Disclaimer,
Finally a brief post. The Auckland SS Meet happened a week ago. This time, last week, I was rushing through my house chores, sorting out lunch, changing my saree decision at the last minute.
The few weeks prior to this had been late night chatting with the amazing organisers Gargi, Krithika, Melanie, Urvashi, Manasi. And the week of the meet, meeting with venue owners, organising gifts, and the list goes on..
In the end, a highly successful meet, even if I say so myself.
And what constitutes a succesful meet?
Just basically, Happy beautiful inspiring empowered ladies dressed to dazzle, mingling, sharing experiences, haikus, poems, stories.
Listening in awe to the Guest Speaker Nilima Venkat, whose story touched a common vein in some, inspired all.
Playing games, taking photos, with gay abandon.
An evening of great food, drink, company with kindred souls.
There I was, one such inspired, empowered Sakhi, dressed, draped in a Red and Green Raw Pattu/silk, Veldari/checked podavai/saree. Red gold checked body, green pallu and blouse. The yarn has 3 silks and 1 gold cotton thread, braided and then yarned . 4 braids form a patch which is the reason raw silk sarees are thicker than normal silk. That 3 silk and cotton combo add the Shine to the Saree.
I generally hardly accessorise, but my girls selected a neck piece and had gifted me a handbag, and as usual, a dozen shots made it difficult for me to select what goes on Saree Speak, I succumbed to vanity and indecision and here they are.
Disclaimer again,
well alright then, a slightly longer than brief post.
Feeling, loving my beautiful kindred soul, Vimal Kumar. All love, hugs.
Vimal Is. Not here? But she Is. In our memories of Yesterday’s Navarathris No 518, 134 jalan berhala, 6 Kanowindra Crescent; Orchestra rehearsals School Break Bored to Bits Armed with Violins, Veena, Vocals We Made Music Myriad Memories Paatti on Harmonium Vimal on Violin; Christmas Choirs, Belting out John Denver, Carpenters; Coffee and Cake At Home, At Cafes; Vimal Is. Here. In our Memories, Minds, Souls. How can she not be? When She Is. Sealed in Us. And Us in Her. So, Vimal Is.
Of things that stand out and things that fade into the background.
The week has been a whirlwind of activity. As per the usual, in my non eventful life.
Organisational challenges at work.
All week, Up early, work, home, music, cooking, bed late.
But some things stand out, not like a sore thumb, but like a gold butti on a saree, an Annapakshi on a silk border, a contrast pink border on a bottle green saree, or a twinkle in a loved one’s eye, a loud giggle in a quiet movie theatre.
Let me list them.
Stellar moments.
A Friday serving of a late night murder mystery after dinner and an interesting conversation with the girls.
On a Sunday of classes, house chores, prepping meals – connecting with the girls – music practice.
A Monday of full on work – chamber music concert of a young vainika.
A Wednesday of listening to my young ones read their music assignments on ‘Why they believe music is important’, ‘Why they chose the veena’. Will post essays in comments later.
Proud, yet humbled, touched, with renewed hope that candles have been lit, flames will be nurtured for years to come.
A week of sighing over videos and photos of the prestigious UK Darbar Festival at which my young nephew performed under the auspices of the famed Akram Khan, Mavin Khoo.
And connecting. With friends with whom I do a teeny weeny bit of Yoga. Watched The Connected Universe. Realised that much of what was expounded, is age old wisdom of our sages and seers of yore. We get what we put out. Cosmological physics and Quantum Physics. Eintein and Planck. Father of Relativity, Father of Quantum Theory. Underlying Themes of gratitude and the universe’s feedback loop.
Great moments leap out. Most of the time. If we take the time to stop and just be.
So, in an attempt to align myself with the week’s flow, here I am, a spash of colour, vivid, standing out/no, sitting down against a black and white background. Saree was gifted by my girls’ music teacher over 10+ years ago, a double toned gold and olive green silk cotton with a red and gold border and pallu. Stark, striking in its simplicity.
And the blacks and whites!
Contrasting shadows emanating from a brass lamp.
Vivid expression of beauty and hope.
Reassuring.
