Hung-curd Fun (Lockdown cooking)

After a short struggle over working-from-home, life settled down to a good pace. The sweet shops were closed during the initial weeks but one couldn’t ‘lockdown’ the sweet tooth! In the initial days, one went back to the tried and tested recipes – custards, puddings, crème caramel, and cakes.

The traditional shrikhand

Dairy products being an essential commodity, together with our Amul milk we were getting the Amul curd. Suddenly we realized that the curd packs were piling and one odd afternoon I hung out a pack to drain the whey. The first time it was the regular cardamom flavoured shrikhand. This makes a nice and mildly chilled dessert for a summer evening. The only catch is that it is not versatile enough to go well with a Chinese or a Continental meal. Growing up in Bombay meant a childhood of many bought out or homemade shrikhand. In my first sales job, which entailed a good bit of travel, the standard dessert at our company guest house used to be the Amul shrikhand.



The curd packets set in my mind (pun intended). Each morning as my hubby planned dinner, my mind dwelt on possible hung-curd dessert variety. The cues were picked up from regular shrikhand or its fruity and most popular mango variant. The outcome was from indulgent to healthy.

 Alphonso - good rich colour and flavour

Himsagar - I was satisfied with the dressing.

Aam shrikhand was the obvious choice when a friend sent across the season’s Alphonso. While we did try a version with our very own Himsagar – the richness of colour, texture and flavour of the former remained unmatched. Once again it brought back memories of a Bombay girl spending her summer vacations in Calcutta. There would invariably be the regular teasing from the Uncles and cousins about which was the better mango. As a little girl I would get very upset, arguing a strong case in favour of the Alphonso and being ragged and outnumbered hopelessly. Now I am older and wiser and keep my beliefs to myself.



When there were a few slices of pineapple leftover after making the pineapple upside-down cake, these found its way into a black raisin and pineapple yoghurt dessert. This is the first time that I tried folding in some pineapple bits into the dish, giving it an almost pudding-like texture. Pineapple and yoghurt goes very well as anyone who has made or tasted a pineapple raita would know.

The pineapple variant would pass off as a pudding, any day!

The star of the series, however, was the apple-cinnamon bowl. The apples were grated and lightly stewed in a brown sugar syrup, with a dash of Sri Lankan cinnamon. This was blended into the hung-curd and a handful of black raisins were added for that perfect accompaniment to a Continental pie. 

As the days went by and lockdown got extended, one looked aghast at the slowly growing girth. Meals were more carefully planned with an eye on the calorie counter. Honey appeared on the breakfast table. It made me innovate that evening. I soaked some finely chopped walnuts and raisins in warm honey and blended this into the hung-curd. Some extra honey topping and a little more on the side to add as per taste absolutely did the trick!

The healthy honey-nut bowl

Every home must have faced a situation of over-ripe bananas. The internet was full of solutions from cakes to caramelized bananas and bread. Here, I was bananas over hung-curd and so the home got an innovative spin on the fruit. The good part about this dessert is that it has a body and you can decorate it to your liking with sliced fruits.

Now, one is back in the office and I have a dessert solution that is simple, healthy, versatile and actually very tasty.

#lockdowncooking #desserts #innovativedesserts #puddings #chilleddesserts

Step at a Time

Dad was about 55 years of age, when he woke up one morning and figured he was having vertigo. The family doctor was summoned and he was diagnosed with high blood pressure. The doctor understandably recommended rest, apart from medication. Dad had to call up the office and excuse himself from work. He didn’t like it – at all!

That day defined two things about me and my life. I turned out to be a workaholic and a regular at Yoga. So, where does yoga fit in this story?

A somewhat medication and rest fortified father, soon after the incident, took off for a weeklong program at The Yoga Institute, Santacruz, Bombay. He returned, armed with a dozen books and immediately enrolled for some evening classes at a nearby yoga school. My mother, his partner for life, fell in-step. There can be nothing like a shared passion between couples. The home slowly began to represent a yoga school with books, posters and my parents challenging their aging bodies and each other into various contortions. I was asked to check the correctness of the postures from the reference books. I was sixteen, finding all this somewhat easier and wanting to show-off. I started self-training.

