A full night of kinky ecstasy...

She got up with and came towards him, curling up her upper lip and suggestively playing with the rope in her hands. This was new, she had never done this before and his pulse ran high with anticipation. There were sweat beads on his head, which she casually wiped off with the soft cotton rope, which in turn gave him numerous goose bumps...

This wasn't the first time they were trying something new together, it was only a week back when she had insisted on trying food on bed, a suggestion he jumped at. However, the evening ended with lots of food and wine on bed but nothing else followed. They were too drunk by the time they finished and slept off in the different corners of the bed; it was only in the morning that they realised that there was food all over the bed and on them. They decided to call it a failed experiment, and vowed never to repeat it!

Not that today was risk-free, there was a high probability that he might just end up dead after this new round of experimentation. He had never seen her with a rope before, and wasn't quite sure if the complicated knot she was trying to tie around his neck would work out exactly as she thought it would. There was something child-like about her, her innocence and of course, her laughter. For a second he forgot that it wasn't Sheila, but someone else with her.

She was successful in tying the knot around his neck, only to realise that it was his hands that she had originally intended to tie. Not the one give up, as all attempts to loosen the knot failed, she went around looking for scissors, failing which the search for the knife started. And there it was, the jet black and shining knife, clutched solidly in her left hand (her right had still had the leather hunter, to be used with better results later), looking vicious at me and ready to strike. Sheila was still hopeful of salvaging the night and refused to free her right hand, the hunter continued to dangle seductively. The knife went to work, and as expected, chipped off a piece of his neck along with the rope. There was a little blood but for them it just added to the kink. Almost on cue, the hunter came hard on him and more noises of ecstasy followed.

However, they failed to stop the flow of blood from the neck, a fact they initially found very funny. They laughed together, but by the time he choked laughing, there was blood all over the bed and smeared on their bodies. She laughed more, thinking about the food and red wine on them last week, while he stared at her with glazed eyes. They were blissfully happy for the hour, and he, dead thereafter.

pain/ physical/ emotional/ fear/ something else

A hospital once again. I am at least a couple of hours before time and have little to do kill time, but observe people and their curios habits. And often intrude their private spaces in an environment where privacy is almost a no-word and public is the apparent private.

A middle aged South Indian couple, woman being the patient, fill in the space in front of me,. Conversations struggle between them as they attempt to eat dosa with sambhar/ chutney. Two women on my either side - one constantly peeling fruits while the other one deeply engrossed into an old issue of Readers' Digest (reading an article on '13 ways to lose weight').

The space

Conversations here are few and far in-between, but the place has a constant chatter intermixed with the traffic noise outside. I wonder if hospitals should at all be like this, even those meant for the poor. But the place is homely in its own way, an extremely silent place for treatment may be too condescending for some of the people here. Certainly, noise can't be comfortable for the patient.

With even more free time in hand, I wonder if hospitals have any color, I can see almost all colors but the tone is overwhelmingly neutral. Even the South Indian aunty eating dosa looks muted in her red-yellow-golden ensemble. 'Too fast to live, Too young to die', reads one of the black T-shirt running around. T-shirts are uncommon though, pant-shirt win over the jeans-tees outside.

Dosa finally over, the aunty lies down on uncle's lap and starts crying (pain/ physical/ emotional/ fear/ something else), while uncle plays with her cheeks, the way do with toddlers; curiously this puts her to sleep soon. I look at them and wonder if they are in love. How many of us actually grow old with the one we love? All relationships I see around are broken, most are simple compromises while a few lucky ones survive with mutual affection.

Its time now to stop taking notes, my young partner for today's investigations is walking towards me with a bright smile. Smiles will have to wait, hospital waits for us.

WnM - food

W and M are on a phone call. After discussing the very distinct possibility of an alien spaceship visiting their respective cities, they get on with the other topics. Surprisingly food comes up for discussion. 

W: Let's eat the same food together.
M: Superb idea. What do you want to make? I am game for anything.
W: Hmmm...
M: We can make daal and rice and eat it with salad.
W: eeeeeeeee... 
M: Oh am really sorry :(
W: I can't eat all this in life anymore :(
M: Sure sure. Lets make khichdi. 
W: eeeeeeeee... 
M: Oh am really sorry :(
W: I can't eat all this in life anymore :(
M: Ok lets make something continental. Pasta?
W: But I do not have pasta with me.
M: Hmmm...
W: I have a better idea.
M: Ah...
W: Lets not eat.
M: What??? Why???
W: I think you eat too much food.
M: What???
W: Yes, I want you to starve.
M: What???
W: Yes. And if you really hungry you can drink a cup of chai, preferably with no sugar.
M: What??? Please don't do this to me :|
W: Shut up. You will do exactly as I say.
M: Please dear. Have some heart.
W: Now I have to finish my very interesting book now, the cat is almost ready to devour the dog. Drink tea, if you really have to. Now goodbye.

M realises that the call is already over. He looks blankly at the phone and a smile crosses his face. He goes and makes Maggi and savors it with black, strong and sugar saturated coffee.

Moral of the story: There are advantages of a long-distance relationship. You DON'T have to starve every single night.

What's your food type?

I am in a confessional mode currently, and its a great platform to declare that I like food and I also like eating food. Water, juices, milk etc. are fine, but I also enjoy food which can be chewed, which basically means 'Solid Food'.

