Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from May, 2009

Grown My Own

We've started growing vegetables in the garden - carrots, cabbages, courgettes, tomatoes, cucumbers, marrows, pumpkins, aubergines, cauliflowers, strawberries, peppers, chillis, garlic and leeks. On my window sill sit pots and pots of compost with all kinds of plants that I've been trying to grow. I see a seed on my spice rack and I want to scatter them on a bed of soil and see what happens. I have plunged tamarind seeds into old yogurt pots. Fennel seeds should be sprouting any day soon. Even the old mung bean has not been spared. There wasn't enough for our Sunday sundal. Can't you see, I have only just sown the channa? I demand.

Here's two I grew earlier.

A quick tale 227

Somethings Never Change

We spent much of our growing years together. Our mothers were sisters and his family lived in the next street. We were almost the same age and went to the same school. I was taller than him but he started shaving long before I did. I introduced him to cigarettes and he would smuggle cold beer bottles to our terrace on warm summer nights. I don’t remember a day when Vaithi did not come by our house. He usually came straight from school and would stay back until late. He was a permanent fixture of my childhood and adolescence.

It must have been sometime after we left school that we started to drift apart. Vaithi went to Vellore to study engineering and I studied at our local arts college. He would come home during holidays but didn’t come by our house as often he used to. He had discovered books and movies and I had started to work at my father’s pharmacy during holidays. During the second year of college his father passed away and his whole family moved to Madras.

Memories of food - Milk Biscuits

(image courtesy - www.adelanwar.com)
I am ten years old and being sent away to spend my summer holidays with an aunt in Bombay. Somewhere in my luggage are 5 or 6 packets of Britania Milk Biscuits. My aunt has specifically requested for them. Milk Bikis are not yet available in Bombay and somehow Parle G is not quite the same. It's a long train journey and it takes all my will power to keep from me raiding the bag. But by the time we reach Pune, I can no longer resist the call of Milk Bikis. To hell with it, I think to myself, I'll just tell her the railway rats got it. I grab the bag I know contains the packets and plunge my hand into it. But inside I find a smaller cloth bag. And this one has its mouth sewn shut. The witch! I dare not rip the bag open because that would be a step too far. Instead I sulk to a corner seat and hope that I will at least get some crumbs. It's been two days since we arrived. The biscuits have disappeared into the kitchen. But I have a good ide…