In the lap of 'homefort'

You know how we scramble to 'make plans for the weekend'?I still see people do that. That familiar and often forced question, “What plans for the weekend?” creates a compulsion to relent and yield. I recall the pressure I used to feel to do something on the weekends. It could be a brunch with family, a coffee with friends, a movie in a crowded cinema, or ‘partying’ just to look and be cool, seeing the boyfriend (even if you didn’t want to), and the like. Somehow, in the hustle and bustle of life and the race to be the coolest, we missed out on the most beautiful things in life, its simplicity and appreciating its simple pleasures, living slowly yet fulfillingly.

But the narrative is now changing, thankfully. Enjoying the simple pleasures of home is unparalleled in comfort and contentment. No fancy trip or exotic travel destination can match what the good old comfort of home can do for our minds, bodies, and souls. The more I travel from Ahmedabad back home to Bombay, the more I appreciate and miss my time there, growing from an infant to a woman. Now, more importantly, I focus on creating memories in my adulthood.

During our phone conversations, my mother asked excitedly, "So, where do you want to go? What do you want to do?" I replied, "Mom, nothing. I just want to be home and do nothing." "Alright, what will you eat then? We can go out for lunch!" "Not at all", I replied. "Like I said, I just want to be home, rest, eat home cooked, spend time in our garden, reading under the sun, soaking my tired feet in its vital energy." "Alright then! I'll tell Dad to get us the fresh catch from Sassoon Dock, prawns and rawas!" "Deal!" I exclaimed.

After much plotting and planning, my daughter and I were finally on the Ahmedabad - Bombay Duronto express train. This overnight train gives us two perfect days of the weekend with my parents and pets - this is all I can afford now as a full-time working Mom of a junior schoolgoer.

And so we were home again in Bombay on that familiar street. I smiled at the bus stop from where I boarded hundreds of buses to get to college and extracurricular classes, the toy shops my brother and I visited every weekend begging my parents to buy us something, that friendly neighbourhood faces like the 'paanwala' and car washer who saw us grow from toddlers to teenagers and now to parents of toddlers. Similarly, we saw them age too. They were once so young, now their moustaches and beards were grey, their eyes sullen, but the friendly and well-wishing smiles remained.

An early morning train with no pantry meant I craved the morning roast. As soon as we got home, I showered, changed and quickly brewed a cuppa' Joe and sipped it while flipping the newspaper - a habit long gone!




I relished some meditative moments in our private garden that my parents tend to with utmost care, and never stop boasting about. The garden is home to a variety of flowers - white and delicate mogra, the loud and richly-shaded hibiscus, the seductive night-blooming jasmine (raat-raani), and the occasional and majestic 'krishna kamal' or passion flower. One cannot miss the proud 'oohs' and 'aahs' from my parents when the flowers blossom in all their vibrancy. The birds, sparrows, insects, butterflies and bumble bees, cannot resist them. Squirrels jump around causing a ruckus which is music to the ears. A bunch of parrots perch on the bird feeders adding to the noise and drama in the garden which is their stage.

Then came the scent of fresh fish and a familiar ritual began on our patio. The 'fish wala' was here with a large plastic bucket on his sweaty head carrying the fresh catch of the day.

I remembered this ritual like it was yesterday. Growing up, we waited every Sunday morning for the fisherman to arrive with his catch of the day. The menu was extensive: black pomfret, kingfish, tuna, Indian salmon, anchovies, crabs, prawns and tiny shrimp. At first, he would shout to announce his arrival, then knock at our gate to be let in.

My mother and father would haggle with him to bring down the prices otherwise they threatened him that they would buy from someone else. After long and loud negotiations, the 'fish wala' would relent. Today was no different. The ritual repeated. It almost felt like it was locked in a box of time and today the memory sprang from it.