My Teacher - a well-thumbed copy and companion

That’s where my journey began. Apart from my parents, I had my teacher – Sitadevi Yogendra (Yoga – Physical Education for Women). Through two late pregnancies, frequent travel related interruptions, plain laziness and a few times just outgrowing the interest for other new pursuits; I left yoga every once-in-a-while, but yoga didn’t leave me. That, I believe leaves me rightfully qualified to reflect upon some good reasons to do yoga.

A little tongue-in-cheek; if you have managed, by eight in the morning, to balance on one leg (ekapadasana), to lift your body on your shoulders (sarvanangasana) or bend over like a plough (halasana), you simply have to feel braver at facing the world. Following this if you are in a meeting and being mansplained you look the concerned man directly in the eye and silently tell yourself “poor man, he cannot do the ekapadasana”.  Believe me, it will bring you back to the table to dominate the discussions or help you to pass off the bloviate bits as too irrelevant to tackle. 

On a more serious note, if you have worried about worrying, experimented with meditation and not quite found your rhythm, even a mild form of yoga is a good start. Simple movements, with balanced breathing and the very process of counting while inhaling, exhaling or holding your breath engages the mind. I have found it easier to adapt to this process than try other forms of meditation that require concentrating on the breath itself.

As we went into lockdown, one of my first thoughts was stretching (pun unintended) myself a little more in my yoga exercises. Many developments on the personal and professional fronts and a little health triggered interruption, last year, found me struggling to get back into my routine. I decided to do just ‘one extra’ Suryanamaskara, each day. Yesterday, I touched ten. I have to take a decision whether to keep going till twenty-one or stabilize here, so that even when work resumes, I continue at it.

A couple of years back, I have also started a ‘walk at home’ routine. Brisk, a tad bit of cardio and some sweat is a good transition. These are simple steps and easy ten to fifteen-minute routines that one can follow on the net. My lockdown-leadership advice for the first couple of days was shooting off these links to my colleagues. My sister and one colleague have taken this up. Much encouraged, I am reaching out to all of you through this blog.

After all, healthy living can only begin with that first step!

The 21-day Rule

“Excellence……is not an act but a habit” – Aristotle

I have often joked with friends and colleagues, that I am a compulsive goal-setter. Be it the new year (for a Bengali, this is twice in the year – well spaced out in January and April), the start of a month, the start of a week or sometimes a landmark date like say, Diwali. Collectively, I stay resolutions-ready for ten to fifteen times in a year!

So, when the government announced a lockdown, it was too good an opportunity to lose. Vaguely, I remembered reading that 21 days of repetitive behavior could be habit-forming. I found myself a relatively new and neat notebook (thanks to a daughter with a penchant for pretty notebooks; in my possession, since she left home) and firmly put down the date – March 25, 2020. The resolutions list is a little too personal to share, so we shall leave it out of this space.

With the good intention of reinforcing my resolve, I decided to do a quick check on the net about this 21-Day rule.  A study carried out at University College, London (chosen by default and not design, as often happens in internet searches) was not particularly encouraging. In the study group, 96 participants were asked to choose an everyday behavior that they want to turn into a habit. For 84 days of the study, they logged a report each day on whether they practiced the behavior and how automatic this felt. Without going into the details, suffice to say that 21-days is probably right if all you want to do is drink a glass of water immediately on waking up.

My resolutions list, surely, is a little more challenging than that! This after-all is day one, so one shall not feel daunted by such research findings.

Speaking here a little more about the number 21. In the world of Tarot, the number is symbolic with success and fulfillment of desires. Not being an expert on numerology, I will not attempt to support this fact (or otherwise) with an explanation but would welcome some knowledgeable insights from my dear readers.

The number 21 finds many references in the Bible and it is mainly associated with change - in the sense of moving from a state of “evil” to a state of “goodness”. It is believed that Jesus Christ appeared in 21 places in Palestine, in order to confirm to all his believers that he was resurrected. Borrowing from Greek philosophy, wisdom is believed to have 21 attributes. In the same way, we bestow adulthood at the age of 21 by recognizing maturity and responsibility in an individual.

