011, on a vividly sunny, bitterly cold and windy day. I was recovering from an illness, my body was travel weary and my heart was torn in two, leaving my parents and home and trying to put on a brave face for a future totally unknown.
In theory it seemed to make sense, but as I was packing to leave home and my parents, I honestly thought that I would snap in two. I was emotionally drained and yet I had to suck it up and try and brave it. I told myself in my mind that this was going to be a trial period. That I could always return if I did not like it, but I could see in my fathers eyes and my mothers embrace that they thought otherwise. They knew me better than myself.
It was a blurry experience getting off the plane, clearing immigrations and before I knew it I got a glimpse of the city from the back seat of the cab. The trees were bare, it looked so grey all around, yet there as a big bright sun in the sky. I remembered thinking that it looked so industrial unlike the explosions of color I was used to seeing in India.
Yogi was so excited to show me the home he had made for us and in his excitement forgot the passcode to the main door and we spent the next few minutes, shivering in the cold, surrounded by our luggage ( all 9 pieces) as Yogesh tried his best to remember the code and call up the concierge of the building as we stared dumbly all around us.
In due course, The code was finally entered and I stepped into a warm sun filled apartment which was to be our home from now on.
All I wanted to do was call my parents and lie down. That's what I remember of that day exactly one year ago.
 Step two was getting geared up for the winter. Shivering in my thin layers we made our way to the mall to buy snow pants, snow boots, hats, mittens, and parkas for Tia and me. I had absolutely no idea what to look for and it was a pretty stressful search for waterproof-wind-proof snow pants and jacket for Tia, waterproof-snow gloves and snow boots. Delhi winters had no way prepared me for the brutal Canadian winter. The wind chill made my eyes water and froze the insides of my nose. I could not feel my head and my temper was directly proportional to my discomfort.
Tia being a happy 4 year old then, was happy to skip around and explore her new surroundings oblivious of the discomforts and perils the winter chill.
Yogi insisted that I get a decent parka too and only then did I begin to thaw out. It turned out that all the good winter jackets and boots were sold out by the 1st of December. Canadians take their winter gear very seriously and waiting till the temperatures hit sub zero to buy the winter paraphernalia is not a great idea.
I was exhausted and jet lagged by all this shopping stress and thus concluded the next few days.
I realized how disconnected I was when I could not read a single road sign, or a single label at the shops. It felt so alien. People were warm and friendly all around, yet I felt handicapped by my lack of  French.
As days turned to weeks, weeks to months, I was welcomed by most people I met with open arms. My french failings seemed to be fading as I found my way around and got to meet and talk to people (gasp: in English ! ) Tia started daycare or GARDERIE as it is called here and I was bowled over by the sincerity and the warmth of the people and the system. Everywhere I went there was acceptance, warmth and an eagerness to accept a non francophone into their midst. I got to learn about the daycare system. I saw how much attention the kids get here and it was so easy to forget the chaos and crowds of school in Delhi. Tia started to understand French and pretty soon had a best friend. I found myself explaining to her about skin color and it color and how we are all the same regardless of how we look.
I started to address people with a hesitant 'bonjour' and took my baby steps to learning French.
The weather grew colder, the snow was magical. All around the houses seemed like in a fairy tale. Christmas came, we had a tree. Santa visited with some goodies and life began in earnest as I learnt to improvise, prioritize and give my everything to raising a happy healthy child. I was lucky enough to get work too and I attended evening French classes as the snow blizzards blew.
Yogi travelled for work in March and Tia and I were totally alone here for over a month and we managed it all. It was lonely without family and loved ones but it gave me tremendous independence and self confidence.
Among other things, I got to experience first hand, the good side of humanity. My wallet which I accidentally lost while picking up Tia was returned by a kind lady who found it outside the library.
I was overwhelmed by kindness and generosity. It was a valuable lesson on doing good to others and I have witnessed such small gestures pretty much all around me every day.
In the spring I started university to study the French language full time and I was amazed by the standard of teaching here. Punctuality, professionalism and commitment took on a whole new meaning. The teacher worked harder than the students to make the class fun and interesting. Centres of learning such as the university of Montreal are really like mini cities with state of the art technology to make life so much easier for the students and I truly fell in love with the education and teaching methods here.
I began communicating in French now and no longer felt like an alien from outer space.
In the summer my parents came to visit and it was the best time. Tia turned 5, as the city erupted in green and I explored the city and it's offerings of nature and festivals with my parents. Every weekend was packed as we played in the water, picnicked in the parks, ate fresh produce from the farmers market, went to music shows and festivals and tanned and relaxed with my loved ones all round, I had the best summer of my life. My parents liked Montreal as much as me. There was something for everyone to do here and there is never a dull moment. I made friends gradually. We party, we hang out, we share our weeks ad our food and our doors are always open to them.
Tia started kindergarten while I was away on work and Yogi and my mom were able to be there and help her get settled in the big school. She seems to be enjoying school a lot and her days are long, filled with sports, activities friends and work. I love the kindergarten activities they are doing a lot. I love the system and method of teaching and I love it that the kids are exposed to art, literature, music and books from early on. I like the sense of community and the idea of voluntary community service. It's a whole different approach to help and be part of the vast and diverse community we are all a part of.
A year on, Tia is completely Bilingual. She speaks the French language as a pro, I too can talk in French whenever needed, I can speak in French with the teachers in the school, I can read labels, understand local terms and feel like a local. I even complain of the cold like a Québecois!
A year on, I am no longer scared. It was a year of learning, letting go, exploration and discovery. I am used to breathing in the cold air, used to the convenience of the system, happy to use public transport and no longer afraid of a challenge. It was a time to focus on family and find happiness in the small things. Bonne annee to us and many many more to come. Hope we never forget the passcode to the front door again...