The day passed faster than expected; it is a universal law almost - enjoyable time passes quickly. And so, it was lunchtime and the table was laid out with my promised favourites: the quintessential bright mustard-coloured prawn curry, the cool and tangy ‘Sol’ curry, made from coconut milk and ‘kokum’ [Garcinia indica], as an accompaniment to a meal or a post-meal digestive, steamed rice scentless yet fragrant.

                                Sol kadhi (curry) and prawn 'sambaara' (name for curry in Marathi)

The most basic Maharashtrian coastal meal, yet the most delicious, made tastebuds tickled and cheeks hurt. Clearly, it looked like it was going to be worth the wait! Then came out the ‘rawas’ fry, much like the cherry on the cake, glistening with oil and spices.

                                                Crackling & spicy 'rawas' fry (Indian salmon)

The rest of the weekend was spent playing with my pets - two dashing labradors, an eccentric cat, and a curious tortoise.

Once again, it was time to leave home in Mumbai to go home to Ahmedabad. There was some sadness, naturally, but also satisfaction. The satisfaction of having created fond memories, just doing nothing, yet everything. My soul thanks me. :)
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A source of Artspiration - The Art Book Center, Ahmedabad

We blame our big cities for being too fast, crowded, polluted and dirty. We curse the 'fast life' for making everything so hectic, robbing us off our time and peace of mind. But, if we pause and take a closer look, it is these very cities that hold rare and hidden gems that, fortunately, not many people know or care about. That gives explorers like myself the rare opportunity to visit them and immerse my senses into their spaces. 

These days, my weekend plans rarely include a trip to the mall or going for a movie. Instead, my heart is set on exploring history, culture, people, food - all important facets of the human story, our story. 

The Art Book Center was a pleasant surprise that welcomed me on an ordinary day. All thanks to my husband who convinced me despite all my doubting of his decision. On the side of a busy lane in the erstwhile hamlet of Madalpur, Ellisbridge, stands a two-story heritage structure beaming with bright colours of vivid red, turmeric yellow, and deep blue, adorned with decorations, handloom tapestries, trinkets, and all kinds of strange objects. 

A board identified it as, 'Art Book Center'. In the verandah sat a stern-looking, silver-haired man, glaring at me made me anxious. After a few fleeting eye contacts, I proceeded to the narrow lane looking for an entrance into the century-old building. Similar houses dotted the lane on both sides giving me a taste of Ahmedabad's days of old. The people seemed welcoming, friendly, helpful. One of them was kind enough to guide me in the right direction. 

The neighbourhood of Madalpur

The first floor of the Art Book Center

As I opened the beige-coloured narrow door, I reached a small landing, the wall had a decorative cloth framed on it. On the right was a steep wooden staircase - the whole scene created a bit of drama. It was quiet as I walked up the stairs that led me to a little yellow and red-painted gate. I opened it and went inside glancing at the little mirrors, hangings, and other playful objects that came alive giving the crammed space a timeless, artsy and bohemian aura. 

The chirpy coloured gate at the shop’s entrance

To the left, I was surprised to see the stern-looking and phlegmatic man now smiling and welcoming me to his haven of books. I entered a small room which was actually a house; it had another room in it both stacked with books of various sizes, vivd textures and colours. It seemed as if the room had no walls, just books piles to support the structure. 

Vintage and antique objects - A collector's paradise

The man proudly introduced himself as the owner of the 'Art Book Center' and started telling me the story of how it all began. While the man rattled on about his past, I glanced around the small square of a room. I was amazed at the expanse and depth that the rich collection of books lent it. It didn't matter that it was a small and humble space - the history, art, heritage, stories enriched it; the crystals, evil eye amulets, and other mysterious vintage items, that overwhelmed the shelves, gave it an unparalleled aura of mystery combined with curiosity and wonder. Even the most fancy and grand edifice would dull in its comparison. 