On a significantly different note, I am also reminded of a Bengali rhyme – Ekushe Ain from Sukumar Ray’s collection of Abol-Tabol (The Nonsense Rhymes). Translated, literally, it means ‘(The) 21 Rules’. At its satirical best, it is a reflection on the arbitrariness of British Rule. For my non-Bengali friends, I would recommend checking out the English translation in Wordygurdyboom by Sampurna Chatterjee and, while you are at it, read up on some of his other rhymes, too. These nonsense rhymes are highly recommended to cut-out any sense of doom or ennui.

Finally, our PM has said winning the war against coronavirus will take 21 days as opposed to the 18 days taken to win the epic war of Mahabharata, underlining the enormity of the challenge posed by the disease. We are all struggling with an indefinite, indescribable and, for now, an indestructible virus that has brought the world to its knees. While this is a sobering thought, in many ways it is also a reminder to make each day count.

Stay safe, respect lockdown!

#Covid_19 #21dayslockdown #coronavirus #self-quarantined

Rewind : Remembering Marcel Hickman

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

 But she is in her grave, and oh,

 The difference to me!

 From Lucy Poems by William Wordsworth

After many years, I remembered Marcel Hickman. I was interviewing a male assistant of some advanced years and probably something in his profile or mannerism took me back to those years.

There are many people who contribute significantly in our lives but other than a “thank you” is never acknowledged when you look back on life or career. Marcel Hickman was the first person to receive me in the Exide office. He was assistant to the Sales Department. To call him a secretary (that is what his designation read), would be limiting our understanding of his capabilities to shorthand, filing, and typing. For that matter, calling him an assistant, is also setting the understanding that he waited to be instructed or worked to a specific job description. Marcel was the sales anchor in Head Office. In the days before mobile phones, it was even more difficult to catch the always elusive salesmen. Marcel ensured that the sales machinery remained well-oiled. He was the man you went to for sales numbers at month-end and also the first person to catch your ire if the numbers did not meet the expectation.

There were no “working days” in his calendar, so long as you spared him time for Sunday church. I had the first-hand experience of this. Charged with some extra work during the budget period (being a multi-national in those days budget documents to exacting standards had to be sent to UK headquarters), I landed up in office just assuming that MH would be there, but he was not! Overcoming a paralyzing fear, I checked with the security and figured out the hostel where he stayed. With single-minded determination, I charged through the compound, asked a set of dumbstruck gentlemen playing handball his room number and proceeded up the stairs. A visibly disturbed Marcel was most unwilling to listen to me, insisting I should leave the hostel immediately and demanding to know how I got past the security. I extracted a promise that he would reach the office in under an hour and proceeded back. Apparently, the hostel had a strict “no ladies” policy!

Starting-off in MIS, my early career impetus came from a readiness to work 24x7. Budgets and QPR required detailed planning. The documentation involved a lot of wasteful work as edits had to be re-typed and checked. Here I would be hanging outside the Sales Director’s office waiting for each set of updates, new analysis, and numbers. There are fond memories of many warm cups of coffee arranged by the Director’s EA. They rallied around with me, never complaining even if the final edits took us well past midnight. They worked to exacting self-standards and taught me early in life to set my own goals and principles.

Then came a day when I had my own chamber and secretary. Can't say I did it right from the start. My first feedback from a lady was that I did not forward-share my plans, keeping her in the dark and the workload did not come in a uniform flow. Other feedback was that I was a workaholic and failed to bond. One learned, improved but most importantly had the very good fortune to have some amazing persons, in this journey. I would not like to take specific names here but I trust I have improved over the years to hold them as friends, confidantes and remembered to contribute in many little meaningful ways. So, there came a delightful time, when my assistant and I were both pregnant, just a trimester apart. Bonding got re-defined to another level and to date, we may not connect often but know we are there for each other.

Over the years, I have interviewed many persons for this position. The skill-sets have changed from dictation to MS Office. Maybe it is the generation that I belong to, but many times when several ideas are jostling in the head, I wish for that old competency of a shorthand speed of  80, and the presence of a  person with whom I am completely comfortable. There is something in that free-flowing dictation and its edits. I don’t want to bring a frown on the reader’s face but must be honest to state that my assistants have helped me cope by allowing me the luxury of releasing pressure like a safety-valve. This job is not just a defined skill-set but the ability to be parenting the boss.

I bow today, to all of you who have walked with me and hope I have added value in your lives, in some small manner.

Thank you!

