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AahsomeTheme FOODISSUE #3
www.aahsome.com
about
Aahsome is a quarterly, free PDF magazine from India made possible by
readers like you. It showcases the human spirit, mind, ethics and morals.
Aahsome, in its third issue, celebrates the instinctive desire for food, along with all its
connotations and emotions. We ask you not to read this issue, but devour it!
Founded and run by Anand and Arun, Aahsome’s mission is to showcase both the
outwardly and the inhibited alike.
Let us know what you think at [email protected].
Arun J. is a designer at SlideShare. He dabbles in art, sketching and typography. He’s on www.simplyarun.com and tweets at @simplyarun.
K.A.Anand is a user Experience Designer by profession and blogs about design and everything else at http://rega.in and tweets @kaargocult.
4 Introduction
5 Tribute Kulcha — the official Emblem of the
Nizams of Hyderabad
10 ArtYour kisses are my food…
12 Interviewthe 8th Sin
14 Chocolatey Contest!
16 ReviewJain Sa’ab — the Gordon Ramsay of
Daryaganj
19 Comics the Secret
23 Story abundance
26 Review No Eggs on Your Face Here!
28 Be Eggs or Be Square Contest!
30 Story oh Mother!
33 Art & Poetry Puttu Kadala
35 Fantasy Illish in Whondarland
38 Free verse Grains of Rice
39 Fantasy Witch’s recipe to a cake
42 Recipe Phataphat Chicken
43 Art Meen
44 Free verse Wanton Soup
46 Gallery Musical Food
53 Theme for next issue build
Cover design by arun J, with photographs by:
Mahesh Khanna http://www.flickr.com/people/maheshkhanna/
McKay Savage http://www.flickr.com/people/mckaysavage/
Joel Penner http://www.flickr.com/people/featheredtar/
Dey alexander http://www.flickr.com/people/dey/
barry http://www.flickr.com/people/ennor/
Inside
www.aahsome.com
INtRo
We are what we eat.” Sounds dramatic, even corny to some
extent. But come to think of it, it’s literally true. All our tissues,
muscles and bones have come from the food we have had. So
what better theme than food?
“रोटी, कपडा और मकान”, (bread, clothes and shelter) has long been the
slogan of the poor. Explorers have braved unknown oceans in search
of spices, discovered continents and named the inhabitants Indians. I
wonder if Red Indians even know that the reason for their being called
so, is Indian spices. On the one hand being an adventure and starting
expeditions searching for the food you like, and on the other, leaving
your country and yearning for the food that you love. Speaking of food
you love, almost everyone loves their mom’s cooking. What could be the
theory behind that? For sure, not all moms could be great cooks, on an
objective scale. Most probably, we love the food prepared by our moms
because it is prepared with love. Mom is just a specific persona, anyone
who cooks with love, cooks great food.
From cooking to eating together. In most cultures solidarity is almost
always expressed by sharing food. Be it clinking mugs of beer, or
distributing laddoos, to having golguppas with friends on the street. In
fact, the very word companion comes from com (with) + panis (bread),
the one you share your bread with.
What I am building up to is the fact that we have come to forget that food
is such an important part of our lives. Cooking our own food from fresh
ingredients, and eating it with the whole family. Do you remember once
we used to do that? Do we even see food in its original form now? Is food
processing and the rise of packaged food making us remote. Fruits on
store shelves have indeed become glamorous. You wouldn’t see a ‘little
less red’ one among the line of apples. We can even afford to buy shiny
imported apples. Question is, do we see the trail of smoke which goes
from those apples to Australia?
Think about these questions too, while you have your munchies next
time. And do enjoy it.
Bon appétit!
— K.A. Anand
“
5www.aahsome.com
tRIbutE
During winter, cold waves sweep over
north India, meanwhile in street
corners across cities, towns and
villages, hungry people wolf down piping
chole-kulche and feel nice and good. “Kulcha”
along with chole is one of the favourite snacks
of north India. Kulcha is a north Indian bread
made from finely milled wheat flour (maida). It
is generally eaten with choley (chickpea curry).
The official definition of Kulcha is “Pan Cooked
Leavened Flatbread”. Interestingly, it was the
official symbol of the Asaf Jahi dynasty and
even appeared on the Hyderabad state flag! You
wouldn’t normally associate kulcha bread with
the mighty Asaf Jahi dynasty that ruled over
Hyderabad. It is more known for its biryanis and
mouth watering kebabs rather than its kulcha.
But the truth is that it enjoyed far more exalted
status than any other food product. It is the only
food product to appear on emblem of any royal
family in the world! The kulcha appeared not
only on their Coat of Arms but also on the official
flag of Hyderabad stare. There is no precedent
of a royal family having a food product as their
emblem. The only equivalent would be if a
French noble family would have a baguette or
Italian princely house a foccacia bread on their
coat of arms! contd…
Kulcha The Official Emblem of the Nizams of Hyderabad
the asaf Jahi Flag, the official flag of the princely state of Hyderabad. the round circle in the middle represents the kulcha while the colour yellow, represents the yellow cloth in which the kulchas were offered.
by Akshay Chavan
www.aahsome.com 6
tasty and soft Kulcha, a type of naan bread prepared in north India.
tRIbutE
7www.aahsome.com
The Nizams of Hyderabad were renowned all
over the world for their wealth and power. Once
upon a time, their mighty empire stretched for
Khandesh in the north to Travancore in the
south. The wealth was famous over seven seas,
even finding them a mention on the cover of
the “TIME Magazine”. So the question is, why
have the humble kulcha as their emblem, while
other Indian princes had tigers, lions and even
the mythological Gandha berundha (Mysore).
Why did the mighty Nizams not have something
as impressive?
To answer this question and to trace the story
of the kulcha and the nizams, it is important to
go back to the origins of the Asaf Jahi empire.