Saturday comes and I don’t feel like doing chores. Brainwave hits. Told my husband ‘let’s move house, so that i don’t have to clean this house. We will start afresh in a new house, when we don’t feel like cleaning that, we will move’. My second one chirps in ‘yes appa, I’m done with my room. It’s too small and it’s yellow. I need a new room with an attached bathroom and in a different colour’. Reminded her that she’d asked for her room to be painted yellow when we’d moved in. And husband and friend had dutifully painted it a sunny yellow. For a split second, the poor soul looked at me with a mix of pity, confusion and horror. He must have thought that this 55 year old had finally lost her marbles. Then off he went to potter in the garden. I had glimpsed bricks, bags of soil, compost, pots on the side of the house. Anyway, set about cooking lunch while one girl vacuumed, the other hung, folded clothes and the like. The younger one had heard the conversation and called me over to look at some properties. Wow, such beautiful acres of land, overlooking the sea, swimmimg pool, 6 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, granny flat, dining area, living area, formal entertaining area and so on. Got excited and asked her what the price was. Almost fell over in shock. The silly sook had searched for houses in the range of 3 to 8 million. Gave her a withering look which probably washed over her. Fell back to stark reality. Some time later, he comes in for a cold lemonade. Went out to view his handiwork. Amazing. He’d prettified, for lack of a better word, our front yard. Daughter said when driving around, what with spring/summer here, they’d seen some beautifully landscaped gardens and he must have felt so envious. A Case of Envy is good. Cooked, light house cleaning , if there is such a thing. Had friends over for evening tea. Sevai, palaharams, milky sweet tea, green tea, juices. Lovely company and conversation. Invited to a late dinner. Was presented belated gift of a gorgeous glass vase of spring flowers. Wore this a few days before, seated in a much loved corner of my current home, not planning to move anytime yet, now that chores are done and my daughter’s search skills leave much to be desired, the stairs to the music-puja room. In a peachy pink Kanjivaram saree with bright magenta shocking pink and gold borders and pallu . Gold buttis, Gold lines on body. Mangos, flying birds not swans, on pallu. Let me share a little story behind this saree. Nov 9 1992. A gift from husband on my first birthday celebrated after marriage. Hosted a morning puja. Ground dosa ma, made sambar, chutney, amongst other dishes, tied my saree with pallu left down. Mum, being a stickler for neatness, and worried that I was also going to be making dosa with pallu down, chided me, for not pleating pallu and for dosa ma not having been ground properly. I’d used a standard wet grinder instead of her powerful food processor mixie. Surprisingly, all loved the breakfast. Mum forgot about everything once she saw everyone enjoying the food and complimenting me, my saree, the puja and food. Added another photo when I’d worn the saree during a navarathri puja in 2009. Oh yes, just edited. Matched with a flowery pink blouse.
Making palaharams. Preparing to feed friends. Padayal for Naraka Chaturdashi. A simple dinner. An elaborate lunch. Snacks.
Cooking.
I have a choice.
I can cook calmly
or
hyperventilate frantically.
But I’ve come to realise, if I know what I’m going to do, and by that I mean,
write it in notes on my iPad, my home phone, my office phone, my diary on my kitchen bench, my notes on my fridge, I’ve had my Nespresso strong Kazar or Dharkan coffee, and yes, no sugar.
Then I will start.
I have a system. I’ve got it sorted it to a pat. And it actually seems to work for me. I can churn out dishes without having to wash the wok even once. Alright it’s a non stick huge one presented by mom when she visited. She and hubby made sure they got rid of the old one she had given on a previous visit umpteen number of years ago.
All relatively sattvic, garlic-onion free non spicy stuff first. Then the chilli powder ones, finally the curry powder, garam masala, onion, garlic ones. And voila I’m done.
Desserts, I bring out my special pot and spoon and do the needful.
The trick is to go with the flow, not worry about the outcome, not worry about what tasters will comment.
All the while, I remain calm, composed, and actually feel a little love towards the urid and channa dhalls tempering/thalichifying/tadkaing on the stove, or the onions browning.
I get a buzz,
Pouring coconut cream onto the lentils, or
Making curd rice : adding cold milk to hot rice, mashing rice with my fingers, feeling the warmth of rice and the cold of the milk, squashing it into a soft mash, adding thick Greek yoghurt,
Pouring tempered mustard, cummin, curry leaves, hing, dried chillies, urad dhall onto the creamy white mixture.
Highly therapeutic.
(Alright, if I’ve overdone it with the number of dishes and I have just an hour left to clean the kitchen, and shower, then that’s quite another panic laden story).
Anyway, here I am after one relatively normal rehab session preparing prasad/dinner for a recent Purnima Puja.
Feeling calm, at peace, in a rusty-gold silk saree with gold borders and pallu, the entire body has embroidered leaves in dark rust brown. Gifted by a student during Vijayadasami last year. Just got the blouse sewn. Photo taken after all had left, kitchen, home, puja room cleaned, before midnight, team effort.
Disclaimer – Extremely long post. Gets longer with age.