Manhar Bhai admires his collection

Manhar Bhai proudly told me about his deep love and passion for Indian textiles, handlooms, art and architecture; it was evident from his voracious collection which he boasted had been lauded by several celebrities and foreign visitors. The more we conversed, the more he got comfortable. He was featured on several media platforms, yet he maintained his humility. His son has joined the book selling business, he shares.

After many conversations and explorations, I picked up a book on the elements of Indian art; I ensured I picked something that was light on the pocket. The Art Book Center's collection isn't exactly cheap. Some collectors' books and other items run into the thousands, thanks to their rareness and the willingness of collectors to part with large sums of money to possess them. 

Just before I took his leave, Manhar Bhai said something to me. He said, "I can tell you are a good person by looking at your toes." I thanked him for his kind words, but was'nt surprised by the illogical statement; how can someone's toes be the judge of a person's character one may wonder. However, such statements are common. In the days of old, many an elder would judge one's character by the shape of their nose, the outline of one's face, etc. The logic? Nobody knows. 

For interesting conversations and to immerse into a magical world, visit Art Book Center at: https://www.artbookcenter.net/ .

Documenting The Street: A Personal Photography Project

After spending 10 beautiful years in Ahmedabad, finally, I feel that the city has accepted me and vice versa. The city of Ahmedabad amazes me. On one hand, it is growing and urbanising at breakneck speed. On the other, it preserves its centuries-old culture, traditions, and heritage so wonderfully. It is no surprise that is is named as a World Heritage City by the UNESCO and India's first heritage city! Proud moment for us 'Amdavadis'.

Being a working mother, getting time solely for yourself is something of a rarity. This may sound like an exaggeration, but my fellow mothers know what I'm talking about. This makes all the more harder for a solo trip enthusiast like myself! However, determination and a strong will can move mountains.

One fine day, I found myself walking through the narrow lanes of old Ahmedabad, asking directions, to strangers standing besides cracked walls and houses dating back many decades, to get to French Haveli - a recently restored 150-year-old heritage home.

          

French Haveli is situated in one of the ‘pols’ - gated communities existing since medieval times. These pols consist of residential structures three storeys-tall, with intricate carvings superimposed on their splendid exteriors, their architecture is intelligent and thoughtful. The central courtyard allows plenty of sunlight to enter the home yet keeps the rooms and corners cool under the blazing Gujarat sun. Heritage houses in the pols have entrances that open to a beautiful courtyard looking up at the sky.

On Saturday morning, I took the Heritage Walk tour through the Old City visiting temples, mosques, Jain derasars, tombs of kings and queens, a secret passageway, a dead poet’s home, multicoloured bird feeders, charming old homes, a famous alley lined up with bookshops, tea stalls, lemonade carts, and other captivating sights and sounds. The next day was spent mingling in the vibrant ‘Ravivari Bazaar’ (Sunday Bazaar) also known as ‘Gujri Bazaar’ (gujri meaning used or second hand).

The Ravivari Bazaar can easily be described as a chaotic mosaic of people, objects and experiences, that enrapture the viewer. Both sides of the winding street that stretch to the banks of the river Sabarmati walk us through a multicoloured tapestry richly woven with sights, sounds, smells, people and objects.

A kaleidoscope of colours tantalizes the senses by means of odd wares ranging from screwdrivers and tacks to antiques such as dialup telephones in red and black, glistening golden gramophones, abandoned typewriters, silver kettles, radios and polaroid cameras. As I walk on, I pass by vibrant displays of dry fruits, sherbet (lemonade), ice lollies, candy floss, sweetmeats, pickled tamarind, pan (betel leaf) and much more that add to this colour burst.

But the hallmark of this cultural sojourn were the the people whose warmth and authenticity struck a chord with my heart. I had the privilege to sit down with them, request them to pose for me and chat them up, and they happily obliged.

