A Show of Talent

There was talk about the Talent Show at school even before it was announced by the PTA.
A group of girls in Primary 5 decided to sing a song. To practise, they sang and sang it over and over again. The more they sang, the more the song didn't seem like theirs. It was called Miss Movin' On and to parents it seemed like a break-up song, totally inappropriate for their ages, but they didn't want to break the girls' hearts by telling them so.
A week later, we found out that they were not going to sing that song anymore. One of the girls was going to play the piano, another one was going to sing a made-up song, and two others were going to dance the zumba.
...
"Are you aware that our daughters are going to dance at the Talent Show?" asked Dhanya's mum one day.
I had no idea about the secret plans that the girls were making.
"That's great!" I replied.
Anna and Dhanya practised hard on weekends, with guidance from Dhanya's mum, to the lyrics of Che che re re che.
...
"Mama, you are not doing it right" said Anna as she corrected my dance steps.
I have two left feet and just couldn't get the steps perfectly.
I danced with Anna to give her company every evening. Mothers sometimes have to do such things.
...
"What about the costumes?" the girls asked their mums.
"What about the costumes?" we, the mums, asked each other.
"Shall we rent them?" - was one suggestion.
We decided to see what the girls already had in their wardrobes and came up with two sets of matching tops, tights, hairbands, hairclips, and earrings. Anna had a silver skirt from a previous dance performance and we borrowed another silver skirt from a friend.
Giusi, the lady who introduced Anna to the pleasures of dancing, passed by to ask how it was all coming along and gave the girls her special stage-glitter makeup pots.
What about shoes? 
We took the girls shopping and bought matching pairs.
The finishing touches were the matching glitter paint on their nails!
...

When the Talent Show schedule was announced, the girls found out that they were going to compete with Primary 5, 6, and 7.
"It's ok. All participants get medals even if they do not win" they consoled each other.
We told them to dance and enjoy themselves because it was also the End of the Year Party. We said, "Just go out there and have fun."
...
Many children took the opportunity to display their talents at the show and got a grand applause.
When the third and second-runner-up prizes were announced, the girls' hearts sank.
When the first prize was announced, their eyes watered with joy.
Although they were from the lowest year group in the show, they must have done something right.
The girls not only got certificates and medals for participation, but also the trophy for the first prize.
Well done, Anna and Dhanya!

 (Talent Show, PDO School, Muscat, 26th June, 2014)

 

 

 

Lost in the Mist

“Really?” I asked incredulously.

“Well, I have not reached the top, but I will try again someday” said my new friend confidently.

My friend had just told me that she had attempted to climb THE Mount Everest.

I had only read about heroes who had done that but never met one.

This week, although it was a regular Monday morning at the library, I discovered this fantastic detail about my friend. It was hard to believe that this mother of two young children, who tied her hair in a ponytail and nonchalantly tidied up bookshelves in the library, was a mountaineer.
I hung to her every word as she told me anecdotes from her adventures.

One incident, in particular, made a shiver run down my spine.

Once while climbing a mountain, my friend felt sick and exhausted. She saw bodies of unfortunate explorers on the way, frozen in the snow. She decided that she didn’t want to be one of them. So she thought it would be a good idea to turn back.

The others in her group carried on towards the top while she turned downward.

As she trundled down by herself, she was suddenly enveloped in a cloudy mist. She couldn’t see anything except for the ground below her. She did not have a compass and didn’t know which direction to take.

Alone and exasperated, she exercised because if she didn’t keep herself active, she would lose her hands and feet in the cold.

 

Lonely,

freezing,

and sick,

she stood by herself on a mountain range at the top of the world.

Not quite, but almost the top of the world.
 

 She remembered her grandfather.

Her grandfather was a war veteran from Belgium and frequently took his grandchildren on adventures to teach them survival skills. When they sometimes got lost, he taught them to “look inwards”.

Standing mid-way on the white Himalayas, my friend took a deep breath, closed her eyes and “looked inwards”.

The call of the mountains had been irresistible. That was the reason why she was climbing. It gave her inner peace and strengthened her inherent connection with raw nature. And as she drew strength from her whole being, she knew that she was going to survive this.

The clouds still held her in a close embrace and visibility was poor. With eyes closed, she listened for sounds. In the beginning she could only feel an eerie silence. Then from a certain direction she heard faint voices. She knew that they belonged to her friends who were climbing to the summit.

“Okay” she said to herself “That is the direction which I must NOT take.” She made a mental note of the direction.

