Saturday 23 August 2014

Newspaper Articles: EGGSTAR FOUND CRACKED!

FAR FAR AWAY, NORTH FAIRYCAVE

Our beloved head of the egg league and egg tennis captain, Mr. Humpty Dumpty, has met his fat, his cruel destiny. He has fallen to his death from the great Muggle Wall on Friday the 13th at 9 a.m.

He had been there to pay his rites to his late grandpa, the rocking rockstar, Jackfruit Blueberry, but finally had to share the same grave.

The Three Little Pigs of Police have come to a conclusion that it is a pre-planned murder as evidences say so. There was an egg marked on the place where he sat. He was covered with yolk and was in a state no one could fix him.

There have been evidences that spring up a list of suspects. There are four suspects who have strong evidences against them. A green apple has been found in the site of murder, so the Pigs say it might have been Pegasus. About 13 feet away, a pail and a crown has been found, suspecting Jack and Jill. A golden hook was found under a tree near the spot of murder, an evidence against Captain Hook.

The new head of the egg league, Mr Egg Megg, has also reported strange sightings in the sky. A horrible sign. He had seen the dreaded Omelettes who turn eggizens into a cruel, unimaginable, unforgivable state: peppered omelettes.

King Shrek, Queen Fiona, Merlin and several other have gathered on Saturday at the egg yard to pay their final eggs to our beloved friend. He will stay in our yolks forever.

NIVETHA

23/09/2013

Friday 22 August 2014

Writing to my dear 'Pan'ski...

From: ‘Pot’snair of Kitchen Utencity
To: ‘Pan’ski of Pots n’ pans                                                                           
                                                                                                                                                                            
Dear ‘Pan’ski,
Save me! Save me! Ever since I was bought from that store, I’ve been tortured and hurt beyond my limit. The woman who bought me is extremely monstrous and cruel; you should just listen to what she did to me.

The little girl in this household ‘hell’ wanted to play baseball (panball in our place), so she used me as a bat and I ended up losing my hand! You see, when the ball soared through the air, the little demon swung me to hit the ball but finally, I ended up being thrown into the air too! I bumped onto the tarmac in front of the Graveyards’ house. I’m reeking with that old lady’s body lotion! Also, the crazy demon puts me on the stove for a longtime and Me. Fire is harsh on me and burns my back! Please send me some soap next time; I’m turning ugly and black all over.

This warty woman talks nineteen to the dozen. Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah this, blah that! I get agitated just by talking about it. She talks about unnecessary thing like nail polish (this slimy thing that dyes the small pink thing on the ends of their fingers), etc. Oh, I hate her! She’s a mouthful!

The little meanie here once turned me upside down and sat on me with her pants all dirty. Ewww! It was so gross! Man. I can never forget the stench! It reeks of well…you-know-what.

I recently hears that you’ve run away from you owner, Pansk. Well then, I would like to ‘heed’ some advice from you. I’m deciding to run away, anon. If you had joined a second-hand shop as you told, will you please find me a vacancy? I’ll send my PV (Paniculum Potae) shortly. Meanwhile, please tell the owners that I’ve done PPD ( pots n’ pans diploma) and MKD (Master of Kitchen Dishes).

P.S.
Please send me a couple of soaps and perfume. I’m malodorous.

P.S. again
You better RSVP me back again.
With loads of curry and gravy,
‘Pot’snair.

22-08-2013


Sunday 17 August 2014

Maybe not-so-gluttonous: Mughal Cuisine

 Good morning everyone! I’d like to start off my speech with few facts. I’m sure everyone here knows that India was the richest country a few centuries back and that Mughals were a legendary lineage of kings who ruled for over 3 centuries in India, their rule leaving an enduring legacy of art.  They were connoisseurs in beauty and food and they mastered in the ‘art’ of cuisine, a topic that I’ll be speaking to you about.

The Mughal Emperors impressed courtiers, nobles, foreign guests and dignitaries at their dining table. The menu, finalized by the hakim (royal physician), would consist of about 100 dishes, each prepared by one cook. Diners took their place on the ground, atop rich carpets laid with protective white sheets. The Mughals followed the Indian custom of the time by beginning their meals with pickles, freshly sliced ginger and lime.  The centrepiece of the imperial spread was usually a dish of rice cooked with ghee, spices and meat: the pilaf. This was accompanied by a huge variety of game bird, fish, lamb, venison and beef cooked in different styles. Food to be decorated with fresh flower petals and edible thin foils of silver and gold.  After their meals, they rinsed their hands with perfumed water poured from jugs held by servants. They also ended the meal with chewing on betel nut, or paan. What they introduced was the tradition of desserts, that is, the eating of something sweet at the end of the meal, rather than at the start or in the middle.