The largest unit in the Mughal Empire was the
Subah or a Province. The biggest Subah was
the Subah-i-Dakhan or the province of Deccan.
After the death of Auranzeb, the Mughal empire
was in decline. The imperial court of Delhi was
steeped in profligacy, debauchery and general
state of dissoluteness. The old timers felt pained
that the great imperial court and the “Mughalia
sultanat” had sunk so low. One of these was Mir
Qamruddin.
Mir Qamruddin
was an old courtier
in the Delhi court
and his family had
served the Mughal
emperors on high
positions for many
years. However, he
was very unhappy
about the state of
affairs. According
to his biographer,
he grew to hate
the “harlots and
jesters” who were
the Emperor’s con-
stant companions
and greeted all great nobles of the realm with
lewd gestures and offensive epithets. Nizam
ul-Mulk’s desire to restore the etiquette of the
Court and the discipline of the State earned him
few friends. Envious and malicious courtiers
poisoned the mind of the Emperor against Mir
Qamruddin.
Mir Qamruddin was informed that he was
appointed the “subedar-i-dakhan” or the
governor of Deccan. He decided to take up
the appointment and leave Delhi for good.
Before leaving, he decided to meet his spiritual
guide, the Sufi mystic Hazrat Nizamuddin Aulia.
Hazrat Nizamuddin invited him for a meal and
offered him kulchas tied in a yellow cloth. Mir
Qamruddin apologized for his hunger, on which
Hazrat said that he could eat as many kulchas as
he wanted. Mir Qamruddin wolfed down seven
kulchas. Hazrat Nizamuddin then blessed him
and prophesized that one day he would be king
and that his descendants would rule for seven
generations.
This prophecy came to be true. Soon after Mir
Qamruddin came to Deccan, Nadir Shah invaded
and sacked Delhi. All vestiges of Mughal power
were gone. Soon the Nizams, who were simply
the Coat of arms of the asaf Jahi dynasty of Hyderabad. the round circle in the middle represents the Kulcha.
Mir Qamruddin, the first Nizam of Hyderabad, founder of the asaf Jahi dynasty of Hyderabad. the man who ate the seven kulchas.
tRIbutE
8www.aahsome.com
governors, declared their de facto independence
from the Delhi court. As prophesized, seven
generations of Nizams would rule one of the
biggest kingdom in India. The seventh Nizam,
Nawab Sir Osman Ali Khan joined the Indian
union after the Hyderabad police action by the
Indian army. The eighth descendant, Mukarram
Jah, would only inherit the title but nothing
else.
Kulcha still lives on, strong and proud. From its
humble origins in the street corners of India, it is
even available in supermarkets in UK and US like
ASDA and Sainsburys. But I always wonder if Mir
Qamruddin regretted eating only seven kulchas?
Also, I don’t know if he was offered chole along
with them, as I have no doubt that had those
kulchas been offered with chole, Mir Qamruddin
would have definitely eaten more! •
old wall painting of Khwaja Hazrat Nizamuddin auliya, a renowned Sufi mystic of Delhi. the man who offered kulchas to Mir Qamruddin and then prophesized that one day he would be king. the Hazrat Nizamuddin railway station in Delhi is named after him.
Akshay Chavan is an online media professional based in Mumbai, India. He has researched extensively on Indian royalty, history and heritage for almost a decade and has embarked on an ambitious project to uncover and document the forgotten chapters of Indian history, which were lost in mists of time. the collection of all his articles can be viewed at http://akshay-chavan.blogspot.com.
tRIbutE
www.aahsome.com 10
Your kisses are my food, your breath my wine. — Indu Harikumar
aRt
www.aahsome.com 11
Your kisses are my food, your breath my wine.
Indu Harikumar is a children’s writer and illustrator. She loves spouting corny lines. She blogs at http://conversationcompiler.blogspot.com.
aRt
12www.aahsome.com
INtERvIEW
Shilpi Ranadive started 8th Sin in Jan 2010
after giving a lot of thought to what
she wanted to do. Though a labour
of love, she puts in a lot of R&D into it as
the taste had to be refined and the recipes
standardized. She aims to introduce to India
a vast variety of tastes which are available all
over the world but are unheard of in India.
She wishes to usher in some more premium
ranges like Callebaut Belgian chocolates, higher
cocoa content (around 70%), to single origin
chocolates (chocolates made exclusively with
cocoa obtained from a particular region which
imparts unique taste and flavour characteristics
to the chocolates). What makes her proud
is that everyone who has tried the 8th Sin
chocolates has liked them in terms of their
taste and quality. Shilpi is constantly innovating
and experimenting as the world of chocolates
is immense. Stay tuned for exciting new
chocolates from her at www.8thsin.in.
One of the seven deadly sins is gluttony. Why
do you think you need to be the eighth?
Gluttony doesn’t appreciate the art of eating,
and is eating for the sake of eating. The 8th
sin is Indulgence. And the only way that it is
deadly, is that we steal your hearts.
How are you different from any chocolate
parlour?
We aim to please! Our idea is to make every
customer happy and revel in the taste of our
chocolates… We want everyone to sin by
eating our chocolates and also to spread this
sinfulness by gifting 8th Sin to their friends.
So, do you plan to just make chocolates or do
you plan to diversify?
Of course make lots more chocolates, various
new flavors and varieties. We are constantly
sourcing new ideas and trying them out. I can’t
see us running out of ideas for new products
Shilpi Ranadive just launched her chocolate product range, aptly named The 8th Sin. Priyanka Sarkar caught up with her to find out what makes them so aahsome. And hey, we have some super-exciting, chocolatey surprises waiting for you! Read on…
The 8th Sin
13www.aahsome.com
INtERvIEW
for a very long time so why diversify just yet.
Why is “chocolating” a sin? Why are you
“devilicious”?
Chocolating with our chocolates is certainly
sinful as they do evoke sinful thoughts & ideas
in everyone who indulges in them; so beware!!