Glimpses of the city in summer

parc jean drapeau

Montmorency falls

Touched by an angel. Happy 5th to tia

My heart is filled to bursting point. It's a special feeling and one that cannot be explained, comprehended or even contained. The light of my life, my heart and my soul, the princess of our hearts turns 5 today. My little fledgling is a Big girl now, she is 4 feet tall and has two brand new adult teeth. She has a sunny disposition, is an extrovert of the highest order and has a temper that springs forth at the drop of a hat. She has the softest hair, and the brightest eyes. Her baby arms encircle my waist as I comb her hair each day and she says she can't wait to grow up and look like mommy. Silently in my heart I wish for time to stop at that moment forever. She smells of baby lotion, shampoo and of excitement and wonder. I love to cuddle up with her in bed just to inhale the fragrance of childhood and hold it in my senses forever. I wonder if I can ever tell her how much she means to me, or how deeply I love her. My heart sings with joy when I see her after a busy say. I can move mountains to make everyday special for her. She is independent, stubborn and headstrong too. At 5 years she has a 'I can do it myself' streak that cannot be contained. She is strongly vocal and emotional. She has a brilliant artistic streak and the uncanny ability to sense when mommy needs a hug. She is all pink and girly, yet is a tomboy who loves to play rough with her nana or dig in the dirt with her grandma. She speaks French like a local and Bengali in her baby sweet voice. She has imaginary conversations with her toys that I love to eavesdrop on. Her imagination and creativity blow me away at times. She has confidence in her ability and helps others in need whenever she can. I am astounded at the changes a mere 5 years have brought. She hugged me as we cuddled for bedtime just now. She wanted to hear the story of how she was born from mummy's tummy for the hundredth time. She loves to hear it over and over again. In turn I love telling her about how much we wanted her in our lives. It's the most special time of the day and as she hugged me she said ' thank you mommy for my birthday, I love you'.....I have not stopped crying happy tears since. Thank you my darling for choosing me as your mom. Thank you for the sunshine sparkles, the teary hugs, the growing lessons and the moments of pure unadulterated fun. Thank you for the wonder and awe with which I view the world, as we both discover new things and take paths uncharted and unfamiliar. Thank you for the confidence you have in me as your mother. Thank you my darling for coming into my life and coloring it with every hue. Happy 5th birthday my darling Tia. Happy 5th to us as a family and may the sunshine and smiles increase manifold with each passing year. Love mommy

the broken limb part2

How much we underestimate mobility. I have spent a considerable amount of the year gone by complaining about my hectic schedule, my hatred of driving and my crazy life. The past 24 days changed all that. Never again will I take my ankle for granted. Its the essence that keeps my feet on the ground. Never again will I long to lounge in bed doing nothing....its not what its cut out to be. besides how many days of doing nothing can a person take. Never will I take lightly the simple mundane activities like stretching, brushing my teeth, turning to one side and taking a bath. A broke limb changes all that.
Its hard to sit in bed with the leg elevated on pillows. Its hard on the back, on the tailbone and on the other leg too that has the ample cushioning. Its hard to hobble on a walker..i feel 80 years old. It hard on the wrist and the palms too and i have never had such sore palms before.
Bathing is an event in itself and probably the most uncomfortable part of my day..not because of the pain or anything but because my mommy has to bathe this amazon of a woman. I leave all semblances of normality out of the door when I step into the bath..its too embarrassing to go into the details but its a humbling experience in itself.
Its hard to be dependent on another person for just about everything. I cannot close a window, get myself a glass of water, or even dress myself without help. If my phone rings and it is more than an arm length away, i cannot reach it. if my daughter wants something i cannot get it..its frustrating to say the least. My patience is wearing thin and my breaking point gets shorter with each passing day.
My plans went all akimbo with my fall. My busy bursting life is reduced to a small radius of the bathroom, bedroom and the living room. I made plenty new discoveries in these 24 days too like its easy to slide than hop on the walker. That i can brush my teeth under 3 mins flat, and that i can be wearing my shorts and have oiled hair when people come to visit me. I can survive without my makeup and my skin has lost its tan and is a shade or two lighter with all this indoor exposure and that i have gone through the entire month without once using my credit card. hooray!
It has been a time to rediscover my real friends. They have called me, sat with me when i was so lonely in the hospital room, brought me lovely books and flowers and have come to see me from way across town. Its for this that i am most thankful. I think I have spent more time talking to my friends in the past 24 days than i have done in the entire past year. I have had friends call me from California and Canada and the well wishes just keep pouring in. The virtual world has been fun too and my cyber buddies are so much fun to connect with. I am so thankful for the funny comments and messages. Discovering friends whom I long took for granted and the love and affection we share is what makes this broken limb seem ok now.