Cutlery were usually studded with rubies, diamonds, jades, etc, the most stunning being a 16th century gold spoon encrusted with rubies, emeralds and diamonds made for Akbar. Mughal cuisine was strongly influenced by the Persian cuisine of Iran, which featured dried fruits and nuts, ingredients commonly used by imperial cooks in meat and rice dishes. In fact, under the Mughals, fruit was a symbol of sophistication and their elevated position in society. At the time of the Mughal rule, fruits and nuts were thought of as incredibly opulent and luxurious.
Coming from a food-loving culture, Hindustan seemed to Babur a land stripped of food. He writes in The Baburnama, “There is no grapes, quality fruits, mask melons, candles”. He did not fancy the local Indian food, which lacked the spices and flavours he was accustomed to in his native Samarkand.

From Kashmir, they imported temperate fruits unavailable in Delhi’s climate such as peaches, plums, apricots, apples, grapes and pears. They planted formal gardens of fruit trees over conquered territories and drank juices flavoured with essences. From the mountains, they brought down ice to keep their sherbets and desserts cool and palatable. Emperor Akbar had his own kitchen garden which he watered daily with rosewater because it added to the flavour of food when cooked.
This might sound downright ridiculous in our times, but in the age of Mughals, even cuisine was considered a form of art and high position. Who knows, presidents having a 100 cars, some bullet-proof even, might sound ridiculous in the future.









Monday 11 August 2014

A Thousand Splendid Suns

‘One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs
And the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls"
                                                                          - Saib Tabrizi

Now, doesn’t that verse sound good? It is by Saib Tabrizi, an Afghan, describing the beautiful and enduring city of Kabul, Afghanistan. Other than writing a poem about his hometown, Saib may have also suggested an idea on how to name a book to Khaled Hosseini who wrote the ‘Book of the Year Award for Adult Fiction’ winner, A Thousand Splendid Suns.

The tale is of two cities: Herat and Kabul and two Afghan women, Mariam and Laila. At the beginning, we are dropped into the world of Mariam, a young girl living alone in a kolba in the outskirts of the splendid city of Herat (where she is forbidden to visit) with her unmarried mother. She is denied the simplest pleasures of life and is brought up by her epileptic mother who repeatedly reminds her, ““Learn this now and learn it well. Like a compass facing north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always. You remember that, Mariam.” The sole reason for her to live is for her weekly visits from her insincere, charming father who runs Herat's cinema, and whose real family she longs to join. It is on her 15th birthday when her pre-ordained story is to be rewritten forever in the hands of the Koran and God. However, Hosseini isn’t the one to be stagnant on the same situation forever; before many pages have been turned Mariam's mother has died, and her unfeeling father has married her off to a 43-year-old acquiantance from Kabul.

Almost a generation later, we switch from Mariam's life to that of a neighbour, the young Laila, who is growing up in a liberal family with a father who believes in her education. She isn’t bound to the rules of her religion and we suddenly see Mariam from the outside: a silent, burqa-clad woman, always in tow of her husband Rasheed: a quiet couple. In a turn of pages, Laila is orphaned and ends up as Rasheed’s second wife. The 3rd part tells the story of how Laila’s child, Aziza, brings the two women together and of how their antagonistic relationship is turned into a relationship as strong as the ties between a mother and daughter. It tells of the sudden change of everyday activities of common people under the Taliban rule. Kabul is suddenly changed from a safe haven to the place where death awaits with his arms open. All people can see everywhere is brutality, starvation, injustice, and above all, inequality.

My most favourite writing style of the book was parts where Khaled took a completely different 3rd person’s point of view, representing Destiny. For example, when Mariam is signing a paper in her nikkah ‘under the watchful gaze of the mullah’, Khaled says, ‘The next time Mariam signed her name to a document, twenty-seven years later, a mullah would be present again.” It is later revealed that the document to be sign twenty-seven years later would be Mariam’s executioning paper.

Another astounding thing is the way Khaled intertwines both history and family together.
He portrays the suffering of women under the Taliban quite brutally, but he doesn’t mill over the sentiments. He goes on with the narrative, allowing the reader to form an opinion on his own. He draws Mariam and Laila and brings them to life, writing about how simple everyday activities, such as watching TV, were influenced by the Taliban.  The book displays the shackles of religion that bind Afghan women and forbid them from enjoying the simplest pleasures of life of dancing and singing.

At first, it seems like Mariam and Laila are completely different characters: their lives were completely contradictory - Mariam has always been tied back while Laila was always set free. It is amazing how Khaled tightly interweaves their lives together. Also, their difference in their lifestyles reflects on their attitudes towards Rasheed and every one of their daily activities. Mariam had one of those typical, religious-bound, obeying attitudes while Laila had a rebellious, Malala-like attitude.

On the whole, Hosseini had written a touching, heartfelt book, finally letting it out to the world how cruel Afghanistan had been under the Taliban, how, like the needle in a compass turning north, a man’s accusing finger turns to find a woman and  how Afghan every women had to learn to tahamal, endure.