En Route to the Epicurean Alley

I have always loved reading blogs. I feel most people do an amazing job of being witty and informative at the same time. I never really thought I would try out writing one myself but the love of food and the excitement of sharing innovative recipes made me turn to my windows machine ( Now now, I wouldn’t do this on my linux, would I !) But still am not too hopeful to create a blog of my own and so would take up a few MegaBytes and appear amidst toastmasters speeches and short stories, adding a little zest to topgunw’s blog (as I did in his life :) ).

A little introduction would be a good starting point. I hail from a west Indian City of Ahmedabad, Gujarat. {You have a gujju ben amongst you.} But surprisingly only a part of my food has been influenced by Gujarati cooking, that too thanks to my childhood neighbors and my mom-in law. The rest is all Hyderabadi.
My friends teasingly call me Hajrati J Not such a tough sandhi is it.
Due to my mom and more so my aunt, I love ginger and green chilies in my cooking. My crisper is dull and boring without them. I believe they have a knack of making any dish fresh and green. Try adding greens to any dish, it can be just cilantro, and experience the change it creates. My friends last week just had a close brush with my green chili passion with an overdose of them in a potato curry. I believe that was the end of my “cooking for my friends” phase. They would never lend their gastronome tract for my experiments again.

Being in San Jose, California, we have plenty of sunlight (or so people say, we have been through this cold dull month of winter recently). Hence I head to the farmers market whenever I can. As a result I get so many “special” veggies which we would have never tried otherwise.
To figure out which recipe best enhances the taste of a particular vegetable, I go through many food blogs before dinner. Recently I came across some who really did a good job of food blogging. Some of my favorites are http://www.nandyala.org/mahanandi/about/ and www.evolvingtastes.blogspot.com/

Next time I experiment, I would be loaded with chilies, ginger, garlic and my canon SD600. Let’s see how much quality contribution I can make to the world of food blogging.

The Time Machine

The final test. He had perfected the time machine. No flaws or explosions this time. "The mad scientist" they had nicknamed him. He'd show them. Those mindless fools sleepwalking through life without a purpose, who couldn't recognize his genius. He'd show them. Just one last test. A human subject. Him.

He knew it was dangerous. But he had a strong feeling it would work. This time it was for real. After all, the tests with inanimate objects and animals had worked fine. He had to try it.

He set the date. 18th century. The Revolution. He wouldn't see much as he would return in five minutes. But still, it was an interesting period. And it would look good when he announced his invention to the world. He was ready. Everything double checked. He'd show them...

Initiating time-travel sequence in 5...4...3...2...1...

He vanished from the lab. So did the time machine. Broke the space-time continuum. The Big Bang, they would call it. Years later...

The Cliché

He opened his eyes. He was waiting for her at the train station. It was late. Almost midnight. The train would be leaving soon. And they'd go away. Far away from the family feuds and the intimidation and the pain and the...But why hadn't she come yet? She had to. She had promised. The light turned green. A whistle sounded. The train set off in motion with a gentle shove. One last searching look. He rubbed away the tears. And stepped on to the train...

He opened his eyes. His head felt heavy. And a couple of sizes too big. Something cold was pressed against his hand. A .45 automatic. Used quite recently. He could smell it in the air. He tried to get his eyes to focus. And regretted it immediately. She lay on the carpet in a pool of blood. He stumbled over and hugged her. Then carried her lifeless body and placed it on the bed. He knew he would be the prime suspect. His fingerprints were all over the place. Well, so be it. He rubbed away the tears and reloaded the gun. They would pay for this...

He opened his eyes. Someone was calling his name. He walked over and got his espresso. 3 more hours of studying. And then 2 more in the examination hall. He wondered how many more espressos he'll need. He tried to concentrate on the squiggles which according to the author were a data plot. Someone who smelled nice squeezed past him, stumbled and scalded his neck with her latte. He screamed. She panicked. Everyone stared. She got some napkins. She said she was sorry. He said it was alright. He made a quick trip to the restroom. He sat down. He saw she had the same textbook...

He opened his eyes. The hospital tiles stared back at him. Cold, unfriendly and spotlessly clean. She'd been in surgery for almost three hours now. His brain was numb from worrying. And praying. All he wanted was for someone to come out and tell him that she was going to be okay. It had been a drunk driver. One who hadn't noticed or hadn't cared for the red light. Why? Why her? Why today? Why hadn't he picked her up from work like everyday? He rubbed away the tears and looked up. The nurse was walking towards him. Please let her be okay, just please let her be okay...

"What are you doing? And why are these crumpled papers on the floor?"

"Well, what does it look like I'm doing? I am trying to write a short story. But everything I've tried so far just sounds so clichéd."

CSI

It was about three in the night when they woke me up. I was used to this. Part of the job. Crime has an uncanny habit of happening late in the night. Either that or the police dispatch hated knowing that I was asleep. I got into the car. Detective Jackson from Homicide. Good man. Ten years on the force. It was my third. I looked out the window. The night was perfect for murder. No moon, no wind, snowing. I needed a drink. But there was work to do.

We reached the crime scene. A large estate. Old money. Very snobbish. R.J. Edwarton is the name said Jackson. Hmm, so old man Edwarton had croaked. I tried to feel sorry. We went up to the study. The walls were lined with books. Leather bound. The place reeked of money. And someone had wanted it bad. Bad enough to whack the old guy. He lay sprawled over the large mahogany desk. A gleaming knife sticking out of his back made it obvious why he wasn't moving.