“To live in this single moment, this lightest breath, this softest touch, to be captured by this smallest, this briefest space of time, to be fully present, alive, consumed by this instant alone, this is truly living” ~ Jim Pendley.
I saw this on an FB post on Friday and was immediately floored.
So true, eh?
I would like to live this.
Saturday was my born-day.
Awoke, feeling grateful? Happy?
The night before, all night, that morning, I had messages on whatsapp, viber, social media wishing me. Felt humbled, overwhelmed, touched by love, blessings showered.
Family had asked what I wanted.
Wanted to spend the whole day with them.
And so the celebrations started the evening before.
With my girls, Mediterranean cuisine, then a feel good chick flick romantic movie.
At the stroke of midnight, I was hugged, wished.
Rose early, coffee.
Draped a midnight blue cotton silk with gold and magenta brocade borders, temple korvais, gold and pink pallu, gifted by a student during Navarathri. This is our secret – blouse is being sewn, so I matched it with another saree’s blouse, husband asked if it was the correct blouse, he is quite obsessed with exact matches and believes that sarees don’t stand out if matched incorrectly. I lied convincingly that it was and decided I’d tell him later once the actual blouse appeared. Or maybe not. 😎 What doesn’t destroy you will make you stronger. He will learn to accept unmatched stuff.
Temple.
Friend’s place, where I was served some delicious lemony, aval uppma, with grated carrots, mango, coconut followed by mango dessert with curd, garnished with almonds and pistachios. So sweet of her, she presented me with some beautiful pearls, to be strung later.
Home.
Off for lunch at a dear friend’s restaurant for Chettinad cuisine.
She hadn’t known it was my birthday when I’d called her to book a table.
She then found out on social media.
Oh the perils of FB.
So at the end of the meal, she brought in 2 glorious mango kulfis, one with a candle, mouth wateringly delicious, washed it down with Madras Kaapi.
Stopped at a garden nursery for Suresh to pick up some pots and compost to plant his newly acquired plants.
Home, just a few chores.
Napped, actually didn’t. Trying to answer messages, calls.
Spoke to mum, sisters, sister in laws, friends overseas.
Anusha had her dance and vocal classes. Vindhya was off to buy some stuff.
Tea with Suresh.
Was getting ready for the evening’s outing when the girls kept calling for me.
Hair in a shower bun, powder plastered on my face, got to the hall to see the table decorated with balloons, streamers, and a tiny black forest cheesecake. And Anusha’s little students and moms. Singing Happy Birthday.
Touched, cut a tiny black forest cheesecake, each had a tiny slice.
Opened my lovely gifts of some beautiful dress purses, large and small, perfect to go with my sareeing, gift cards, plants, flowers, chocolates and yes, running shoes! Hint? Well, you cant get more blatant than that!
Off to a luxurious movie-dinner experience.
Watched a heart warming movie, a light hearted look at dark times. A satirical black comedy. Well acted, well directed.
Home.
More messages, put them aside to answer over the next few days,
Spoke to my life long kindred spirits in Perth. In KL.
Went to bed, feeling grateful, even more so than when I’d risen that morning, feeling loved, appreciated.
Feeling love.
Now for a Post Script, a PS, a Disclaimer. So many friends had called, wished, written messages, saying Superwoman, Multi tasking, Multi talented or to that effect. I will say this now. Super? Multi? Maybe. Maybe not. Reason is, I have no filter. I have an obsessive need to regurgitate my day’s goings on. I am no less, no more, no different from any woman I know, a superhero in her own right. And I think I have no fear, I believe in myself, I am also trusting. I allow people into my life, my home, in the hope that it may make them smile, chuckle, burst into fits of giggles, relate to me, that positivity will breed more positivity, inner strength, self confidence and happiness. I love it when someone somewhere says she relates to something I’ve said and it may be about housework. And then the conversation starts, I’ve made a friend, and I dont feel judged or crazy. I actually feel accepted. So.. Dear friends, unleash your inner creativity, share your thoughts, experiences, feelings, someone will relate to you and everyone, you included, will feel much the better for it. Stay blessed one and all. Much love.