On display were scenes that tantalise the senses as they experience the wholesome, rugged, earthy, raw, authentic, dark, sweaty, real beauty of the one big human family. In the midst of all this chaos emerged unexpected warmth, curiosity, human emotions, connections and bonds. A sense of community, close-knit, committed to making the Gujri Market happen and continuing it decade after decade.

I captured these images with one objective in mind:

The street offers a myriad of elements that are important to document and make visible. They deserve to be valued for the incredible vibrancy and colour they contribute to the cultural landscape and social fabric. The aesthetic of the regular and the ordinary people on the street is natural, effortless and thus, fascinating. The people and their environment, the street, are unique, earthy and authentic. I scooted through the length and breadth of the 'Raviwari Market' or Sunday bazaar - a chaotic mosaic of people, scents, objects, community and drama. The market is a decades-old tradition that remains alive, thriving and constantly evolving - a very ecosystem in itself.

Relying on Home Cooks: A trend that is here to stay!

Photo by Stefan Vladimirov on Unsplash

In the past few years, my food aesthetic and sensibilities have swayed towards the soulful and authentic. A lavish 5-star buffet is of no interest to me anymore. It is too much work - getting dressed in high heels, for instance, to blend in with the ambience surrounded by people I have never seen and will never see after we pay the bill loaded with taxes for the costly meal.

Photo by Alice Kotlyarenko on Unsplash

Now, I relish tying my hair up in a messy bun, wearing my oversized pullover, putting on some lipstick and sipping wine, chatting away with my mum while my Dad quietly watches television, and our dogs and cat cuddle up close to us, creating the perfect atmosphere, one filled with warmth, joy and family time- the very essence of life! Pure bliss!

This year, I battled the cold, work, school and other excuses to celebrate the New Year with my parents who live in an art deco-style building in the busy lanes of South Bombay (yes, it will always be ‘Bombay’ for me). So, as soon as I realised that my daughter’s me and my 6-year-old daughter, who is more like a best friend and adventure partner to me, had been generous enough to grant their students a long weekend, I hurriedly booked my tickets on my favourite non-stop train from Ahmedabad to Mumbai (yes, it’s Mumbai now).

Scented candles named after colonial ports and exotic destinations, burn their flames dispersing their wondrous fragrance, bright lanterns sway in the breeze, our garden is dotted with hibiscus flowers in peach, red and white among other wildflowers, lichens and mosses are teeming with tiny snails.

I wanted to make New Year’s Eve as close as possible to a Christmas feast spread. So, what do you do when you are craving a wholesome New Year’s feast but don’t want to do the cooking? The answer is ‘home cooks”. Thanks to the power of Whatsapp and Social Media and delivery startups such as Swiggy and Zomato, home cooks have access to the market demand for home cooked food that is easy on the pocket and does not compromise on quality and quantity.

Aiya Patrao! is a home-cooked food venture started by a Malyali-Goan husband-wife duo in the warmth of their kitchen. After going through their Instagram profile loaded with sumptuous delights, I knew my work just got easier. I contacted Ms Marian, the Goan half of the duo, and she was most generous and patient in curating the festive menu. Simultaneously, I convinced my mother and father to experience the vibrancy of the Malabar coast and appreciate our country’s diverse heritage.

 

Photo by khloe arledge on Unsplash

Photo by allan ronson on Unsplash

I was excited to order the prawn balchao, an authentic Portuguese dish that has made a special place for itself in Goan cuisine. "We use Goa jaggery to give it a dull sweetness", Marian assured me when I let her know my concerns about overly sweet prawn recheado. Her other recommendations were the Goan kingfish curry and the chicken ishtu and appam to represent her Malyali husband's heritage. The combination sounded eclectic and she was confident we would love it."Learning about food is a lifelong process", she quipped.

Before we knew it, the blazing Bombay sun had subsided giving way to a pleasant afternoon breeze much like the extinguishing embers after a bright fire. The doorbell rang and a deivery executive from 'Porter' - a private delivery service home cooks swear by - was at the door.