She tried to remember the path when they had climbed up and knew that they had crossed a stream somewhere along the way. She sharpened her ears to hear the bubbling water. When she detected it, she headed in that direction.

"Yes, that is the right direction" she said to herself.

As she walked downwards, she found the stream and crossed it. The thick cloudy envelope opened and closed around her at intervals.

She went further down and noticed something moving at a distance below. It was blue – a very artificial manmade blue. It kindled a ray of hope in her heart.

Then the blue-whatever-it-was vanished in the mist. She made another tight mental note to remember the direction and the distance at which she had seen the blue object as the clouds enveloped her in a heavy fog once more.

One step at a time she kept walking in that direction. After what seemed like eternity, the cloud cover disappeared altogether. She saw a Sherpa woman carrying something in a heavy blue bundle to her camp.

My friend called out to her. The woman waved and waited.

They did not have a common language between them but the Sherpa woman understood that this foreign mountaineer was sick and needed comfort. She pointed to the bridge which would lead to the lodge where my friend could rest.

My friend has not reached the Mount Everest.

Not yet. Someday, she will, by divine grace.

To me, she is a hero, even today.

 

(Picture courtesy: Google images)

 

 

 

 

A Favourite Thing

Name one of your favourite things.

Chances are that it is probably not very expensive. On the other hand, it may be the most ordinary raggedly thing that make other people annoyed if you tag it along with you everywhere.

Most of us find comfort in having our favourite things around us.

We are like children who stuff their beds with soft toys or like old people who flip through sepia pictures.

One of my favourite things is this bookmark.

As you can see, it shows a boy flying up to the stars with a book as one would with a balloon.
Some books do that to you, don't they?


 
 

Dear Reader

Dear Reader,

Just like you, many other friends - young and old, are eager to give me feedback about this blog.
Most of it is positive. (Thank god!)

Sometimes, out of the blue, Google pops a question that amuses me.
"Do you want to make money by putting advertisements on your blog?"
If I say yes, what will happen?
Ads will be flashing at my readers from all corners of the blog.
Then what?
My readers will try to concentrate harder to read what I have written.
Then what?
One of the Ads will catch their attention.
Then what?
They will read the Ad.
Then what?
The Ad will lead them to a site away from the blog.
And then?
I will earn money and lose my reader. (Heaven forbid!)

In this age of an overactive social media, so much information is forced under people's noses that they have to spend some time to sift through the results before getting to what they would like to read. For that reason, exclusively, I have kept this blog private and disabled it from appearing in the results of search engines. There is so much noise in the world already. As a sensible reader, on the other hand, you may share the posts you like with like-minded people.

There are horrendous things happening in India and the rest of the world while I write about cakes and dishwashing. Our newspapers and other media are overflowing with commentaries on these happenings so I do not mention them here. That doesn't, however, mean that these events do not disturb me. If you meet me in person and if you want to know, I will tell you my interpretations about these events, provided you and I have time to spare.

Some of my readers are children and young people. Their tender world has begun to unfurl and we should be careful not to cloud it with bitterness. The swings of their imagination have just started reaching a little higher and they anticipate a gentle push from us. I would like them to know that there are simple, ordinary things in this life that bring great joy to those who have learnt to appreciate them, that this world and everything in it is a miracle, that we can meet angels and saints everyday if only we have the eyes to see them, that the more you love, the more love you are given to love with.

The Good Book says, "You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." (James 4:14)
We must, therefore, bequeath good values to future generations while we are passing through this world.

 "Is your name Jasmine?" asked Banumathy when she visited this blog for the first time yesterday.
No, the first and the last names I use here were not bestowed on me by my parents or my godparents. I use them by choice and circumstances.
Similarly, I write this blog by choice.
I also have other things to fill my days -  mothering (cuddles and puddles), loving (thank god!), checking homework (easy peasy lemon squeezy), keeping in touch with friends, doing household chores (sigh), reading (so little time!), exercising (getting there!), cooking (sometimes enjoyable, sometimes not), driving (no, I don't get paid for this), socialising, facebooking, whatsapping, petting stray cats (if they allow me), sleeping (am I getting enough?), eating (I'm so slow, it takes me forever), shopping (spare me this, please!),  and going to work to make a little money.

I hope you, dear readers, derive pleasure and satisfaction from reading this blog from time to time.
I am grateful to you.

You have made me realise that writing is a way of belonging.

Peace be with you!

 

A Golden Harvest

When we arrived in Oman, there was a box of dates waiting for us in our new house.

