My ode to pao

It’s covered millions of vadas, been the staple of a billion breakfasts and is quite simply one of the things I cannot do without. What am I talking about? The pao, a humble bread that is as dear to every fanatical Mumbaikar as the croissant and baguette is to any Parisian.
Every city-dweller has their own special relationship with the pao, from the regular at Kyanis, who just can't do without his bun-maska, to the Shiv Sainik for whom vada pao is an expression of party loyalty, to the laid-back teenager in Goregaon who spreads imported Kraft cheese spread on her pao for a hearty breakfast. Then there are those who will content themselves with just dipping the pao in their chai, or toast it and then smear butter on it for a calorie-laden feast. My cherished pao experience involves my grandmother's home-made mango jam, which transforms the pao into instant ambrosia.
Any pao shortage immediately strikes fear into the heart of pao-lovers because it means the dreaded compromise with sliced bread. That means hard edges and a thin texture; and is only to be borne if the prospect of not eating bread at all is too dire to contemplate.
Pao is so much a part of life in Mumbai now that we tend to take it for granted. The recent baker's strike was a classic example, when sliced bread disappeared instantly from shops and bread-lovers developed alternatives at breakfast, turning to rotis and even fruit and cornflakes instead. The real effects were felt on the streets and in the Udupi restaurants, where vada pao became just vada, and pav bhaji just bhaji with sliced bread.
So, can Mumbai do without its pao? Definitely not. The pao has eaten its way into the city’s heart.

-- I wrote this in 2002 when my granny was still alive. I wish I had got that recipe for mango jam now.... and I miss her so much besides....

The Storyteller's Creed

I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge
That myth is more potent than history
That dreams are more powerful than facts
That hope always triumphs over experience
That laughter is the only cure for grief
And I believe that love is stronger than death

From - All I really need to know, I learned in kindergarten - Robert Fulghum

Love. Actually.

How do you know when you are in love? When you can't stop yourself from telling the whole world about it. When everything and everyone reminds you of one person and one person only. When you can spend hours analysing the behaviour of a particular person. When a casual word of praise can send you into a tailspin and a mild word of regret sear your very soul.
When you wish you can sing, write down an epic (with one theme only) and make time stand still. When you can read these words in print and find them beautiful....

Books, books and more books

Why do I say that? Because I just bought 22 at one go - and have been enjoying watching the effect of that statement on all the people I encounter today. Most are just plain incredulous and the ones that know me well or love books themselves - say show me! And that brings me to what I want to say - I know that so many people, especially young kids, don't read these days, but what truly depresses me is encountering people who want to read but don't because - pick a reason - they're too busy, can't find time, books are somewhere else, etc, etc.
What I say is - you have to make time for books and if this occasionally means neglecting other things or people - then do it. You'll still be a better person - I have yet to come across a murderer who was a great reader and it's a certainty that the books will make you more considerate and loving and a great human being.
So go ahead - keep reading and let me borrow your books some time :)

Happy to be here!!

Just wanted to record that I am really happy today.

High Flight

I'm scared of heights but have always loved this poem.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind
I've trodThe high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee
No 412 squadron, RCAF
Killed 11 December 1941