Of course there are different types of people. Some who survive only on water (but let others chew their food), some who chew and like others around them also chew their food (and not just sip and slurp from their cups/ mugs/ glasses), and some who survive on liquid food and also insist that everyone near and dear to them also shifts to this liquid 'only' diet, and the last one are the fanatic types! Eying solid food is met with disapproving glances, inquiring about it may result in a major scuffle, the thought of actually purchasing it would result in strangulation and certain death (of course, the possibility of an actual purchase doesn't actually exist). The definition of 'liquid diet' is also extremely strict, and breaking away from the approved items may also result in the above result. Things like choco shake (which can potentially fill one's stomach) are not a part of the list, even watery fruits are rejected (no water melons as well).

I realised to my dismay that there is no getting away from this 'liquid diet'. Its either liquid diet (water and a glass of juice for breakfast, water for lunch and water and possibly milk for dinner), or no diet. Of course, I chose liquid diet and most of the time just eyed the good looking, tempting and delicious food (which was essentially 'everything' around), while I pretended to look at the extravagantly illustrative shop displays.

Khamasa finally!

So finally Khamasa happened. I never had any reason to visit this famous non-vegetarian food अड्डा and so never went there. Even yesterday I had no reason, but since both Bhavin and Kiran asked me to come, I decided to accompany them. Many of my friends in NID loved the place and mentioned if often, but it was rather different from what I expected, but in a nice way.

We took an auto and went there, and the narrow lanes filled with people made for a highly interesting start. The road is lined with many mosques and we could hear the call for prayers from many. I also quickly bowed my head and made all the requisite wishes, after all one never knows which God might listen to you on your lucky day.

Bhavin and Kiran ate their dinner at Farooq Fry Centre (ऊंचे लोग, ऊंची पसंद; चिक्केन तंदूरी न. १). Both enjoyed eating their food while I silently observed. Its weird to be a vegetarian and be surrounded by non-veggies all the time. Bhavin claims that he has turned into a vegetarian since we started sharing the flat! Kiran and Muzayun, however, are still staunch non-veggies and unlikely to change (not that Bhavin will also ever change). But somehow I also know that eating animals is a fulfillment of a primal desire, so like many others that we cannot resist. Maybe someday even I might start eating these poor animals, but it looks highly unlikely as of now.

The food was red in color (almost blood red) and greasy. Both my friends, noticed, and none cared, I guess its regular here. Apparently Tandoori Chicken was the best food item and they both eat every single बोटी on the poor animal's little bones. I wonder if it was a मुर्गा or a मुर्गी, does it matter? Is the taste gender specific?

The dinner was followed by a walk and 'orange sharbet' at a shop close by.

Do read about La Bella, the other popular non-vegetarian food hub of Ahmedabad.

wheat flour over the years...

My mother's grandmother used to get up every morning at 4 (in Almora thats quite something) and grind the wheat for making food that day. The wheat flour used to be absolutely fresh and apparently also very tasty and healthy.

By the time ma was old enough to help her dadi, there were neighborhood chakkis for making atta - people still used to give their own flour and get the atta made right in front of them. Soon rush increased and people would just drop their dabbas with wheat grains and collect the atta later on. This is was still not convenient enough, so obviously the next was packaged atta sold in almost all kiran stores now.

However, the practice of getting your own grains has also not died out completely. Many families don't prefer packaged atta, fearing it might be old and maybe even with additives to make it last much longer on the shelves. But, packaged atta is getting more and more popular. We can already see the next step in the process - packaged chapatis, though the trend is yet to catch on. The roti quality is rather inferior, and most of us still prefer to eat fresh rotis straight from their mother's/ wife's tawa!

Another interesting product for this is the 'ghar-ghanti' which has been around in many Gujarati homes for a while now. Useful when the atta consumption is fairly high, true for large joint families.

I wonder for how long we would be able to retain our current cooking practices, with technology we move ahead for sue, but often compromise on the most fundamental parameters i.e. taste. Often convenience wins over taste and that is quite a loss for our taste buds. Lets see how our future shapes up...

Cheese Cake at Mocha!

I was waiting yesterday in Mocha for some friends and Cheese cake (Orange Cheese cake to be precise, I wasn't given a choice)....

Wrote this wonderful piece of poetry there...

Waiting for the cheese cake now,
After the waiting for others failed.
Failed to materalise, failed to realise!
Am waiting on cold solid steel, white on the surface, dark to the core,
Unlike the failure...dark on the outside, soft on the core!

So how would this cheese cake be?
Sweet? Sure...tasty? hopefully.
Like a woman...very soft and desirable!
Unlike the 'very soft' Octopus,
And the 'very desirable' Steel.
It would hopefully be like a woman...both...

No coffee, no whisky!
But there was rum last night,
And also some floating around before it all wore off!
Sadly not much though...and not for long...
A desirable hangover...

Well, my cheese cake came (though the friends never did) before I could finish this poem. It was, at best, extremely disappointing! Looked extremely soft and absolutely desirable...pretty much like a woman, though not really!

Maybe a wonderfully cooked and beautifully garnished 'Octopus' can also look soft and desirable...so whats the difference? Women and Octopus...tentacles...but even women have them! I wonder...