"As salaam aleykum!" said the Omani gentleman, who had greeted us with flowers at the airport. He courteously ushered us into our new home and gave us a glimpse of Omani hospitality.

We are not important people so we were amazed by all this fuss and formality.

The dates, our welcome gift, were brown and wrinkly and melted in the mouth like designer chocolates.
Dates, like frankincense and oil, are the treasures of the desert. 
Oman, like the rest of rural Arabia, has a wealth of social niceties.

...

(Picture courtesy: Priya Nair)

At this time of the year, all over Oman, you will find date trees humbled with the weight of clusters of ripening dates.

A couple of days ago, Farooque, our friend, heaved down a golden harvest of dates at our front door.

They were oblong, smooth, golden with a brown blush, and deliciously sweet.  We ate them like we have seen the Omanis do – pick the one that has browned the most, dip it in water to rinse off the dust, and pop it into the mouth.

After sharing them with friends, we still had too many left. So we decided to make a ‘Date and walnut cake’.

...

The origin of this cake recipe is linked to our friend Janani.

It was in the UK that Janani wanted to eat an eggless cake. Janani was expecting a baby and had strange cravings. It was difficult indeed to find an eggless cake in England.

At that time, Banu and I were experimenting with different cake recipes. We took the challenge and finally, on the day of Janani’s baby shower, we made an eggless ‘Date and walnut cake’ for the blossoming mum-to-be.

 Ingredients:

40 dates, fleshy, not dried

1 ½ cup milk, warm

1 ½ cup sugar (optional, if you are eating healthy)

2 cups plain flour, sifted ( I use chappati atta.)

1 cup oil

2 tsp baking soda, sifted and mixed with the above flour

1 cup cashew and walnuts, dusted with a little flour

 

Method:

-    Soak dates in warm milk for 8 to 12 hours.

-    Remove seeds carefully and grind to a smooth paste along with the sugar and the milk in which they were soaked.

-    Add oil and mix.

-    Add flour, spoon by spoon, and mix.

-    Add nuts and mix.

-    Preheat oven to 180 degrees Celsius and bake for 45-60 minutes. After 45 minutes, check if done by inserting a toothpick. If the toothpick doesn't come out clean, leave to bake for 10-15 minutes more.

It would be a good idea to bake two of these cakes at a time because they vanish quickly.

The best thing about this cake is that it is not only eggless, but also butterless and sugarless (if you opt for this). It is enriched with the nutritious values of dates and walnuts.

If serving for dessert, add a scoop of vanilla ice-cream to a slice of this dark brown nutty cake.

When your guests come for second helpings, give them the link to this blog post!

 

 

 

 

A Friendship Cake

Early this month, Ann gave me a box and a sheet of printed paper, saying, “This is for you because you are my friend.”

Ours is a new friendship. Ann is from Belgium and speaks several languages but the best language she speaks is the language of humour. She always has wonderful, and often funny, stories to tell about her camping trips in the interiors of Oman or about her snorkelling adventures.

Inside the box was a gooey bubbling mixture. It was a sourdough cake batter that I had to tend for ten days. On the printed sheet were instructions for each day.

Ann said, “This cake’s name is Herman and he is from Germany. On the ninth day, you may share a part of your batter with your friends as I have done with you. This will keep our chain of friendship in continuous circulation.”

...

So Herman, the German, sat on our kitchen counter for ten days. Our little daughter was excited about this project and tended to him carefully every day. Sometimes we even talked to Herman. The constant bubbling of the batter told us that Herman was alive. We fed him milk, flour and sugar one day and he bubbled robustly to show his gratitude.

On the ninth day, we shared our friendship cake batter with some friends. They, too, seemed fascinated by idea of having Herman sit in their kitchens for ten days.

On the tenth day, we baked our Herman - the German Friendship Cake. The recipe called for plain flour, raisins and vanilla. We tweaked it a bit and used chappati atta, dried apricots, and cinnamon powder instead of three ingredients listed above. The cake turned out to be a big hit with our family. It was more delicious when we shared it with our friends – especially Ann.

We hope this friendship chain continues to go in circles all over the world to bring different kinds of people together.

We have played our part in it and had a richly-rewarded satisfaction.

...

For more information on Herman, the German friendship cake, recipe ideas, starter instructions, and baking tips, please go to www.hermanthegermanfriendshipcake.com

Who knows, you may even start your own friendship chain one day!

Do share it with us if possible because we would love to have Herman with us again.

Dishwashing

When Deepa visited from Baroda this summer, we invited her family for dinner one night.