Long day at work. Challenging past week. Trying to get my head around things. Remembering my dad’s advice, in my teens. “Don’t waste your energy grumbling or moping about something. Channel that energy wasted wallowing in negativity into doing something positive”. Lost him the year of my Form 3. But when studying for exams, if I felt like giving up on a topic, his words used to ring clear and I’d fervently channel whatever energy I had left to complete my study. That’s been my motto ever since. Don’t mope around. Well alright, if only for a little while. Go cry on someone’s shoulder of if you’re not up to that, sob in the shower. Then dry your tears and yourself of course, look for solutions, ask for help, get support, get moving. So there I was, some days ago, back from a function, home alone, no one to take my shots. Tried some selfies. Apologies for blur snaps. So when I removed my Saree, I took a few shots of just the saree. Saree would’ve been happy, not having me hog the limelight. (Shubha Nafrey, see comments for botched clicks). Draped my Reception Saree from 1991. A heavy rich wedding saree, purplish kanjivaram silk with gold lines through the body, magenta pink borders and pallu. Mangoes, swans/peacocks in gold on borders and pallu. Absolutely special saree, every warp, weft, a precious memory of our marriage.
DISCLAIMER. Long post, the usual start-of-a-weekend rambling, very unlike Bridget Jone’s Diary. Quiet almost boring weekend. Well, yes, quite boring, considering the fact that I zoom through weekends the way a child (or an adult) would zoom through a Malteser pack. Had changed all bedsheets – master bedroom, girls’ rooms, the evening before. Got up early that Saturday, as husband had to be at work. Sat with coffee, Anusha vaccumed, Vindhya was completing an evaluation report after her first-year 2 week placement. I threw laundry in, cotton sheets, pillow cases, quilt covers, then dusted, and half heartedly attempted the bathrooms and toilets. Warm, sunny, spring day so hung sheets to dry. Vindhya said she’d fold the clothes once she’d completed her assignment. (She dutifully handed it in on the due date, Tuesday – OCD me skilfully navigated the mountainous pile that very evening). Back to Saturday. An accomplished procrastinator, promised myself that I’d do the kitchen, bathroom floors and showers, well, maybe in the evening (I never did). Showered. Anusha cooked while I supported, more physically than emotionally. She made sambar and insisted on throwing in green apple slices and spinach leaves with the aubergines. Also served up a delicious chillied okra with, wait for it, pear! Cleaned kitchen, went to lie down. Anusha had her dance and vocal classes, Vindhya had her nose and whole being in her report. While I, got heavily involved in “Living with Yourself” on Netflix. Read a paragraph of a ‘thinking’ book and promptly fell asleep. (Don’t even ask me the title, because even thinking about it, makes me drowsy). Moral of this Post – “Do your housework all Saturday morning so that you can nap in the afternoon then wake up calm, relaxed and dunk ginger nut biscuits in a steaming cup of tea”. Emulating the calm, relaxed look, a day later, even though the kitchen, bathroom floors and showers are patiently waiting to be done. Draped in a white and cool green soft silk, white body with gold buttis, gold borders, green and gold pallu, gifted by a student during Navarathri a few years ago. Just got the blouse sewn, so this is a first time wear. Stay calm, relaxed, dear Sakhis. Enjoy your tea and bikkies.
A delayed post as usual. My apologies. A lot is going on this week. Challenges, changes. More of that in another post. Deepavali was hectic. No let me rephrase that. Pre Diwali was hectic. The dinner exhausted the family. By the time we achieved a semblance of sanity, it was way past the witching hour. Deepavali per se was quiet. Oil baths, lots of oil lamps/divas/deepams.New clothes. Puja. We got the house and garden in order, then husband cooked a very light but extremely delicious simple meal of white rice, mor rasam and mint coriander thuvaiyal. Fried some sago chips and appalam. Ate, power-napped, then in the evening, husband prepped a lovely potato dish to be eaten with left over roti canais. Had-enough-of-excitement Suresh clan, finally sat down, gulped down dinner and had twinges of nostalgia alternating with frenzied fits of the giggles, looking at all photos taken during our recent overseas vacation. Then called family on both sides, in different continents, different time zones. Not having them physically around is our only regret during festivals and family functions. By the time, greetings were shouted across, smiles frozen on iPad screens, videos of sofas and kitchen sinks instead of people, we were ready to call it a day. The next morning, lucky us had the day off as it was Labour Day and it also happened to be Day 1 of Kandasashti. Got dressed in new sarees/kurta veshti and off we went to the temple. Well, actually we visited 3 temples. So here I am, in a checked, cotton silk, extremely soft and gorgeous, Saree, like the wonderful soul, who’d gifted it to me on returning from her holiday in Sri Lanka and India. The checks are in parrot green, purple, blue, gold. (The girls draped beautiful, floral organza sarees in pink and light green. I don’t have to worry about posting children’s photos here – my girls will have none of that. You can stalk them on Instagram instead). I have resorted to my exotic pose of sitting on terracotta tiled stairs, while the younger one, delegated to photographer of the day, takes some random number of photos. I made the mistake of sitting on the second step so excuse the squatting pose. I browse through photos and this time I am definitely not spoilt for choice – only one shot has turned out ok, so it works out well for me and the SS group, 1 Saree per post! Maybe one day I will show you the rest, eyes closed, frowning, squinting at something behind the photographer, my petticoat showing, and wait for it..yawning!