We are devilicious because we bring out the
hidden devil in each and every one of you
when you try out our delicious chocolates.
Sci-Fi or Fantasy fascination in the naming?
We love Sci-Fi and Fantasy, so that had to come
out in the product names of course.
What do you think ties chocolates and sex
together other than the fact that chocolates are
aphrodisiacs. You seem to be proclaiming that.
We would love to proclaim our chocolates to be
aphrodisiacal, which would be one more reason
to indulge in some 8th Sin! But alas there are
no case studies or reports to validate that claim
yet. If any of your readers can help us verify
this, they are most welcome to share their
stories with us.
No wine-filled chocolates, sigh?
Coming soon! We have been working on a new
liqueur chocolate range — exclusively wines
which will be announced soon, so do bookmark
our website to stay updated.
There are only two types of people. One–
who like chocolates, the other, who adore
chocolates. Don’t you think it makes the
chocolate business a very safe business?
Sure people like or adore chocolates but how
many of us indulge in them regularly? We don’t
eat enough chocolate as compared to a lot of
other countries, so my totally risk free advice is
to go out & buy yourself some chocolates.
What do you think you stand for, in one word.
Irresistible
Best way to eat chocolates…
Smell the rich cocoa flavor, then keep one in
the mouth & let it melt slowly on your tongue
for 10-15 seconds.
Pleasure…
That aha moment when eating chocolates
which leaves a smile on your face.
A jacuzzi full of chocolates…
If it’s melted chocolate — messy affair, BUT
great for your skin!
A chocolate buffet should comprise of…
Chocolate Mousse, Liqueur Chocolates & Soft
Centered Dark Matter chocolates.
5 uses chocolates can be put to?
Bring Smiles, spread happiness & joy, make
friends and of course steal hearts.
How is a bar of chocolate better than any
intoxicant?
A tiny bite of chocolate goes a long way; no
other intoxicant gives so much pleasure to
people in all age groups. •
Priyanka Sarkar loves to drown herself in chocolates at the sightest pretext. She considers dark chocolates as the ‘godliest’ of ‘em all. She is an editor at an academic publishing
house and fantasizes about all things chocolate, most times.
Chocolatey surprise ahead, turn over!
14www.aahsome.com
CoNtESt
Will kill for chocolate! Will you?You don’t have to. Just send in interesting tweets about chocolate to @aahsome_mag with the tag 8thsin and win chocolates!
You can also participate on Facebook. Just post on your wall and tag Aahsome Magazine. To tag, type @Aahsome in your wall post and pick from the drop down Facebook shows you. Facebook will
let you tag only if you ‘Like’ us here: www.facebook.com/aahsome.
Examples
Chocolate is nature’s way of making up for Mondays. @aahsome_mag #8thsin
Forget love… I’d rather fall in chocolate! @aahsome_mag #8thsin
Prizes
2 winners get 250 gm Asteroid chocolates from The 8th Sin. Contest ends on May 12, hurry! All Aahsome readers get 15% discount on all 8th Sin products. Discount valid till 24th May.
Place your order by calling 98209 75055. To avail the discount, say the secret password “Aahsome is awesome, and
so are your chocolates.” Memorize this and you would have to say it exactly like that when you place your order :)
Delivery is restricted to Mumbai only. But hey, if you’re from another place, you can still gift the chocolates to your
friends and loved ones in Mumbai!
Contest winners will be announced on Facebook and Twitter.
16www.aahsome.com
I’m definitely developing a very pronounced culinary split
personality. The past couple of weeks have seen wall-to-wall
macaroons and cupcakes for our recent Uparwali Chai tea party
events: cake-stands piled high, pastries nibbled, Assam sipped and
pinkies crooked over fine china cups.
Happily, I have a seriously sweet tooth but I’m definitely back in the
mood for some savoury street fare. Just as well, then, that my friend
Rahul Verma, who writes about street food for The Hindu newspaper,
has decided to revisit all his favourite old haunts. Rahul first started
writing about Delhi’s street food over 20 years ago, so there’s a lot to
look forward to over the next few months. Hurrah!
I’d hardly finished reading Monday’s piece about Jain Sa’ab’s Bedmi
shop when I was in the car and heading to Daryaganj. A substantial
street breakfast was just what I needed to set the right tone for the
week. The wide, leafy streets of Daryaganj, dotted with colonial relics
and publishing houses, make a nice change from the teeming gullies of
the old city.
One thing I’ve noticed about some of Delhi’s best street food is
the quiet pride shown by the men who make it. No showy displays,
no sweet-talking the customers, there’s an almost arrogant ‘take it or
REvIEW
Jain Sa’ab The Gordon Ramsay of Daryaganj
by Pamela Timms
17www.aahsome.com
leave it’ confidence; here, the food does all
the talking. Mr. Jain is no exception, he has the
intensity of a Gordon Ramsay. He watches his
two helpers like a hawk — everything has to
be prepared just so — and takes no nonsense
from customers. I was left in no doubt
that photography of his stall would not be
permitted — I was here to eat and not collect
souvenirs!
The pride, it turns out, is well-founded.
There’s no shortage of bedmi wallahs in Delhi
but Jain Sa’ab is in a class of his own. His lentil-
laced crunchy puris are served with a deeply
savoury, meltingly soft potato and chhole (chick
pea) curry drizzled with a sharp fenugreek leaf
chutney. But what marks him out from other
bedmi shops is the side portion of tangy,
sweet pumpkin which gives the whole dish a
perfect balance. There’s also a final flourish
of pickled carrot and I couldn’t decide which
combination made for the most satisfying
mouthful — I suspect a return trip may be
needed to nail it! One thing is for sure, though,
the wonderfully fresh and creamy sweet lassi
was the perfect accompaniment. For a sweet
final flourish we also could have had a pudding
from the bubbling pot of Gulab Jamun. As Jain
Sa’ab knows only too well, this is Indian street
food at its finest! •
REvIEW
Food writer, blogger, cook, Pamela Timms has written features for a wide range of publications including The Sunday Times, The Daily Telegraph, The Guardian,
The Scotsman, The Daily Mail and The Sunday Herald.