the broken limb

I've been thinking for the past 24 days. There's not much else to do actually. thinking, feeling, venting and yes spending most of my time on my big behind since i cannot use my right leg for a few more weeks. I took a nasty fall on the 1st of June 2011, on a hot hot hot Wednesday afternoon. I was poised to make a huge change, i was looking forward to many new plans, and was conjuring up mental images of what was ahead when all of a sudden i slipped off the road divider, bang into on coming traffic and crack..broke my right ankle bone to smithereens.
The poor bone could hardly withstand this big girl's fall. It broke onto 3. I asked for help but Delhi's milk of human kindness refused to flow and i was helpless and hurt and a spectacle in the middle of the dirty dusty street. People stared from across the road. I saw a many a curious eye taking in the fun of watching the fat girl fall but no one came to help a fellow human being a few kilos here or there.
I dragged myself and my swollen leg across, dodging the traffic, tried to stop the rising panic and the gnawing bone and propelled myself to an auto to somehow make it to my car. I had to request the auto driver to support me while i made it to my car and only once inside did i allow myself to cry and wallow at my ordeal.
Its strange how things unfold and how they look in hindsight. The first reaction in my moment of crisis was to call my mommy. I howled while i called her and told her that i thought i had broken my leg. I called my father too crying, needing my daddy more than i ever did before. while i waited for my father to rush to my assistance, all I could think of was calling my husband in distant Montreal, across the seas, and time zones, blissfully asleep at 5.30am. I just wanted his comfort and it did not even cross my mind that I was worrying him sick out of his mind and leaving him feeling helpless from so far away. I just wanted his reassurance..just wanted him to tell me that things will be fine and that he loved me....
Daddy came real soon, husband spent those frantic minutes reassuring me, mother and daughter at home were worried sick and my leg went numb from all the action.
I think back to what i did, how my reactions were and how the scenario unfolded now with a twist of a smile, but when i was in my moment of crisis i was so thankful to have loved ones to fall back on.

milestones and miles to go

Almost a year since i wrote. I never thought I'd have anything fun/interesting/deep to say..but thinking back, I realised I missed journaling my fun moments, the moments that made me pause and think, the times when a light bulb went off over my head or just the times when I wanted time to stop because my heart was breaking. Many changes are strewn along the year gone by. Most importantly was our decision to settle down in Canada. Yogi left last year...he resolve to live in a better country with better facilities and which valued work as work was unshakable. Its been 9 months now..9 months since a new life has taken shape is a far away distant cold land. Now, I prepare to follow suit with my precious four year old.
The change is terrifying me. I am leaping into the unknown. Leaving behind the place I love, the job I love and the people I love the most to give our future a chance to turn into something unknown. I am torn between wanting to hold on yet move forward... torn between wanting to be there more for Tia and yet terrified of never returning to my creative endeavours.
The finality of the decision to move away just sank in as I am preparing to withdraw Tia from the school she loves and friends she has just begun to make. I see such immense sadness in her grandfather's eyes as he knows that the days of their rough and tumble play are numbered. I sign in to my workplace these days with a heavy heart. No one knows of my decision to move as yet...but I am carrying this huge bundle of memories and sadness as I go about my daily duties. We have spent 9 months away as a family. The mother-father-child unit is now alien to Tia. She prepares to turn 4 in a few days and does not seem to miss her father too much. I am throwing her a grand party with lots of friends and fun..and I am moved to tears thinking that she will be separated from these friends soon never to return.
Yes she will make new friends, learn a new language and a way of life in her new home far away...but I will always always have this niggling doubt in the back of my head if what I did was indeed in her best interest.
I am excited too. The anticipation of being with my husband, the excitement of setting up a new home, and being a hands on mom after years of tip-toeing around the demanding schedule of working in TV..of cooking 3 meals for my own family and being able to feel pride in the little triumphs of the day.
Tia's 4th birthday will be a milestone our entire family will remember..it will be the year that our lives changed forever