As we unpacked the food containers and laid them out on our dining table, it came to life with a burst of colours and aromas - fresh seafood, the sweet spiciness of the calamari nestled in the Goan recheado sauce, subdued by the delicate balance of the fish caldeen curry. The chicken stew ‘ishtu’ and fluffy appams weren’t far behind. Only, the view of the foamy and playful sea seemed to be missing.

Photo by Prince Abid on Unsplash

Freshly baked plum cake with just the right dash of rum from the local bakery unearthed some delicious childhood memories. The sweet port wine concluded the most beautiful New Year’s Eve. In the past few years, people's food aesthetic and sensibilities have swayed towards the soulful and authentic. A lavish 5-star buffet is of little interest to those who want to explore the authentic flavours and make it about the experience rather than the place or the menu.

Aiyo Patrao delivers throughout South Mumbai and western suburbs. Give them a shoutout at @aiyo.patrao on Instagram and for some 'real' food!

Pickles for a cause

Wild Fiddlehead Fern pickle by Mahilaa Shweta 

I love supporting women-led initiaitves and businesses. Be it podcasts or pickles, blogs or breads, content or cakes - I love buying from women business owners, connecting with them, befriending them, helping them connect with each other and powering an ecosystem of feminine energy where women celebrate one another, and celebrate the magic that is womanhood. Being a woman is a celebration in itself.

A few years back, after giving birth to my daughter, I started my own venture singlehandedly and ran it as a one person company. However, the adventure didn't last long enough. No regrets either. We had a good run, that is what matters. 

'Mahilaa' (meaning woman in Hindi) is a woman-led initiative promoting women's Self Help Groups (SHGs) in the serene and idyllic state of Himachal Pradesh in Northern India. Women harvest the local seabuckthorn berries and make value-added products from it such as jams, pulp and herbal tea, others source the finest barley coffee, make pickles with wild fruits and plants, among other creations.

After connecting with them on Instagram and browsing through their catalogue of beautiful products and endearing quotes by Mahilaa's women, I knew I had to show my support. A few days back, I was happy to receive two cute jute bags with packets of blood red and rust orange seabuckthorn berries, that promise to keep you looking and feeling young, and a bottle of wild fiddlehead fern pickle. The cherry on the cake were the complimentary and thoughtfully gifted juniper leaves with medicinal properties. Gauri, the founder of Mahilaa advised me to burn the leaves in a bowl to ward off negativity and I did. 

Their pungent aroma was perfect for the wintry chill of Ahmedabad's evenings. I was even tempted to add some bay leaves to create the perfect blend for a warm and aromatic smoky cleanse. But that is for next time. The juniper cleanse was truly therapeutic, and the pickle for a cause, simply delicious!

Check them out on Instagram! @Mahilaa

The East Indian Bazaar: Experiencing Mumbai’s East Indian Food Heritage

East Indian exhibit owners engaged in conversation

While scrolling through my social media feed, hoping to find something interesting to do during my rare visit to Mumbai, an Instagram post by the Mobai Gaothan Panchayat caught my eye. The vividly coloured graphic screamed EAST INDIAN BAZAAR and voila! I knew I had to make a trip. 

Pickles made from meat and seafood are a staple in the East Indian diet

The East Indians are the original inhabitants of the island of ‘Bombay’ who were converted to Christianity by missionaries during colonial times. Over the centuries, their community has evolved, changed, adapted to the changing times and yet maintained their authenticity and distinct identity by conserving their culture and heritage - a blend of native, Hindu and Christian traditions. Their food exudes the textures, colours and aromas of this diverse blend that I was particularly excited to explore at the bazaar.