Since launching in March 2009, her blog Eat and Dust (eatanddust.wordpress.com) has been voted one of India’s top 5 food blogs by Good Housekeeping magazine and was recently blog of the Week in The Times of India. She has been interviewed by French tv channel FR2 and Business Standard newspaper and will soon to be the subject of a profile in The Financial Times.
Directions to Jain Sa’ab: In Daryaganj, from Golcha Cinema on bahadur Shah Zafar Road turn right until you come to a t-junction, Jain Sa’ab is a small stall on the left.
www.aahsome.com 21
CoMICS
take 3 parts asterix & tintin, 4 parts Dr. Rajkumar & Superstar Rajinikanth, 2 parts Dai vernon, 3 parts Frank Miller, 4 parts Steve Jobs, 2 parts Gary Larson, 2 parts Monty Python. Stir in cauldron over a flame for an hour. add mango pickle and vodka for taste.
the author fell into a vat of the above-mentioned potion as a baby and has a heightened, confused sense of culture and identity since. Known superpowers include amazing autorickshaw-fu.
Jai Iyer was born in, lives in and (supposedly) works out of bangalore. He blogs at iyermatter.wordpress.com.
23www.aahsome.com
StoRY
In a small village in central India lived a
man. His name was Prem Kumar. He lived
a simple life. He sang songs written by
Kabir. He would get up early in the morning and
meditate, and practice his singing and get lost
in his bhakti. The songs transported him into
another world, where love was the only master.
He went from village to village, often
walking, and singing his songs. He had a few
musicians with him, who also trudged along
with him, regardless of sun and rain. Whenever
he sat down to sing, people gathered. Some
functions were also organized where he would
sing. People began to know of him. He gained
a certain respect in their eyes. He was spreading
the message of love, he said, through the words
of Kabir, the great poet-saint.
The Brahmins of his village also appreciated
his singing, so much that they invited him to sing
for them at their community hall. They wanted
him to have dinner with them as well. He
declined the dinner in the beginning but agreed
to join them at their insistence. The food was
tasty and varied. He ate what he was served and
went home. However, he vowed that he would
never accept such a dinner again.
His wife was waiting anxiously for him,
wanting to hear all about the function. When
he saw her, he smiled at her. But he did not look
happy. “I am so tired. Can you give me something
to eat?”
She began to speak. “But…” and stopped
herself. The children had gone to sleep and
she had had her dinner since her husband was
supposed to eat at the function. The kitchen fire
had been extinguished. She was tired, and eager
too to hear what had transpired at the function,
the appreciation of his singing, the decorations
in the hall, the people who had come to hear
him and the delicacies he had eaten.
“Yes,” she said instead, “wash and come
into the kitchen.”
She lit the fire again. She had some flour left
into which she mixed some milk and sugar and
made him some sweet rotis, there was no other
food which she could serve. She spread out the
mat for him to sit and poured some cool water
abundanceby Abha Iyengar
24www.aahsome.com
from the clay pot in the corner. Then she sat and
waited. When he walked in and sat down to eat,
she noticed the lines of sorrow around his lips.
She watched in silence while he ate his fill.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
She was amazed at his words. This is what
she did every day. She wondered at it all.
“You know, Mangla,” he said, for that was
her name, “my plate was filled with so much
food that I should have come home satisfied. I
ate from a silver plate, and the glass was pure
crystal, something you would not see in our
village at all. The surroundings were clean and
fresh. I ate all that was served, the puris, the
potatoes in gravy, the lightly spiced cauliflower,
the fried brinjal, the rice kheer with raisins and
walnuts, the bananas and … there was so much
that it is difficult to describe.”
Mangla’s eyes had begun to shine at the
wonder of it all. She had never ever seen this kind
of food. Her husband had indeed been lucky.
“Everything overflowed, Mangla,” he said.
“Wonderful,” she said. His eyes grew sad.
“Yet there was something missing.”
“What? You still wanted something more?”
“My singing did not affect them.”
“Why do you say this?”
“They did not serve me with love. There was
abundance; but not of love in their heart for me.“
He drank some water, cleared his throat. The
words came out with difficulty.
“I was made to sit a little away from the rest
of them. A distance was maintained. So they did
not really eat with me. They served me, yet it
was done as if they were throwing food at me.
I had to swallow my pride and sit there and eat.
For them, I am still a non-Brahmin. I am not a
human being in their eyes.”
Her eyes filled with sudden tears but his
were dry.
“I will continue to sing for them. And hope
that one day they will serve someone like me with
the respect due to another human being. That is
why I had to ask you to give me food. What I
ate there was sawdust in my mouth. There was
no love in it for me. I will never eat with them
again, though. This time they bruised my pride,
next time they could break my heart. I want to
continue singing.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank
you for making me feel human again, for filling
my mouth with sweetness, my stomach with
love. For giving me food.” •
StoRY
Abha Iyengar’s work has appeared in Dead Drunk Dublin, Danse Macabre, Long Story Short and others. She is a Kota
Press Poetry anthology Contest winner. Her story, ‘the High Stool ‘ was nominated for the Story South Million Writers award. Her poem-film, “Parwaaz”, has won an international prize. She is also recipient of the Lavanya Sankaran Writing Fellowship. “Yearnings” is her recently published poem collection.
She’s on www.abhaiyengar.com.