Play Ball

It is IPL season and stealing an early share of controversy was Kings XI Punjab captain and bowler Ravichandran Ashwin who dismissed Jos Buttler in a run out popularly called ‘Mankading’. Named after legendary Indian bowler Vinoo Mankad, ‘Mankading’ is a method of run out where a bowler dismisses a non-striker by hitting the bails before bowling when the latter is outside the crease. Immediately, social media took up the debate on whether this was in the "spirit" of the game. Much has been said and meme-ed on the subject and, no, I am not writing another piece about the moral dimension. Suffices, to note hear, though, "mankading" can only happen when the batsmen is slightly away from the crease and fully concentrating on supporting the striker with a quick run.

In 30+ years in my career, I have often seen this cricketing trick (for want of a better word) being played out in corporate life. If you are only concentrating on the task in hand, the quick wins and functional objectives, be sure there are some silent career-derailers at work. I would identify three types of bowler-colleagues to watch out for.

The Smiling Assassin :

Normally a subordinate or peer, this person is always very respectful in meetings. Will accept your suggestions and even at times applaud these. She is careful to keep on very good terms with the Top Management but slows down the execution of ideas perceived as "yours" and not "hers".

The Faulty Friend :

He is the one who will single you out as a like-minded colleague. You will be invited to his house parties, find that the families are blending well and a common outside circle of friends is evolving. This may actually begin out of a genuine shared interest like a club membership, reading habits, tastes in food or golf. It is an accepted fact that official friendships get highly challenged when both parties are talented and corporate eventuality of the pyramid would favour only one of them moving ahead.

The Silo Sultan :

This type is not uncommon. In most organisations, silo-working is identified as the main reason for loosing momentum in execution of strategy. In fairness to this person, the competitive corporate culture, sets us out to protect first the interests of our own functions. The Silo Sultan never leaves an opportunity to catch the Boss' ears on what the other function-head is doing incorrectly and / or given a chance how he would do things differently. 

Like in cricket, when something like this happens in corporate life, the talk by the cooler turns to "unfairness " v/s "foolhardiness". The important point to note, here, is that as per the Laws of Cricket 41.16 if a Non-striker leaves his/her ground early, the bowler is permitted to attempt to run him/her out. Further, whether the attempt is successful or not, the ball is not to be counted as one in the over.The law also states that if the bowler fails in an attempt to run out the non-striker, the umpire shall call and signal "dead ball" as soon as possible.

The corporate analogy is not hard to find. If the Organization culture sets a high premium on "fixing" the individual rather than correcting the process, it helps to have some ready cues to explain overall performance. Fault-finding gets unconsciously encouraged and a mankading colleague might actually be "permitted" in his act, like the bowler. The reason behind a sudden switch in roles or a transfer remains silent, like that uncounted or dead ball. 

Both, the spirit and letter of this law makes the act fully legitimate. In a country where "cricket is a religion", Mankading gets established as par for the course. Better, therefore, to stay at the crease, keep a good eye out over the entire field and recognise the colleagues who could be "mankading without a qualm". After all, like cricket, "big boys" play the corporate game. 

Finally, as Sanjay Manjrekar tweeted : 

"Dear coaches, 

train your batsmen at the non strikers end, to keep watching the bowler till he releases the ball. Mankading is a legitimate mode of dismissal. Be wary of it. 

As far as ‘spirit’is concerned, that’s for after the game, that you can pour in your glass.😋"

The same applies to corporate after-parties, where you applaud each other, raise a toast to teamwork and dance a jig to those "balle-balle" numbers. 

A Tale of Two Tables

One was of teak, the other a glass top. Scratches on the first could be made good with a scrape down and polish. The other bore such ravages like a warrior his wounds, with pride. The first was rectangular, with each place defined and managing to seat only six. The other was a cozy circle and you could always fit an extra chair, provided it was family and you didn't mind knocking elbows.

Both, however, had one thing in common. Families that had grown together, coming closer over long meals and conversation. Father and daughter were both clear that they needed to hold on to their piece of childhood and growing up.

Some time back, we decided to sell off my parents-in-law's eighty-six year old home. There were old beds, cabinets of carved teak, knick-knacks in brass and porcelain, tree lamps and side-tables of various shapes and sizes. We decided to bring home most of the stuff and dispose some of our contemporary furniture. The only difficult decision was changing the dinning table.