As usual, after dinner, I slipped on my rubber gloves and started dishwashing.

“I like other chores but I don’t like dishwashing” she said.

“Well, I like dishwashing” I said. She looked at me in disbelief.

...

The day after my wedding, I sailed down to the kitchen to help my mother-in-law.

“Mummy” I said, “May I help you?”

I was desperate to make a good impression. I had married for love and I was still unsure if she was happy to have me as a daughter-in-law.

She was cooking a pot of chicken stew. Turning to me she smiled and asked me to taste it to check its salt content. I felt honoured to be appointed as the salt-taster of the family. I performed the assigned task to perfection – carefully wrinkling my nose, making smacking sounds, and nodding in approval.

Then, my mother-in-law casually pointed to the kitchen sink and asked if I would like to scrub the pots and pans.

I looked at the jumbled heap of utensils in the sink. Arranged together like that, they looked like an extra-terrestrial metallic creature with handles sticking out at odd angles.

I said, “Yes, sure.”

Inwardly, I said to myself, “God help me! I have never scrubbed so many pots and pans in my lifetime.”

I remembered how I had watched Auntie Lily meticulously scrub utensils in my natal home. She told me stories from the past as she got rid of the grease on the dishes.

When my mother-in-law realised that I was doing the washing-up for the better part of the hour, she seemed concerned.

Then, just as I was thinking about my bad report in her books, something wonderful happened.

My new-brand husband put his hands in the sink and scrubbed the remaining pots and pans while I rinsed them.

Since that day, for me, dishwashing became a time for bonding and less of a chore.

...

After all these years, when my husband is no longer new-brand and nowhere on the radius while I am dishwashing, I enjoy these quiet moments with myself.

It is an occasion for relieving stresses of the day.

It is also a time for bonding with the divine.

An Exploration of Love

Enclosed in folds of satin in a pastel hue, some blooms freeze in anticipation.

As the music awakens them and the spotlights gently glow, they come to life and dance to the rhythm of their ghungroos.

...

Last weekend at the Al Bustan Hotel in Muscat, a Kathak dance group of girls – Leelangika, led by their guru, Jhumpa Chakraborty, traced the bond of love in the life of Lord Krishna in a performance entitled ‘Bandhan’.

Krishna’s proud parents and their friends celebrate his birth with joy in the opening scene. Next, we see Krishna with his boyhood friends stealing curd. When his mother finds out, she is angry and sad. Krishna confesses to the mischief and his mother forgives him with a warm embrace. She also encourages love and understanding between Krishna and his brother. In another scene, Krishna overpowers a demon snake in the river.

As the charms of youth take over, Krishna and the gopis dance the Rasleela and display emotions of love, desire, envy, jealousy.

The lyrics chant “Mera naam ishq, tera naam ishq” as the audience is given a glimpse of how mortal love is raised to the heights of divine love.

Then in the last few scenes we see Krishna in varied roles – as a protector of Draupadi, as a friend who accepts the humble offering of beaten rice from his poor friend - Sudama, as an avatar as he pacifies the doubtful Arjuna.

...

This evening, dedicated to the classical dance form, Kathak, will remain memorable for all the performers, their families, and their friends. The costumes were stunning, the expressions were captivating, and the theme of love was overwhelming.



 

Pancakes!

This pancake recipe from a grandmother's frequently-thumbed yellow recipe notebook is a winner  because of its simplicity and wholesomeness.

Even a complete beginner can have a nutritious breakfast ready in a few minutes by following these instructions.

You probably have most of these ingredients in your kitchen already.

Your children will love to do the mixing bit because it allows them to stir up a sticky batter.

Ingredients:
(Makes 10)

1 1/2 cups whole-wheat flour (I use chappati atta)
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tbsp. white sugar
1 1/4 cups milk (at room temperature)
1 egg (at room temperature)
3 tbsp. butter, melted.
1 tsp. cinnamon powder

Method:
1) Sift the flour, baking powder, cinnamon powder, salt, and sugar. Repeat.
2) In a large bowl, beat the egg. Add butter. Add milk. Mix well.
3) Mix the wet and dry ingredients to form the batter.
4) Heat a lightly oiled iron griddle/ fry pan over medium high heat.
5) Pour out a large deep spoonful of batter and spread it around with the back of the spoon.
6) Flip after about 2 minutes. Allow to brown on the reverse. Remove.
7) Repeat for the rest of the batter.
8) Serve hot with honey or maple syrup.