26www.aahsome.com
When I first read the words The Egg
Factory on burrp.com, the line from
an 80s ad “Sunday ho ya Monday,
roz khao andey” ran through my mind. In the
80s and early 90s, Doordarshan (DD1 and DD2)
was what I grew up watching and so it’s hard for
my generation to forget the above mentioned
byline. And so being the foodie that I am, along
with my buddies, landed up at the ‘Factory’,
located in a quiet by-lane on St. Mark’s Road, in
front of an old, dilapidated house where time
seems to have stood still. The décor, like the
floor of a factory, caught our eye. Along with
their product-manual style menu (multi-lingual
too!), it made me (and my friends) realise that
there had been some serious thought put into
this place. contd…
by Karthik Shetty
No Egg on Your Face here!
REvIEW
27www.aahsome.com
Karthik Shetty is a Software Engineer by profession and a foodie at heart. He blogs at gastronomicalgspot.blogspot.
com and is a confirmed friend of the Egg Factory.
On going through the menu, we suddenly
became very aware of the multitude of dishes
the humble egg can be served in. From the simple
omelet to a scramble, from a frittata to a French
toast, from the Mexican Huevos Rancheros
to the classic egg curry, you think of it, they’ll
probably have it. And did I mention pasta? And
for the weight conscious, you can ask for just the
whites to be used (this is where we went “You’re
kidding me!”).
But hold on, don’t think this is just a breakfast
joint — this all day diner also has snacks (egg-
based, of course), and some fantastic shakes and
coolers. Over several lunches and dinners later,
I can say with full authority that these can be
super fun affairs as well, especially when you
realise that you’re paying half of what you’d
normally pay at most other restaurants. Among
the several ‘concept’ restaurants, this one sure
takes the egg… I mean cake — a cake which
contains egg, of course! •
REvIEW
Eggciting contest ahead, turn over!
28www.aahsome.com
Think of eggciting things even The Egg Factory hasn’t thought of! Send funny, creative, eggstertaining tweets about eggs to @aahsome_mag. Tag them with #theeggfactory.
You can also participate on Facebook. Just post on your wall and tag Aahsome Magazine. To tag, type @Aahsome and pick from the drop down Facebook shows you. Facebook will let you tag only if you
‘Like’ us here: www.facebook.com/aahsome.
Eggxamples
khao ande. monday to sunday… khul jayenge life ke fundae @aahsome_mag #theeggfactory
Did the hen come first or the egg? Never mind, I’m eggnostic @aahsome_mag #theeggfactory
Prizes
2 Winners get vouchers worth Rs. 500 each! 2 Winners get vouchers worth Rs. 250 each!
These vouchers can be exchanged for FOOD at The Egg Factory! Contest ends on May 12, 2010. Hurry!
Winners need to pay only if the pre-tax value of their bill exceeds the value of the vouchers. The Egg Factory is
located on the ground floor, White House, In the lane beside Dewar’s Wine Store, St. Marks Road, Bangalore. It
is open on all days, between 8 AM to 11 PM. The vouchers can used only at the restaurant. No home delivery.
Winners will be announced on Facebook and Twitter.
BEEBS Contest
Be Eggs or Be Square Contest
CoNtESt
30www.aahsome.com
StoRY
The bus approached slowly
inching forward, stopping
at every crossing, but at
least it was there and on its way
— my bus to work. It was at a new
job in a bad economy so I was even
more anxious to be on time. The bus
came to a halt and the door opened.
With a courteous smile the driver
welcomed me on board. He was well
built yet gentle looking and sported
gold rimmed aviator style sun glasses.
I swiped my monthly-pass and gazed across
the bus looking for a suitable place to sit. The
front of the bus was full, with a few old people
and one passenger in a wheel chair. The back
of the bus looked equally inaccessible with a
few inconspicuous men sitting here and there.
Maybe the childhood notion of a monster in the
back of the bus still lurked in my mind and I did
not try finding a place there.
So the middle is where I went to go sit, in the
midst of some middle aged ladies. It was the
morning office rush hour but most people in
the bus seemed quite relaxed. A black lady with
close cropped salt and pepper hair had a seat
empty next to hers. She smiled as I sat down. I
had looked up the street intersection for my bus
stop online but was still nervous that I’d miss it.
I should have looked at the google street view,
I thought regretfully. I hesitated to pull out my
newspaper because if started reading that I
would miss my stop for sure. I kept my eyes on
the street signs wishing I had the window seat.
The lady next to me, turned to me and said
by Minu Agarwal
Oh Mother!
31www.aahsome.com
something in a thick southern American accent.
The only thing I understood was that she was
speaking English. I put up a confused face and
gestured that that I did not understand. The poor
lady repeated herself three times and I still could
not understand. I smiled politely and found it
best to open up the newspaper after which she
said something to the air around herself and let
out a sigh.
A group of young mothers boarded the bus
about half way through my journey, at the
downtown stop, with two kids and stroller each.
Much commotion followed with kids stumbling
around and the moms yelling at them while
trying to fold and put away the strollers, swipe
their tickets and find a seat all at the same time.
The eyes of the lady next to me lit up as she
craned her neck to have a better view of the
activity.
I continued to look out the window. But of
course, when my stop came, I missed it. After
a week of travel though, I had recognized
not only my bus stop quite well but also quite
a few regulars. I found that old lady with the
salt and pepper hair was a regular on the bus
and that her name was Mrs. Williams from bits
of conversations I overheard. She was thin and
wrinkly but the same could not be said about
her enthusiasm and energy. She was the most
avid talker on the bus, engaging a different
person in conversation each day. Her repeated
attempts with me though always resulted in
bitter failure. I have always wondered what she
thought of me… “What is this girl who does not
understand English doing here?” or maybe she
thinks I am avoiding her. Mrs. Williams however
had no dearth of people she could talk to. She
chatted up other women and if no one was in
the mood, she’d talk to the driver. The driver
would often oblige.
I on the other hand had my newspaper to give
me company on the 20 minute commute. This
was just another day. As usual I got up later
than I should have. I was still trying to put shoes
on as I ran out the door and reached the bus
stop just in time. I was happy to have made it
onto the bus and gladly settled into my seat.
Mrs. Williams smiled and I returned the gesture.
