On this evening spent

When I came back home today the sunlight was just fading. As I turned the key and opened the door to our apartment I could see the faint light through the curtains that cover the French windows in our living room. I switched on a light as soon as I entered though, out of habit, immediately shutting out any trace of the remaining daylight. I put the keys on the foyer along with the cards and some loose change. I pulled out the cell phone from my bag and plugged it in for charging. The battery had long died. I walked across the hall, to open the doors of the three rooms one by one. First the bedroom. I peeked in out of habit but did not enter. Then the study where I switched on a solitary dim light. And then the guest room. Where we have been sleeping for a few weeks now because that is the only room where the air conditioning works and we have been too busy to get the others repaired.

I didn’t take the clothes off the clothes hanger today. I didn’t feel an urgent need to fold them and put them away immediately. I noticed that we were out of drinking water. But I was not irked by the fact that it should have been ordered yesterday. I picked up the phone and dialed the number for the convenience store. They didn’t pick up the first time. I calmly dialed again. I had already decided that I’ll take out the ice cubes from the freezer and let them melt so that I could pour the water into a bottle and use it. But they picked up. I placed my order and floated to the bedroom.

The house, our house, was empty. Normally I resented it. Bitterly. I would spoil my mood thinking how I had no one to come back to at the end of the day. I would always remind myself how lonely I was.

But strangely today I had looked forward to being alone. Not lonely but being on my own.

I took a long hot shower using a bath gel that I had bought months before but never used. I dried myself and stood in front of the bathroom mirror scrubbing my face. I applied a face pack after almost a year. I rinsed it away when it dried and applied cream that promised to keep my skin hydrated through the night. A cream, that S brought me last year when she visited from the States. And I took it out of the box today. I put on my nightclothes and toyed with the idea of giving myself a pedicure. Too much work, I thought. I lit an incense stick. The smell of sandalwood filling the whole house instantly.

For dinner I would mash boiled potatoes with my hand and mix it with some salt and mustard oil. There will be a boiled egg. I’ll sit on the floor of the living room eating the egg and potatoes with rice. I will add generous amounts of ghee to the rice and bite small bits off a green chilly while I devour my meal.

When I am in bed later tonight night, I’ll read for as long as I want. I might forget to switch off the light. I might also lie in the center of the bed and use all the four pillows for my comfort.

All this sounds rather strange to myself. Really. As I sit in the living room, typing this on my laptop and listening to the drone of the air conditioning, I realize how much I had missed being by myself. How much I had missed doing exactly what I felt like doing. Without rush, without thinking.

It is odd, one might think. But it is today after eight hours of work, three hours of commute, the prospect of eating rice with generous amounts of ghee, the scent of sandalwood and the new bath gel that I feel close to myself again.

Yes, I admit that it sounds unreal. But I seem to have muchly missed my time alone.

On an answer found

This last Sunday I made mutton curry at home. (Yes, that is an achievement in itself and achievement so significant that I had to use that as the opening line for my post!). Now, the mutton curry was good and we finished every last drop of the gravy with generous amounts of rice. R went to the bedroom shortly after that, slipped under a quilt, let out a big sigh and said “marital bliss”. With a smile that lit up his sleepy face.

Even though I kissed him and tucked him in nice and warm, it got me thinking. Thinking deep. Is this what marital bliss is about? A good meal and an afternoon siesta? What about the bigger things? Things that have more meaning? Shouldn’t they be a part of the marital bliss first? (It becomes imperative to mention here that at that point in time I still had not figured out what “bigger” things could constitute marital bliss but I was sure that there were “bigger” things).

Two days later. I came back from office freezing in the wind chill and promptly sprinted my frozen behind to the warm bedroom and slipped under the quilt after having changed into more comfortable clothing. I whined about how cold it is and how I do not want to get out of bed. Come dinner time R went and heated up the dinner, stacked everything on a tray, got it to the bedroom, waited patiently till I finished, took back everything again and came back to tuck me under the quilt. Oh! And kept a water bottle on the bed side table. As I lazily disappeared under the comforter, I smiled and said to myself “marital bliss”.

And right there, under my quilt on a cold Tuesday night, I found my answer!

Diwali

is over.