the wonder years

The more I grow up (or age gracefully), the more I seem to be reflecting on the days gone by. The best days were the ones I spent in school. I have such vivid memories of the sights, the sounds, the experiences and even the smells. I was in an all-girls school for the first 10 years and it was as memorable as it can ever be. I was in LOVE with our cute white and red uniform. The crisp white shirt, the white box pleated divided skirt, the red belt, the red socks and the cute red hair accessories were the best. I was always the tall one in my class. I got to stand at the end of the line, sit at the back of the class and play the male part in all the school plays. While the rest of the girls got to play the pretty princess or Mary in the Christmas pageant, i was always the prince, the father, the scraggly old man, Joseph or even one of the 3 Kings! My best friend was also in my school(obviously!) she even lived in the neighbourhood and we had so much fun together. Studying or doing homework was the last thing on our minds as we spent so many carefree days playing hop-scotch, badminton, and eventually moved on to talking about boys and clothes. My mother would always find me at her house at mealtimes. I used to time my visits to coincide with the appam stew, beef curry or kari meen that her mother used to make. At other times, i used to make do with the pickles they had specially sent in from Kerela. I was heartbroken when they moved away. Eventually we did too and like all children, i made new friends, went to a new school, found interests like rock and roll and Madonna to amuse me and got more than my fair share of attention from the boys.
My school days were full of fun and learning. I remember coming home after Elocution class to teach my mom how to pronounce and enunciate correctly. Or loving Shakespeare's Tempest with all my heart. I fondly remember the SUPW(Socially useful Productive Work) classes and the needle point tea-cosy i had so proudly made. I remember being the flag bearer at the march past on our Sports days, but never winning anything at the race. I remember my basketball days and how my mother used to take me for practice even on a Sunday, riding a hot-tin bus when we did not have the luxury of a car. I remember so proudly wearing our basketball uniform of a teeny-tiny red miniskirt(I still had legs then!) and making heads turn as we went to other schools to participate. I really don't remember how many we won or lost, but the feeling of being out there, with peers was beyond extraordinary. I loved being on stage too be it singing Leaving on a Jet plane, or participating in the Christmas Pageant, singing Alto in the Choir or playing the part of the angry father in the dramatisation of Mill on the Floss.
I was a good student too. I had a good head and when needed i could apply myself on the academic level. I was in the top 10 of my class and other than in Hindi, i was a high scorer on most subjects. The time spent in the school library was one of wonder for me. It was there that I discovered Enid Blyton and her magical use of words. I would read each and every book she ever wrote and as i grew older i moved on to Nancy Drews, Hardy Boys, Hitchcock and then...Mills and Boon!
My mother till this day believes that I would be a better person(a doctor perhaps??), had Mills and Boons not filled my young, impressionable head with wild, passionate, romantic imagery! The more she tried to keep me away from "trash" the more i read them. Thus began the rebellion of my teenage years, with loud Rock music, shorter than short skirts, crazy psychedelic plastic ear-rings, studded boots and BOYS!
There was no looking back, as i found suitors in every nook and cranny and I loved the attention they gave me. From compliments to books to music...the secret stash kept growing every week as did my battle with my parents, who thought that i was well on my way to the path of ruin and disrepute. When i wrote in my secret diary my mom would be itching to know who it was about and when i began to get terrible headaches, my mom even thought that i was doing drugs. Many days of sulking, crying, raging battles and treats ensued. Many nights spent crying, and lamenting about how they did not "understand" me. Many Rod Stewart, Peter Gabriel, Madonna, Wham records later, i calmed down. I started a new school( a co-educational one at that) and I found the school boys could be so un-interesting. I made some amazing friends and managed to cram the best days of my life in the two years of Senior school that I spent there. I learnt to love studying again. My love affair with the English language flourished and I made a new best friend. My new friends made me love "Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy" and "PG Wodehouse". I wholeheartedly particiated in the childish school pranks or hard study lessons and emerged a winner. I remember the infectious gang of girls in my class. There was one who would study too much or the one who used to laugh the loudest, the one with serious style and the one with the nose pin....Two years flew by at the blink of an eye and we grew up, laughed and made many memories together. Our school farewell was the most poignant moment for me. Dressed in my mothers purple Kanjivaram Saree I lit the lamp that would light my paths in the years to come, The atmosphere was heavy, it was time to grow up, to take on responsibilities, to find the path of your dreams. Many roads would take us on many new paths, the comfort and security of school would be left behind. We made many promises to our Friends, wrote on each others year books and posed for an unending stream of photographs to freeze the moment for our lifetime. As i walked back home that night with my parents, looking over my shoulder I saw my lamp flickering in the distance. Maybe many new memories await me, many new experiences yet to unfold, many even-better times yet to come....but with tears welling in my eyes I bid a silent goodbye to the best years of my life...my wonder years