The 'mango pickle' novel

Sigh.
Odd title but it takes me back ages- when as a little girl I would snuggle upto my cosy grandma and devour Enid Blytons, Nancy Drews and Tinkles by the dozen. With the steady whirr of the high ceilinged green fan, the cold wave of air from the window cooler and the heat emanating loo outside, it was my greatest joy to find comfort in sucking a piece of the famous Arora's mango pickle while engrossing myself in yellowed dog eared pages.
There was a method to preparing the pickle first as it could not be had straight from the jar.
First, a piece had to be selected. Careful consideration of the pickle jar would bring out just the right piece- not too fleshy and with a sliver of seed. The pickle piece would be pulled up with a spoon- mind you- not fork- so as to save it from bruising on its ultimate journey and then carefully placed under running water to wash away the masala which would only end up in a bitter and sour taste. Once washed, the excess water would be shaken off diligently and that's how the piece would be ready to accompany the reading.
Aeons have passed, I have sampled rich delicacies from London to Singapore yet nothing has rivalled that humble piece of nostalgia.
Ever.

A suitable boy

Now that the younger sister has come of age to get married, the whole e-space has become her playground. Moreover, she thinks that the fact that the parents are queuing up suitable boys for her to have a dekko, is quite like turning reality on its head- she gets to be in the seat of choice, instead of the other way round. Of course, the parents are more than piqued at times with comments like 'he looks like an alien/ bugs bunny/ uncle ji/ married father of two' when i have to gently remind her that she ain't no Cinderella herself!
Sigh.

let's see where this new crusade takes us!

The only way I know is right!

What is this new malaise striking young rich couples? The desire to stay and live alone, devoid of any family ties- they seek to be the perennial centre of their warped universes, bringing much desolation and grief to the surviving parents.
With the strong values that I've been brought up with, I firmly believe that its always prudent to consider an elder's point of view- else they wouldnt be called elders- and it always turns out they are correct in the end.
The second phenomenon is leaving really young children in creches and day care centres, at the cost of fulfilling their own ambitions. When I was young I used to think creches and crutches meant the same- little did I realise they actually do!
My mum gave up a lucrative career in journalism to take care of my sister and me. My mother in law turned down various teaching opportunities so that her three children could be brought up right- and I'm fully prepated to do the same when its my turn. I wouldn't have it any other way, and neither would my system accept the cries of a piece of me, surrounded by strangers as I'm merrily climbing up the corporate ladder. It just isn't me.
Or maybe I'm too old fashioned, but I like being that. Its the only way I know is right!

And then there are these

1. A fine piece of natural craft- a spider's silken threadwork across the window grill, reminding you that small is beautiful!
2. A feather floating down from the sky, catching the sun's golden rays- making it look ethereal
3. The joy of planning a Valentine's Day surprise for your husband of seven years, and finding it just as pleasurable as six years ago
4. The unparalleled excitement in your aunt's voice as she exclaims over the anniversary flowers you sent her
5. The undisguised thrill on your friend's face as you pay her a surprise visit!

Of marriages- equal and unequal

Being wedding season, my sister was invited to a couple of family weddings. Strange but people we'd seen toddling around in diapers with imaginary toys in their hands were now going to be decked up in bridal finery while flaunting their latest halves.
The first wedding she attended was a sombre affair- an intercaste love story set amidst the backdrop of an office romance. The girl's South Indian roots were vastly different in outlook than the typical North Indian groom. This translated into a few bloopers at the main event- the bride was pronounced 'bold' as she went about greeting and garnering blessings instead of her parents.
At yet another intercaste instance, the bride (well to be honest even I was a little too plump for my liking, but I rapidly shed more than 7 kgs in the 7 years that I've been married) was fat and smiling- compared to the groom she looked at least a good five years his elder- prompting folk to take merry jibes at his son-like state!
They say people marry for the better. But do they?
A dear acquaintance who was a stickler for his clean ways (used to take a bath daily before the sun spreadeagled the sky) completely changed post marriage, no doubt on the eggings of his wife. Days passed before he took even a cursory shower, prompting us to wonder if his life had taken a turn for better or worse!
While my own husband, famous amongst the Dominoes- Barista circuit for ordering out so frequently, actually learnt to make gourmet-style delicious stuffed omelette, complete with olives and capers on the side. Of course, these treats are few and far between, but I guess this is what makes him,and them, so endearing!

The oblivion of happy memories

Why is it, that each time you want to remember some happy memories all you get is a warm brown fuzz?
Is it because that we, being eternal pessimists cannot bear that soft sunshiny feeling of honey down our throats and choose to remember only the hardness of thorns in our life?
Or is it because that we being so unaccustomed to happiness ourselves, cringe at the thought of unexpected pleasures and hence dont know how to conduct ourselves?
Or is it because that feeling is so fleeting that it just disappears before we know what to make of it.
Whatever it may entail, we should strive to capture each detail of the happy scene- so that when we tap onto our reserves for happy memories, we should be overwhelmed and not left bereft.