But my stomach wasn’t smiling. It grumbled,
reminding me that I had skipped breakfast yet
again. During childhood also I was always short
on time and enthusiasm for breakfast. But my
mother was firm. She would not let me step
out the threshold until I had emptied a glass of
warm milk. Every morning she would hold onto
my wrist as I tried to wriggle my way out. The
rickshaw-walla would wait patiently as the daily
morning drama ensued. My “rickshaw” mates
whispered and giggled as I desperately tried to
invent excuses for not drinking the milk. After a
few tugs I would give up and put the glass to my
mouth. Mom would loosen the grip only when I
handed her the empty glass.
But there was nothing I could do right now
sitting in the bus, except wishing the crunching
empty stomach pain would go away. The bus
stopped at the ‘Senior Citizen Multipurpose
Facility’ and Mrs. Williams had reached her
destination. She was already at the head of the
bus talking to the driver. The driver got the bus
to kneel and lowered the ramp. He even got up,
took her hand and helped her down. The driver
then continued to lead her into the facility. I
expected him to return to the bus but he walked
away with the engine running and door open.
A girl came up to the bus and peeked in. She
looked confused upon finding the driver’s seat
empty. I was the only one left in the bus and
she stepped in hesitantly with a question on her
face. I answered the unasked question for her,
StoRY
32www.aahsome.com
“The driver just stepped out to help an old lady.
He should be back soon”. She glanced at her
watch and shook her head. I was annoyed too
as the bus was already running late today and
then the driver decides to go for a stroll! After
a nervous five minute wait he returned with a
“to-go box”. I was all the more annoyed. I had
missed breakfast to be on the bus on time and
here the driver makes the whole bus wait, so he
could have some? I hesitated for a moment, and
walked up to him as he engaged the gears. I am
not a confrontational person so it took some
courage to say, “The bus is running quite late.
Could you not have taken your break after the
trip?” The driver let out a sigh, removed his sun
glasses, turned to me and said, “Ma’am have
you ever won an argument with your mom over
skipping breakfast?” I couldn’t help but smile
and went back to my seat. •
StoRY
Minu Agarwal hails from “Yuppee” (uP), living right now in atlanta, uSa en-route to her dream retirement in the Himalayas. She works in the green building industry.
www.aahsome.com
From when he can remember, Rajesh Babu remains an art enthusiast. He is currently an art Director in the uaE.
“Puttu Kadala”
34www.aahsome.com
aRt & PoEtRY
www.aahsome.com
Jyothirmayi Shankaran, is a literary enthusiast, who finds great pleasure in writing short pieces of prose and poetry. She is an avid blogger and blogs at www.jyothirmayam.com. Her soon to be published book ‘Mumbaijalakam’, is a collection of her blog-posts, and an ode to the mega-city she belongs to, Mumbai. She is also a wonderful cook. the wonderful flavours that she weaves about permeates into her culinary skills as well.
കുടട്നറ്െ തടട്ുകട
വേനലാണല്ലോ കഴിയ്ക്കുവാൻ ഭക്ഷണമേതുമാകാതെ കുഴഞ്ഞിടുന്നു
ഇന്നീ നഗരത്തിൽ കിട്ടുന്ന ഭക്ഷണമൊന്നുമെനിയ്ക്കു രുചിയ്ക്കുകില്ല
നാട്ടിലെ കുട്ടന്റെ തട്ടുകടയുമാചില്ലലമാരിയുമോർമ്മ വന്നു
ഉള്ളിലിരുന്നു ചിരിയ്ക്കും സുഖിയനുംവെൺനിറമോലും നല്ലിഡ്ഡലിയുംഉണ്ണിയപ്പം വട പുട്ടു കടലയും
വെള്ളേപ്പമൊപ്പം കഴിയ്ക്കാനിഷ്ടുപിന്നിലടുക്കള തന്നിൽ നിന്നെത്തിടും
നല്ല ദോശമണം ശബ്ദമൊപ്പംനല്ല സാമ്പാറിൻ സുഗന്ധമൊഴുകുന്നുചമ്മന്തി ചട്ടിണിയ്ക്കെന്തു സ്വാദുചന്തമായ് തൂങ്ങും പഴക്കുലകളിതാ
ചില്ലിന്റെ ഗ്ലസ്സിൽ വരുന്നു ചായ
കൌണ്ടറിൽ ചന്ദനം നെറ്റിയിൽ ചാർത്തീട്ടുകൌതുകമേറ്റിടും കുട്ടനിതാ
ഒന്നു ഞാൻ പോയി വരട്ടെയെൻ നാട്ടിലേയ്ക്കിന്നെൻ മനസ്സു കൊതിച്ചുപോയി
Kuttante ThattukaTa
Venalaanallo kazhiykkuvaan bhakshana-methumaakaathe kuzhanjnji tunnu
innee nagaraththil kittunna bhakshana-monnumeniykku ruchiykkukilla.
Naattile kuttante thattukatayumaa-
chillalamaariyum ormma vannuullilirunnu chiriykkum sukhiyanum
venniramolum nalliddaliyumunniyappam , vata, puttu, katalayumvelleppamoppam kazhiykkaanishtu
pinnil atukkala thannil ninneththitumnalla dosa manam, sabdamoppam
nalla saampaarin sugandhamozhukunnuchammanthi, chattiniykkenthu swaadu
chanthamaay thuungum pazhakkulakalithaachillinte glaassil varunnu chaaya.
Kountaril chandanam netiyil chaarththeettu
kouthukametitum kuttanithaaonnu njaan poyi varatteyen naattile-ykkinnen manassu kothichchu poyi.
Kuttan’s Food Stall
The searing summers are upon;Eating food feels like a tiring chore.
And all the food in the city,I don’t seem to relish anymore.
From back in my village, Kuttan’s food stall,With his glass almirahs, I reminisce.