 

On a pleasant November evening, in the buzzing bylanes of Bandra West,  a steady stream of people looking their Sunday best made their way to the campus of the popular ‘Andrews’ college. In a humble enclosure, a dozen odd tables were lined up and vibrantly coloured with crochet handicrafts, shiny trinkets, colourful toys, books East Indian cooking and Christmas recipes, and pickles; others served hot food takeaway favourites like beef curry, tongue roast, pork vindaloo, mutton ‘paya’, potato chops, chicken hot dog rolls, fish balls; a counter or two was stacked with fugiyas (lightly sweetened flour balls fried and served warm), mawa cupcakes, and chocolate donuts, to coax parents and grandparents to take home for the kids. 

From Regina’s beef curry, pork sorpotel, and tongue roast, Susan auntie’s chicken and potato chops and pickles, to auntie Maria’s sweetmeats, visitors were spoilt for choice. As I browsed the setup, I was greeted by gregarious East Indian home cooks, entrepreneurs, uncles and aunties, mummies and grannies who beamed proudly at their displays, inviting the visitors to take a look. I made a dive for Susan’s potato chops generously filled with lightly - spiced and juicy minced chicken and mashed potato, and a few packets of fresh fugiyas. 

Potato chops: A favourite East Indian starter filled with minced chicken & potato

Regina aunty persuaded us to try her sun-dried fish and shrimp, a staple in coastal communities. My friend obliged and grabbed a packet of sun dried ‘bombil’ fish (Bombay duck) sticks, a box of mutton curry, and soft white sannas (dumplings made from rice - a common feature of coastal food that accompany savoury curries). The wide range of pickles was a sweet surprise displaying an eclectic mix of fruits, vegetables, meat and seafood. I could only imagine the number of delicious flavours that resulted from these well-balanced permutations and combinations. We were also introduced to the ‘letri’ - a sweet and colourful concoction of rice, coconut, and vermicelli which is made for special occasions. 

Books on East Indian cooking and delicacies by Abigail Rebello

The 'letri' - a traditional sweet dish

As we made it to our final table selling traditional and brightly-coloured East Indian 'lugda’ or saree, I concluded that East Indian food mainly consists of decadent dishes, and comfort food, rich in meat, grease, and fat, making it flavourful and wholesome. But, above all, it is the East Indian people themselves that made this whole experience wonderful thanks to their endearing personalities, cheerful vibes, and a great love for food!

 

 

 

Intimate Rituals

Getting "me-time" or time for self love and care is a rarity. On the very rare occasion, when I do get the time to indulge myself in just "being", I often sit at my modestly decorated and cozy desk in my home office. Fragrant candles accompanied by a dim lamp cast a warm glow around the room illuminating spiritual objects, works of art, handmade baskets and, of course, my books. All these characters on the stage, that is my desk, lend a beautiful and wholesome aura to my space.

Today being a Sunday, I started preparing for my weekly intimate ritual around 4 PM. This is the time when I'm all by myself stirring tea or coffee not because I crave it, but because it completes my ritual. The very sight of a piping hot cup of tea or a mug of coffee resting on my desk, while the sounds of thunder and rain play in my ASMR playlist, create an atmosphere that inspires me as an author, writer and thinker. The whole setup almost feels like a writer's retreat in an old cottage nestled away in the dark mountains while the monsoon rages away, and all one can do is simply write in the warmth and the chaos.

Today's intimate ritual also included the burning of juniper leaves sent to me, all the way from North India, by a kind woman who runs a collective promoting women small business owners. They make pickles and marmalades, source the best seabuckthorn fruits and barley coffee. The eco-friendly packaging read, "You are making an impact"and the juniper leaves were sent to me as a gift for being kind and honest. Indeed, karma pays forward. I was asked to burn the juniper leaves to usher out negativity. As I lit the juniper leaves with the flame of my candle, they crackled and burst emanating a fragrant and calming smoke much like the 'dhoop' or incense we utilise for our daily worship. 

I walked around my house barefoot carrying a bowl with the smoky juniper leaves, while the candles burned in my imaginary cottage, and the rain and thunder reached a crescendo signalling the success of my intimate ritual.