The Rangoli is gone, the diyas are gone, the candles are over. R burst his fair share of firecrackers, I stood at the farthest corner possible, draped in a new saree of black and gold with a few Phooljharis in my hand cringing every time a cracker burst in the vicinity (that is to say, every other second right beside me). The lights from my balcony will come down tomorrow. Life will go back to being muchly mundane. We will all go back to work, to our daily commute, the songs on the radio and no particular mad rush of getting back home.

The Diwali ended well. With a traditional Bengali dinner complete with finger licking mutton curry, tomato chutney and narkel naru.

The Diwali brought with it a nice crisp breeze, a slight chill in the air, the mellow warmth of the sun and walks any time of the day. Yet now when the sunlight falls squarely on my east facing balcony, a slight heartache tells me I am missing something. It brings me tears of both joy and sorrow. Of loved ones coming and loved ones leaving.

But then there is tender daybreak. A new day, every day. It brings a little bit of hope for all of us. Hope of holding on, hope of letting go. Hope of being able to smile one more time before wiping away hidden tears.

Yes. Diwali is over. All that is left behind now is the strange feeling of nostalgia, the sudden feeling of emptiness. And the lamps, waiting to be lit again next year.

Of a bad dinner and terrible cravings

I have had an awful dinner. But that’s not the worst part. That bad dinner has left me craving for the following, none of which I can have for sometime now.

Luchi

Kosha Mangsho

Alur Chop

And yes, I am the self confessed quintessential hungry hippo. I am the one who lives to eat. And I cannot take my eyes off that Kosha Mangsho.

Anyone in the mood for offering some comfort to a hungry soul?

Review- Dinner at The Monk and some other things

So after much ado on Thursday night with the regular pouting, arched eyebrows (R’s yes, mine don’t arch) and confused looks R decided to take me out for a surprise dinner to “The Monk”. I had already seen the restaurant and knew about it but R thought since I didn’t “know” where we were going when we set out (it’s a different matter that I figured that out within five minutes or so), it was a “surprise”. Point noted and after exercising much consideration R is duly forgiven. 

So we reached the restaurant which was being managed by a rather hassled manager. His attitude added to my already existent headache and slightly bitter mood. I guess it is better to make reservations if you are planning to dine there on any night of the week. So after some grudges and exchange of scathing glances we managed to get a seat at a far end of the restaurant. Where there is no service available. Really. R had to go and call the manager to get the menus. So choose a better seat, preferably where you (or your raised hands)are in the Manager’s clear line of sight.

Drinks. Screwdriver was very strong. Had to send it back. Needless to say R’s fancy schmancy cocktail with tequila and all was also rather strong. Which he did not send back but chose to drink and relieve his “stress”. The Screwdriver that came back was drinkable.

Starters were good. We ordered dumplings and they do have a good variety to choose from. They were nice, hot and juicy. You can select lamb, chicken, fish, seafood or plain veggies. We had chicken dumplings with roast garlic I think. Liked that.

Main course was alright. They offer a variety of noodles and rice to choose from and all of them come with either some gravy or sauce or in plain hakka style. They are presented in rather large bowls from where they serve you in smaller bowls. So essentially you end up eating out of a bowl. R liked the food and the concept immensely. He loved the steamed rice with shredded lamb in black pepper sauce and the Udong noodles (dry noodles) with chicken and green peppers and some other veggies.

 I could say that the food was moderately spiced and the flavors blended in quite well.  I am not a big fan of eating out of bowls and indo-chinese that is not greasy enough or spicy enough. Doesn’t matter if all that bad grease and spice makes my tummy all upset. Nothing short of that can satisfy my bar of indo-chinese cuisine. 

The food and the drinks were decently priced and seating is on the top floor of a mall. The restaurant has an open kitchen. Ambience is nice and there is live piano on some days (about Thursday, I am confident). Good experience and you should try it once.

To get there, if you are driving on NH-8, then take the 32nd Milestone exit and go towards Galaxy Mall. The restaurant is in the Mall itself. Valet parking is available.  

 

And at this point, I shall digress slightly and mention that I successfully wore a saree last night in two minutes flat. And it draped perfectly. I was quite surprised with myself but just had to gloat about my saree draping skills here. There was a slight mismatched lipstick and unwashed and hence unruly hair problem. I suck at “putting make up in a hurry” skills. But oh, the saree! Now that’s what I am REALLY proud of.