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cubnagi · 20 days ago

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After a draining day, the last thing you want is to stand over a hot tawa making dosas for yourself. ALLOW ME TO EXPLAIN!! Scientifically, 1 dosa can be made in 1 min, provided the other factors align. The batter at room temperature, the dosa tiruppi [or the flipper], a well-greased dosa kal [the tawa, or the skillet], and the oil sit in their designated place in the kitchen. NOTE: This blog is not about bachelor men, men living alone for varied reasons, unbiased men, and unbiased people from the rest of sexual orientations. Typically, the closing meal of an average middle-class South Indian home is dosa. This means that the woman in charge of dosa making would take out the SAMBADAM from the refrigerator, ahead of dinner time. “Sambadam” is a vessel commonly used to store the dosa batter. This also takes up the maximum space in the refrigerator of any South Indian home. The batter takes 30-40 minutes to thaw. If the step is skipped, usually the dosa clumps up on the tawa. Not only is the Dosa a soothing food, it is also a healthy fermented delicacy. The older crowd prefers it over the seductive array of flashy junk foods out there, in plenty. It is a flirty dish, versatile, can pair with almost any damn gravy/ chutney on earth, vegetarian or meat based. And in the absence of any, all one needs is a dash of the classic IDLI PODI, a must-have in a South Indian kitchen. Idli Podi is a ground mix of roasted dals, red chillies, salt, and other spices. Closer to dinner time, typically, the WOMAN of the house, the WIFE, starts preparing hot & crisp dosas. Usually, the first to be fed is the child. In some cases, the dosa-maker is the grandparent or the cook. The dosa-maker jogs with the dosa plate, following the trail left by the child, and somehow stuffs it in. The next in line is the MAN of the house. They are usually served crispy, piping hot dosas, straight from the tawa. A woman never learns her lessons. She makes dinner time into a blissful experience for her family. She ensures that a freshly ground chutney, a different one, is served every evening. This is paired with a heated-up staple sambar, left over from noon, and a generous dash of idli podi, soaking in a bed of fragrant gingelly oil. Funnily, while MEN look for a HOMELY feel in the restaurants, they demand a FINE-DINING experience at home. This explains their demand for a “PAPER ROAST” dosa at home. Usually, the grandparents [maternal/ paternal] ensure they eat after the MAN of the house. Dosas for the paternal end of the family are made by the WOMAN of the house, or the cook if they are on the payroll. The “woman of the house” also ensures she serves her parents at the right time. This is right after the rest of the acquired family, but before she eats her dosas. If the grandparents live separately, nothing much changes, except that the process gets shortened. She is still the last one to eat, making dosas for herself. She signs off her shift after cleaning the messy kitchen and a quick audit of the pantry inventory. Any shortage gets uploaded in the mental checklist for a quick refill the next day. This is the life of an average middle-class Indian woman, irrespective of whether she has a job or is “JUST” a housewife. I know of families where dosas are made ahead of time, neatly stacked in a casserole. But, we prefer eating it hot & crisp at my home, like many houses. So the dosas are made at a stretch, where people eat one after another, or on demand. Family eating together works well on the screen. It doesn’t work offline in most families, including mine. Today, it’s a crazy idea to let a father & a son share dinner time with dosas & their daily saga from the two different worlds they live in. Now, many women have opted to work outside their homes also. It means they have taken jobs that pay them, both for the hours they put in daily and the value they bring along. This way, she gets to support her family financially, apart from managing the family, all through, silently. She also puts her hard-earned academic degrees, skill...

#MiddleClassDiaries EverydayIndianLife SouthIndianKitchen DosaChronicles CrispDosaTales

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cubnagi · 2 months ago

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Men usually hang on to their friendships longer than women do. ALLOW ME TO EXPLAIN. I spent my entire childhood in Bhutan. My parents hail from XXXL-sized families of Tamil Nadu. While we boasted of having cousins in excess, we met once a year during the summer vacation. It didn’t help us much. For weird reasons, my brothers & I hardly had any friends sticking with our family for long. Additionally, I am an introvert, which posed challenges sharing my mess & glory with anyone. While I have intensely blogged on losing my High School love, I haven’t shared what my family & relatives felt about the episode. I was topping the HALL OF SHAME billboard, my name was neon-lit. Sadly, no one ever checked on me as to how I was coping. It added to the heartbreak. I had no one to lean on, so I healed privately. Almost 20 years later, I mustered the courage to open the black box. I shared the contents with my two buddies, I felt lighter, I was ready to LET GO. That’s what a friend offers; it’s like holding a lamp in a dark tunnel, and the journey is far easier. Is there a set template for choosing in friendship? Some fit, some don’t. If they don’t fit, you have to let go. But, introverts included, everyone does need the shoulder of a friend. Ironically, our societal norms are screwed up. Everyone must get married and live a fulfilling life. This lens is stifling & stupid. Despite getting hooked, they need more than each other to survive on this planet. Together, all they could make were babies, pick up fights & patch up, like any couple. They still need relatives, father & mother, exotic in-laws, cousins, classmates, pets, enemies, and friends to make a wholesome life, and to live it. This is the censored part of the marriage story. Unsurprisingly, things go for a spin post-marriage; this impacts the women far more than men. Some women keep up with their friends, and they nurture them. I salute them, but this is rare. Most of them stop watering it. Right after the three knots or the ring, as the case may be, the woman hands over her reign to her man. She keeps giving in to, and the man keeps taking. I wonder if he even asked for the little extra? Perhaps, it just turned into a forced addiction over the centuries, thanks to us. Secretly, she also sets daunting standards he could never live up to. But why should he? Given the explosion of social media content floating around married couples, it doesn’t seem that any couple is in bliss, especially the women. A man rarely gives up his friendship. He nurtures it for a lifetime, silently, or loudly, as needed. Marriage doesn’t deter him in any way. To cut the story short, marriage is overrated. I have my two cents for the women out there. A spouse is not a “Walmart Store”, one-stop solution for all our itches. It’s lame to expect your spouse to be your best friend. It’s good if they surprise you; if they don’t, get over it. Nurture the bonds that come your way, we often miss the signs. I married the man I love, and for a while, I felt complete & sorted. But life kept offering exotic challenges to deal with. I needed a different lens, and the buddies had it in them. But problem solving wasn’t the only reason to let them into my life; I liked them as people. Additionally, my hubby & I are wired differently. He finds me uptight, and I see him as a loose cannon. Adding to the list, he is an extrovert, he thrives with people around. I need my space to recharge, he needs to step out for the same results. I stuck to just two buddies, that’s the best I could do. I never planned to, but both ended up being male. One of the two buddies is a chivalrous, warm-hearted person, he ticks all the boxes for a typical NICE guy. He enmeshed effortlessly into my family. However, it took a herculean effort to add the other, a non-stop smoker, an arrogant IIT Gold Medalist, but soft at heart. We have travelled together for more than 20 years so far, I am truly blessed. We stood by each other during the tornadoes of each other’s lives. Nowhere, I am concluding we are...