As within them peer smilingly, the sukhiyansAnd fluffy, white idlies.
Unniappams, vada, puttu & kadala,Vellappams, with ishtu to go around;And from the kitchen behind, lingers
Dosa-making smells and sounds.The sweet aroma of sambar wafts,
Delicious, the taste of chammandi & chutney!Hanging resplendent, bunch of bananas;
And in glass cups arrive tea.
At the cash-counter, sandalwood paste across his forehead,
Sits Kuttan, looking ever so fine.That once again I may visit my village,
Yearns this heart of mine.
35www.aahsome.com
Theesh eesh tha shtory oph a
pheesh that we all Bangals
jasht labh to eat and konshidar
the pinnacle of culinary ekshperiansh.
I know this story because I ate this Ilish and at
night when the mind is truly awake, that fish told
me about the Ilish that travelled to Whondarland.
Haaakthoo! (Pan-stained spitting.)
There is magic in this story as there is magic
in the very taste of Ilish. There are magical
creatures (not all edible, though some can be,
eeph you are in China) and happenings (mostly
gastronomic). This tale will terrify and bring joy
at the same time. So hold on to the seat belts of
your imagination or you will fall into chaos!
So one day, choto Ilish was misbehaving and
being extremely naughty, so mother Ilish told
her to go sit in a corner. Ilish was sitting (she
had to bekosh, naughty though she whass, but
she knew she cannot shay no to Ma) and sulking
when suddenly she saw a sea-rabbit. Now, Ilish
had never seen a sea-rabbit in her life (neither I
hab I, nowhere een Kolikata and eeph you don’t
hab it in Kolikata, you hab eet nowhere), so she
started following it.
The sea-rabbit started running and so did
Ilish when suddenly the sea-rabbit suddenly
jumped up and disappeared. Ilish also jumped
up and started feeling like she was flying. And
as she was flying she lost all bearing of where
she was and kept going up and up. And she
dropped into a fishbowl with all doors to the
outside locked (I shteel cant recollect how she
Ilish in Whondarlandby Priyanka Sarkar
FaNtaSY
36www.aahsome.com
reached there, when I can remember, I wheel
write it down phor you). Now the fishbowl was
very smelly, so Ilish had to find a way out or die
of the smell. She tried all the doors and finally
found one that could open but it was very tiny.
That was when she saw a small bottle with ‘Drink
me’ written on it. Ilish drank a little and shrank
and opened the door (yes, she got it in one go,
because she is a feesh, and eeph you eat pheesh,
you become intelligent).
And with the opening of that door she
was lead into a garden prettier than Eden (not
the Biblical one, the one in Kolikata). It is here
that she saw two pigs (Oh Ma , I laabh pork!)
who were sitting in Adda with a cat (I don’t
theenk I want to eat that) with spectacles and
two flowers. And from here begins the story
of adventure and misadventure as she (like any
good Bangali) takes part in the politics of the
land and teaches them to follow the true ideals
of Marxism to become an ideal land. There is
also a game of Phootball (Ah! That godly sport
I labh to whatch!) and a war greater than the
World War.
But this is just the preface of the book and
if I give away the story, you will not read it and
miss out on a good story that will teach you a
lot many good things in life. So, read the preface
now, and wait for the story, my grand epic tale
that will make me the next Tolstoy. Wait for it
now, for I put my pen down, because the wife
is calling me for dinner. She says there is begun
bhaaja, moshur daal, ilish, bhaat, chaatni and
shondesh. I am very hungry and kannot bhait.
Best Regards,
A. Mukhopadhayay
FaNtaSY
Priyanka Sarkar is a non-resident bengali who doesnt really like fish or even football. She has absolutely no interest in politics
except for in the passing. She is a complete foodie who likes to read and watch fantasy (not of the pornographic kind). When she is not editing, she is eating, drinking, lazing around, reading or watching movies.
Image Ms Machli from Machilipatnam is part of a pilot art project that Indu Harikumar teaches at a Mumbai Mobile Creches centre.
38www.aahsome.com
FREE vERSE
A single grain from Draupadi’s potOr hundreds spread to dry on grandfather’s porch,Brown, un-hulled, boiled, freshly picked from the fields
Soon we eat them, little pieces, crushed, sweetenedWith coconut milk, jaggery, cashewsOr little white pillars, steamed, topped with more coconutSpiced with black gram or yellow ripe bananas
My aunt, she strains them, out of her potGently, unhurried in bamboo ladles Mounds of steaming, pink fat grains
Under Jacaranda trees on hot afternoonsWe savor them with sour white curds, Pickled mangoes from tall Chinese mud jarsFried Eggs with chilies, onions, and more coconut.
My mother feeds an army of fifteen, Or is it twenty?Her pot, fat, short, large, precariously balancedOn a Kerosene stove
I cook on fire unseen, a handful at a timeThe starch and froth from the soon to be fluffy white grainsPerfumes the house of a warm meal to comeAnd calls the children to the table.
Grains of Riceby Bindu Lalitha
Grains of Rice
the author lives in misty Portland oregon and generally dabbles in logical poetry in verilog. For random musings on everything in life read more at http://greenismyvalley.blogspot.com.
www.aahsome.com 39
Back in my school days, I was incredibly enchanted
by the TV show Bewitched. It was also a time
when atoms and molecules — the stuff we
lesser mortals can never ‘see’, but are supposed
to believe in — were being taught in my school.
Science stopped being just about a floating
wood block on water, and suddenly graduated
to a propaganda laid out by thoroughly confused
souls who make up wacky assumptions in order to
elucidate certain observable phenomena. Sadly,
just a few chapters ahead, another soul or a
group of them finds a contradictory observation
that doesn’t fit the assumptions made by the
earlier group. Duh! Despite its demerits, being
the meritorious student that I was, I loved
science. It has taught me an important corporate
survival skill — making creative explanations for
problems and questions you know you can’t
have an answer to. Back then, such an important
question was ‘How does Samantha produce stuff
from thin air?’
