A Bowl of Elusive

"Why are you on T****r?" Mirza asked himself. The dating/hookup app had brought him nothing but pain and heartbreak in the past and he had sworn off it. Yet, reading one of those sarcastic answers on Quora to the question, "What was your experience with T****r in India?", Mirza felt this need to explore the app one last time. He was visiting a small town for a project and by installing the app, he was scratching an itch more than anything else. Like always, he didn't expect to match with anyone, especially since the nearest girl showing up on the app was from forty kilometers away, which meant from the neighboring more prosperous district. Yet, like millions of men before him, he swiped away till he ran out of profiles to swipe on. The app suggested that he should relax the parameters he had set for potential matches - Age: 28 to 37 & Range: Within 40 km. "Why not!" Mirza exclaimed to himself and dragged the bars to make the age range - 18 to 99 an

On the face of it, this trip my wife and I went on was nothing significant. We drove down from Guwahati to Shillong, stayed at a homestay and visited some nearby attractions on the following days, and returned back on Day 4. Two details make this trip special - we went on a motorcycle, which frankly wasn't made for mountainous terrain, and we traveled with our little doggo, Corey. Let me introduce you to Corey - she is a Spitz aged about five to six years. My wife rescued her back in May 2021, when we were just engaged, and soon both of them became vital parts of my life.  Here's how Corey looked when Eva first took her in: The timid little dog didn't bark or bite. She just came near us and sniffed us and looked at us with those eyes. Her eyes and nose were heavily infected. Someone had abandoned her back in February 2021 and I can't imagine how this little one spent months on the streets. She was scared of everything - other dogs, other humans, but she barely ever bark

Back in school, there was a guy called Rishikesh Bhatia (name changed) and he was a bully. He was short but domineering, maybe because he came from a wealthy Punjabi family and Punjabis are naturally boisterous, at least in comparison to the east Indian population. Coming back to Rishikesh, he was entitled, loud and angry. I am sure there were reasons for him being the way he was, but I had my own troubles and tribulations to keep me busy and look at him from a 360-degree angle. I did not like him that much and I am guessing he did not like me either. But we rarely crossed paths, our friend circles were different, and we did not have to interact most of the days. And then one day, we got into a fight. I can’t for the life of me remember what the fight was about. But I do remember how it played out. When school ended, I was walking home with another friend, dragging our cycles along with us, just outside the school gate and Rishikesh Bhatia came charging at me from behind with a long st

Children always have a lot to say. So did I. And it is because they feel like whatever is new and exciting for them is also new and exciting for everyone else. I feel like adulthood sets in for a person the moment he realizes that most things he wants to say have already been said, most ideas already discovered and most conversations already had. My uncle used to describe this moment as the death of the child within oneself - when you stop enjoying cartoons and an irreversible cynicism sets in. For me, the cynicism and the realization that I have nothing new to contribute set in pretty early on. When I moved to college, I had had years of knowing that the more I talked, the less seriously people took me - so I became quieter. The quieter I became, the more cynical I got. And very soon, I was known as a jerk by almost everyone who wasn't close enough to me to realize who I really was. Before that, I remember always having stories in my mind, and even poems. I often wrote them and pe

A certain someone (who shall not be named) thinks that the elaborate mise-en-place that I do for every meal is a waste of time - she believes that since all of it will inevitably end up in our tummy, we should not waste time seeking culinary perfection like I do. "Eye roll, eye roll. The blasphemy." I know, right! My friends, who have a background in culinary arts, are already bleeding from their eyes and ears while reading this. You see, most people who join hotel management have a fascination for cooking. Whether they later pursue it as a career or not is irrelevant, because once you join culinary arts training and learn the basics, you can't help falling in love with the process. A lot of young adults who haven't had the same inclination might not get it but the art of cooking is sacred and people like me thrive in the glory of a well-cooked meal. I admit there were parts of cooking I wasn't a big fan of - like doing the dishes, cleaning up the kitchen platform

Every day, I struggle to bring variety to lunch. I have practiced and perfected certain recipes like moong dal khichdi, chicken masala, gizzards curry, etc. But repetition is never good. So every three days or so, I try to whip up something different - I don't mean a new recipe invention here, just some recipe which is not my regular go-to. Of course, I have to take a look at what ingredients I have on hand. Sometimes, you have a great idea but not enough of the ingredients needed. Lately, I have managed to stock up on most dry ingredients whereas, for vegetables and perishables, I prefer to buy them in small quantities so that they don't go bad by the time I circle around to them.  I have been a picky eater for as long as I can remember. So my usual selection of vegetables are carrots, beans, peas, bitter-gourd (something I developed a taste for, a little late in life), and the occasional cauliflower and cabbage. Most of the days, I mix it up with eggs or chicken. My staple gr

Every now and then, I have moments where thinking about the present gets overwhelming and I resort to thinking about the past. And since the last several years of my life haven't been particularly pleasant, my mind wanders off to my childhood. If you have followed my blogs, you must have read the bits I have written about certain incidents from my childhood - be it the memories of having sweets with my father, triggered by "balushahi", or the various fragrances of trees and shrubs which take me back to a certain time in my life. While most of the time, I think about certain incidents that highlight my childhood, if I try to remember my childhood in general, I keep landing on visions of the backyard gardens of the several houses I have lived in.  The earliest one I remember was behind this house in Sector 31, Chandigarh. I can barely remember the house itself - it was one of those generic air force quarters, maroon bricks and a grey door and a mix of wall and barbed wires