Usual Disclaimer – Rambling post. Had taken leave from Thursday for the Festival of Lights, Deepavali, Diwali. What makes a festival so special? As with everything in life, it’s the days leading up to the THE day. And sometimes because the path or our journey on that path is so eventful that the actual destination or the day becomes an anti climax. I have always loved the idea of families getting together to make palaharams for Deepavali, or setting up the altar room for Navarathri, or putting up the Christmas tree for Christmas. I love the jokes, squabbles, everything about it. I hang on it, in the earnest, fervent hope, that these traditions, rituals, are passed down to the next generation, to my daughters, nieces, stutdents so that they do the same with their progeny. Remembering my grandmothers and aunts huddling around coal stoves frying muruku, achu muruku and ribbon muruku in batches. Storing them in huge metal biscuit tins grudgingly given by grocery shop owners. Us children playing tag and hide-and-seek in the garden, kari-masak, baby sitting the younger ones, no maids then. The uncles lounging on chairs in the hall or verandah, supposedly watching us. Where has all this gotong-royong, doing-things-together gone? Most families have become nuclear. I fondly remember mum filling huge eversilver trays with palaharams and offering to chinese neighbour on our left, malay neighbours in front, indian neighbours on the right. Those were the days when festivals were celebrated in full force, with such gusto. On our first Deepavali in ‘92 as a married couple, we attempted Muruku, ribbon muruku using hastily written recipes from mum, mysore pack from my dear aunt, who’s not with us anyone, mixture from Rajamani Akka, fondly known as Pa ka. These recipes, written in illegible script, adorn pages of my recipe file, which I still refer to, to this day. Each year, each time, I read half pound ghee and translate that to grams, I remember my dear Kuantan Mami (yes, we all have aunts and uncles named after the towns they used to live in) telling me to add besan flour tablespoon by tablespoon carefully into the ghee, until mixed, something which I never do anyway. But..every time I take that first bite of melt in the mouth deliciousness, (apart from other instances, of course), I remember mami with fondness, she lives on. Anyway, that first Deepavali was spent making palaharams together, hastily letting down the hem of new curtains the tailor had made according to someone else’s specifications. We’d also visited an antique shop, found a beautiful Sleeping Buddha relic to adorn our home that Deepavali. He’s been on a special position on the staircase in our previous home and he now lies peacefully on my father’s antique turntable/radiogram set, beside a Tibetan prayer bowl, crystals and Himalayan salt lamp. I am digressing. Over the years, I have attempted this family palaharams making with sisters, cousins, mum, aunts. I now do this with my daughters and husband here. Celebrating in a land so far away from your homeland or your place of birth, can be difficult, but in this adopted land, we who once started off nuclear, have a large extended family of friends. Held my usual annual pre Deepavali dinner at my home with a diverse, international group of friends from South Africa, Zambia, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Singapore, Gujarat, Punjab, Mumbai, Bengal, Andhra – my, Suresh’s, Anusha’s, Vindhya’s friends. Children, adults mingling, chatting, playing Pictionary, Articulate, charades. Malaysian fare. Totally vegan. Kuey teow. Rojak. Meehoon. Fried rice. Roti canai with dhall and soya curry. Vegan prawn curry. Vegan sesame chicken. Vegan lemon chicken. Sweet sour tofu vege. Vegan satay and peanut sauce, see foodspeak for photos. Lots and lots of desserts. One dessert made by husband who stayed up till 2am the night before to painstakingly ensure it turned out well. Once again, let’s recap? What’s in a Festival? Love. The love you feel, that surrounds you, when you give, receive, share, laugh, rejoice, reminisce, yes and even cry. Happy Deepavali dearest Sakhis, I have not met so many of you, but reading about you, what makes you tick, your love, your day, your comments, makes me feel I’ve known you all my life and that if I were to meet you in person, we’d just take up from where we’d left off in the virtual world. Here’s wishing you Light. Love. Peace. Happiness. Great health. Prosperity. Lots of love to each and everyone of you. The day before Deepavali, I am in a teal blue linen silk, which also looks sky blue in certain lighting, with royal blue checked borders and white and teal striped pallu. Refreshed after a shower, ready to take on the evening ahead. See below for photos of food and my daughter’s rangoli art.
Bavani’s Happy Place 