Let’s start with an assumption. Witches have
a charm. Just as a charming person gets lots
of comments on their blog, witches can easily
influence and manipulate people into obeying
an instruction. Naturally, their influence must
also extend to inanimate objects — down to the
molecular and atomic level. After all, humans
are also a bunch of atoms, right? So, when
Samantha is making cake from thin air, she is
merely instructing the atoms in the air to undergo
fusion or fission reactions — as needed, and to
reassemble into sugar and flour molecules of a
cake. Simple!
But what about the colossal energy required or
released during these series of nuclear reactions?
Without getting into a debate over whether
math is a science or an art, let’s turn to math
for an explanation. The law of large numbers
holds the key. It’ll be safe to assume (again)
that there are over a million, if not billions of
witches, doing their things around the universe.
A friendly exchange of energy must then take
by Amey Purandare
Witch’s recipe to a cake
FaNtaSY
www.aahsome.com 40
FaNtaSY
place between any two seemingly disconnected
witchcraft reactions. Otherwise, the universe
would get too cold or too hot depending
on whether Samantha is creating a cake or
destroying it.
But how does this transfer actually take place?
I mean, one witch could be in London making
a cake, and the other in Bhutan destroying
something. I don’t see a link… I just need to
think harder. Or, may be not. Is it too hard for
our charming lady in Bhutan to instruct the
atoms around her to kindly assemble into a
heat exchange reactor, convert the enormous
heat released into electricity, and pass it onto
Samantha via a pair of superconducting cables?
Just as we need ovens and spatulas to make
a cake, witches need nuclear reactors and
superconducting cables. Easy.
But how does the lady in Bhutan know where
to send the cables? How does she know about
Samantha? Time to revisit our assumptions.
Hey, didn’t we say witches have charm. Isn’t
charm frequently equated with intelligence
and knowledge? At work, when we are stuck
somewhere don’t we instinctively go to the
most seemingly approachable (read, charming)
person for help? It works the same way, except
that the witches actually do know everything.
Just as our charming colleague secretly Googles
for knowledge, the less knowledgeable witches
must also use an eBay equivalent for auctioning
off their energy.
But doesn’t it sound too much of a hassle to
make a cake? Yes. You think baking a cake is
easy? Besides, this might precisely be the reason
why Samantha doesn’t want to use her powers
and prefers just to bake a cake instead — the old
fashioned way. •
Having eaten his birthday cake recently, Amey Purandare develops and tests cool mobile apps (only when he’s not eating cakes passionately).
42www.aahsome.com
RECIPE
1 small chicken cut into small pieces
6 dried chillies
3 fresh green chillies split into vertical halves
1 big capsicum diced
2– spring onions or 2 normal onions diced
4 tablespoons soya sauce
3 tablespoons vinegar
1 teaspoon refined oil
Salt to taste
Place all the ingredients in a pressure cooker, close the lid and
cook on high heat. After a whistle, let it simmer on a low flame for 5
minutes. Then, turn off the stove and let the cooker cool. Open, and
dry if required. Serve hot with cut green chillies in vinegar and fresh
green salad.
Phataphat Chilly Chickenby Neelu Kohli
a school teacher by profession, Neelu Kohli is a foodie and loves to cook. She enjoys trying out quick and easy recipes in particular. She jots down her culinary experiences and plans to publish a recipe book soon.
www.aahsome.com 43
aRt
From when he can remember, Rajesh Babu remains an art enthusiast. He is currently an art Director in uaE.
“Meen”
the ingredients shown are curry leaves, tomato, lemon, ginger and the fish shown is the sardine.
44www.aahsome.com
FREE vERSE
The blue cup and saucers,Lie waiting for the tea.The green paint brush,Is dripping wet.The glass lies broken,The kettle merrily boiling,The stove is on, or is it?The lighter can’t be found,The dolls are stacked together,Almost like a family,A happy family?Who can tell?
There’s a book in front,It says chicken soup for the soul,In good shape, maybe unread.The family is tight,The table is set,A family portrait half-finished,The water is on,The bathroom door locked,The tub with a duck is filling fast,The boat lays waiting by the sink. A girl sits alone,Down by the corner,Sniffing, weeping, sad.
The tears roll down,They don’t taste sweet,A swish of hand,The moistened cheeks,The doll on the ground,The severed head.
The needle, the thread ,Couldn’t put poor Barbie,Back together again.The mother knocks,A jerk sight towards the door,A shake of head,“Not now, it’s ok”,“I’m sure it is,Dinner’s ready, dad’s waiting.”
A whispered sigh,A shrug to share,The doll left alone,The child moves on.The family waits,And another too.The mom, the dad,The daughter sits.A big bowl of hidden secrets,The cover slowly removed
And a hint of smile.A bowlful of joy,Taken one spoon a time,Cooled by the warm breath,Of a sorrowed soul. The favourite remedy,Of smart mothers,An oriental speciality,One passed down ages.One soup to rule them,One soup to soothe them,One soup to bring them all,And in the happiness bind them.Chicken soup it is not,Though the little girl,Inside every man’s soul,Craves for it, day in day out,It’s the wanton soup,That works the best. And that is why,Every kid in the Middle EarthKnows this saying by heart,A bowl of wanton soup a day,Keeps all the sadness away!
Wanton soup for the sad girlby Rishabh Shah
Rishabh makes PPt’s with confusing words and complicated “strategies” for a living. He is a Manga & anime lover and loves playing board games. a travel freak, his aim is to travel the world… though at someone else’s expense obviously :). He enjoys reading and writing but members of the opposite sex bring out the poetic best in him. He blogs at r3d3mption.blogspot.com and tweets @_rishabh.
45www.aahsome.com
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At The Edge blog: 8ate.blogspot.com.
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बरु ी नज़र वाल े तरेा म ुहँ काला!
