H - Home

I’m particularly feeling homesick these days probably because I’m falling sick too often, way too often. And I don’t know which one of these is probable cause but every time I close my eyes I can smell the familiar smells of…. home.

Like the mustiness of my clothes cupboard that my sister has taken over. Like the earthiness of garden soil with the flowering plants that Grandma loves more than us. Like the crunchy oiliness of the dosa and the milkiness of the tea that Mariamma akka (the house help who is more like family) makes for us for breakfast. Like the boy smell of my brother’s room. Like the slight rust and metal smell of the motor room. Like the all-pervading dog/zoo smell that comes with having five dogs that I miss every day. Like the warm cat smells of those little rascals who insist on sitting and preening on my pillows (the six cats are now everywhere and I miss tripping over them). Like the book-y smell of Grandpa’s room where I sometimes go and wish I could smell him, his Ayurveda oil and cologne and scruffy cheek and match dissection and his reprimands. Like wisdom and experience that comes with having lived an era. Like planes that he worked with and the stories he told. Like the love he cocooned me in, his kuttammi. Like the sister’s deodorant that I really, really hate. Like the sister that I really, really love. Like unwashed clothes and tones of my books in the brother’s room. Like my brother, all six feet of uncuddlable, awkward teenager-y him that I love catching into a bear hug mostly out of love and sometimes out of love for embarrassing him. Like Mom’s favorite body lotion & cream. Like Mom’s favorite perfume. Like Mom’s tea that I actually don’t like but never have gotten around to telling her. Like Mom’s hugs on the mornings I reach home for the weekend. Like Mom’s hugs in the evenings when I leave for Bangalore.

Sigh.
I really miss home.
Really. Really. 

I feel like sharing. Here are some old photos.

 

Little Rascal No: 1

Little Rascals No: 2 & 3. RARE photo of this species.

Little Rascal No: 4

Me+Mom=Peekaboo-ing Session

Little Rascal No: 5

OLD picture: Grandpa in his plane. No handsomer gentleman, I must say.

C - Capsicum

Now I shall proceed to explain why C stands for such a weird thing in my book.

So it seems to me that I spend my entire life questioning myself, I often wonder if I am shallow.

Okay, so capsicum never has been a vegetable that was an active ingredient in anything at home during my formative years. But my first year in Bangalore, I met a crazy roommate (do you remember the one who head bangs?) who was/is a very VERY good cook. So much so that she and I planned to start a catering business to make some money on the side. The definition of mouth-watering Punjabi khana has a small picture of her standing with her hands on her hips next to it.

She used to make these amazing parathas of all sorts. My favorite became the ajwainwala paratha. And to go with it, she used to make a lot of curries, typically Punjabi, but what really had me on my knees was the alu ki sabzi. Big fat chunks of alu mixed up with fresh green capsicum and stirfried lightly in ghee with that typically North Indian masala - crunchy and melt in the mouth at the same time. In those moments when she was serving me that sabzi, she could asked me for my life aur main de bhi deti.

And guess what, it wasn't the alu that was the attraction, it was the capsicum. Needless to say, I was hooked to the vegetable.

And these days where I have to jhaelofy my own expertise in the culinary department which extends only to the occasional hit-or-miss pulao or the pray-that-it's-not-burnt suji ka halwa on special occasions when it comes to Indian cuisine, I often find myself missing her, despite the fact that we hate each other's guts and the last time we saw each other, we had to be pulled off of each other lest one kills the other. I actually miss her. And the capsicum. More the capsicum actually. Most, rather.

Now you see why I wonder if I'm delusional or just plain shallow. Sigh.