I knew the chief wanted me to sniff around for clues right away but I took my time. I always made it a point to observe the people. It usually told me a lot. Put me on the right scent. Something pretty was quietly sobbing in a corner. Probably the old man's daughter. A handsome hunk, the kind pretty dames usually fall for, was trying to console her. I checked the corpse thoroughly. Nothing suspicious or out of place. Well, that was that. I was ready to leave the whole sordid mess. But wait, something smelt funny. Yes, the handle of the knife, a faint smell, almost unnoticeable. It didn't belong here. I tried to remember what it was but I couldn't quite place it.

The hunk had been watching me all the time. He seemed troubled now. He whispered something to the dame and she got up and started walking to the door, sobbing some more. But it seemed fake. I noticed her hands were shaking. Her hands!!! Ofcourse. The smell. Moisturizing cream. That's what it was. He had seen me sniffing the knife handle and hence told her to leave. I had to stop her. And make sure. But she had almost left the room. The door was swinging shut.

Woof! Woof! Woof!

"Hey Jackson. Let the stupid mutt out will ya. He doesn't seem to be of much use inside anyway."

Great. Here I had the case busted wide open and this is how I got thanked. Somedays, it just wasn't any fun being a police dog.

The Envelope

He was jittery. He paced about in his apartment counting the number of steps he took. 754...755...756. He knew he should stop walking. His legs were starting to ache. 757...758. He had been waiting for the envelope for two days. It had to come today, it just had to. He was sick of waiting. 759...760...

He was glad it was a Saturday, so he did not have to go to work. It also meant he could check the mail as soon as the postman delivered it. He had called to enquire on Thursday and they had assured him that he would definitely get the envelope by end of business on Friday. But he hadn't. Returning from work, he had opened the mailbox and it was empty. Frustrated, he had slammed the mailbox shut and punched it twice thereby scraping his knuckles and scaring away the nice old lady who lived two floors above who had also come to check the mail.

He had ranted and raved for a few minutes, then calmed down and called them again. He knew what he was going to say. He would ask to speak to the manager. He was done waiting. He wanted to know why he hadn't received the envelope and that if they didn't care about him then they should just say so. But he had reached a recorded voice which said that it was after business hours and that he should call later.

He had not slept well that night because of the nightmares. Nightmares in which he chased elusive envelopes over steep mountains and long flights of stairs and when he finally caught them and tore them open, they turned out to be empty. Since morning he had done little else other than pacing about nervously. The morning coffee had made the jitters even worse. 761...762...763...He was glad the postal department did not take Saturdays off. There was still hope. 764...765...

He saw the postman driving up in his little van and his heart leapt up. He raced downstairs, then back up again to grab the mailbox key and back down again. But the postman had gone into the building across. He cursed and snarled and muttered incoherently for another ten minutes about how he was entitled to receive his mail before those no-good-studio-renters who paid lesser rent than him. The postman came and stared at him suspiciously. He realized what an awful sight he must look. He tried to appear casual and inconspicuous but the postman kept checking over his shoulder while delivering the letters as if he expected to be attacked anytime.

As soon as the postman was done he ran to his mailbox. He had to hold the key with both hands to stop it from shaking. Yes!!, the envelope was there and he ripped it open. The movie dvds had arrived. It was going to be a good weekend.

Conversations With God

Hello there...

Huh? Who is it?

It's me. God. Can't you see me?

Well, maybe I could if you stopped shining that bright light in my eyes...

Oh sorry, I'm having trouble adjusting the brightness since I switched to these environment friendly CFLs.

Huh?...you use CFLs???

Ofcourse. Incandescent bulbs are so last year.

No, I mean to create light. I thought You created light.

Well...duh. Don't you know the law of conservation of energy? I can't create light out of nothing. Didn't they teach you this stuff in school?

Hmmm...so what about the whole "Let there be light" thing?

That was just a catchy tagline that my PR guys came up with. Helps keep up the cool image.

Oh. Okay.

So what brings you here? What is it this time?

What's that supposed to mean? Can't a guy just drop by to say hello?

Oh...I see...well, you know...most of the time it's only when people want something that they come to see me.

That is just so stereotypical. I expected You of all people to be a little more open minded.

Well, technically speaking I'm not one of the people...heh heh...

Hmm...funny. I've heard things about your sense of humour.

Yeah. I know they say I have a funny sense of humour. Seems kinda redundant if you ask me. I mean, if it is a sense of "humour" it's gotta be "funny", right?

Hey, that was cool. The way you flickered the light to do the quote-unquote thingy.

Aww, you noticed. Thanks.

So how are things in heaven?

Well, we are having some trouble with the FORCE.

You mean like an imbalance in the force? Like Star Wars?

No no...the FORCE...the Federation Of Roman Catholic Engineers...

Oh.

Well, now that you mention it I guess you could call them imbalanced...heh heh heh...

Hmm...funny.

You seem pensive. Something on your mind?

Well, it's just that...I don't know if I will ever see you again...so I was wondering if you could tell me the meaning of life...why we are here...where we are going...what our purpose in life is...

I guess I could. Except that...

Except what?

"Honey, wake up. You can't doze off like that during prayers. I thought the whole reason for coming to the temple was that you wanted to be in God's presence."

The Fortune Cookie sayeth...

Just the kind of motivation IndiGeek needs. And that's the way the cookie crumbles :)