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#DeepReflections #FriendshipMatters #gender #heartbroken #hurt #introvert #Life #LifeChoices #LifeJourney #love #marriage #MarriageAndFriendship #space #TrueConnections #women #WomenAndFriendship

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cubnagi · 2 months ago

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It’s soothing to see men with long hair, neatly ponied, or let wild, and so on. They carry it well. But, at best, I can manage a MILITARY CUT, that’s me. ALLOW ME TO EXPLAIN. During my childhood, the world around me consisted of 3 kinds of people: men with short hair, women with long hair, and men contemplating a HAIRCUT. This included children of all age groups. While men had short hair, women were EXPECTED to have long hair, and they ended up so. I was a silent rebel, a BOLD INTROVERT in the school, and I remain so to date. The world was unfair to women in those days; some parts of it have changed now. I had phantom-sized questions about the societal boundaries set around me, but they died in the battles within my head. Growing up in the forests of Bhutan nurtured the introvert in me. I was never keen to socialize, it made me anxious. I started my career in a Research function, and life was almost a safe and boring ride for a decade, soothing to the introvert. Soon, I swerved and picked up a human resources career. It was a rollercoaster ride. It drained me. I would come home, lock myself up for a fuel recharge to connect with my own family. I met my husband, and I felt at ease around him. I wasn’t losing myself anymore. Growing up as an Indian among the Bhutanese & Nepalese wasn’t easy. The Indian families in Bhutan were obsessed with their cultural rituals. It was the only way to remain connected to the deep Indian roots. When I hit puberty, my family did a low-key ritual. The WHISPER was too loud, a public shaming in disguise. All I did the following week was to respond to the curiosity of the larger world at school, including the boys. The CAREFREE introverted girl lost her STAY FREE status. I waited for menopause from then. Mostly, girls like having long hair; it’s a fetish. I succumbed. I had long hair reaching to the knees at some point. It meant annoying maintenance schedules – oiling [Champi] rituals, shampooing, conditioners, towel drying, keeping them lice-free, and harnessing them with clips and ribbons. I did all of it as girls around me did it. This changed when I moved to a different school to pursue tenth grade. I saw Senior girls, the Didi’s with a boy-cut, and hair up to shoulders, it felt like freedom. I quickly inserted a new template of women in my head. All I had to do was upgrade my life to match it. Easier said than done. Short hair meant simplicity, less hassle, daily hair showers, time-saver, in short, it felt PEACE. Ironically, people, women included, are trained to identify womanhood with long hair. Thankfully, my hubby had differing views. He opined that women carry short hair well. When he uttered it for the first time, I stood shocked, looked up at the open blue sky in sheer disbelief. I was no longer in doubt; I welcomed him into my boring life with arms wide open. I knew most of the elements of this marriage would work for the entire stretch. I don’t regret any part of our marriage. Well, it was never about short hair. It was about a simple Indian man who could see beyond the rigid structures of society. He hailed from a male-dominated territory where men are served first in any public gathering, including closely held family gatherings. He still managed to be an exception. One can rise from where they started and live exceptionally. It’s all in our heads. I escalated to MILITARY CUT in the year 1997, it wasn’t easy. It is never easy to BE DIFFERENT. I decided to go for a hair makeover right after a few weeks of our marriage. With a heavy heart, the hairstylist ran her sharp scissors across the hair. After all, I had chosen a military cut over long hair running till my knees. My mother-in-law promptly showed her disapproval during her visit to Chennai. My parents wanted me to tell her I had offered it to a temple. I was stubborn, NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH had to be said. I recollect looking straight into her eyes and announcing it to be my choice. We never had a second discussion on the topic. Funnily, she went in for a horrifying Nazi cut during her last ...