When my daughter was about five, we moved into a larger flat. Being prone to hosting parties we decided on a large dinning table. Somehow, that single piece of furniture became central to our planning and execution. My contribution, being always logical, had to do with the shape. "If you want to seat more people, go for a circular table", I said and promptly dismissed the matter from my mind. My husband poured over designs and pictured the table in his mind. "A sun", he mentioned, one morning as we sat sipping our morning tea. Dawn was just breaking and it was that moment in the day, when you could see the orange ball of fire, perfectly round, through misty clouds. A few days later, he showed me a sketch. Circular, with rays in a symmetrical pattern on the outer edge. The bottom wooden base was designed to complement the top.

As always happens, with a new piece of furniture, the first couple of years we were very careful. The table cloth and mats were put out daily. A sharp reprimand went out to anyone dragging something across its surface. Slowly, the table became a familiar part of our quotidian. The children used it as a study table and when Papa wasn't looking, my daughter, the budding artist, traced the etched lines of the sun-ray  patterns with a pencil. The table moved with us, as we changed house five times. We didn't exactly notice when a lattice-work of fine scratches, on the surface, had its own story to tell. Countless family dinners, parties, office work, exam preparations and at times, just a convenient dump.

Going back, some more years, I married and moved in to live with my in-laws. Through the working week, we managed to catch up with them, twice daily - for breakfast and dinner. In the mornings it was brusque responses (stealing glances at the watch) to father-in-law's update on home matters and the world in general. In the evenings, it was long conversations. The tablecloth rested over a fairly stable table that didn't particularly catch my attention. When my husband first mentioned he would like to bring the table, I did not take him very seriously. He's just being sentimental and the idea will fade away, was the thought on my mind.

When he announced this to our daughter, I figured I'd better pay attention, as my role as arbitrator looked inevitable. "But that is a part of our growing up years", said my daughter. "It is the same for your father, dear", fell on deaf years. "That one is a regular table, our's is specially designed - unique", she retorted. That's when I decided to actually lift the tablecloth and look at the extremely stylish piece that was crying out for a coat of polish. 

For a couple of days, my husband and I moved around our flat trying to figure out a space for both tables. Sheer reason challenged the thought but we went around with a measuring tape and hope. I absorbed fresh stories of my husband's childhood and fielded on Skype fresh questions from my daughter. Finally, we agreed that we'll figure out a place to store "her" glass-topped table, while we gave her "father's" teak wood one a temporary berthing space. "Just hold on to it, till we buy a space and I ship that across with some other stuff" (rattling off a list of furniture).

Each of us hold a piece or more of something that brought us luck, reminds us of beautiful days gone by or gives us that comfort of permanence. For the last couple of weeks there have been a number of videos on social media on Marie Kondo and how she is helping American homes and offices to de-clutter. "Minimalism", enjoying an "experience" over buying "things", "100 days de-cluttering challenge" are recommended as new ways to enjoy life and find peace. 

There can be no one-size-fits-all to finding peace and happiness. What you possess doesn't matter but the memories you build around it, does. My husband gave up his green card and returned home. My daughter has set up home, married and is building a career in another country. The table is just a metaphor for memories we share and the togetherness we carve out of glass or wood.

Necessary but not Sufficient

 It is difficult, nay impossible, to remain unmoved by the accounts of sexual misconduct outed in the last few days. As a woman leader and for a daughter who has just embarked on her career, I had to absorb and make sense of all that is being shared.

#MeToo is a powerful movement. More power to those brave enough to have come forward. A year after Harvey Weinstein was accused of being a sexual predator, women who speak out are taken more seriously and men who abuse are more likely to pay a price. At the cost of sounding cliched, though, with great power comes great responsibility. The conversation is about sexual harassment and respecting consent. It is not about naming and shaming. That can be a manner of addressing the behaviour but one has to get to the root and change the mindset.

My moment of epiphany was on reading a tweet by a senior women professional. She was reflecting on how we got us (women) through the door, to the table and to being taken seriously. At the same time she rued not having done enough for the basic right to freedom and decency.

That, seriously got me to look back at my own career in what has all through been in traditional male bastions. Moreover, in a career in sales and marketing, I have toured extensively through Indian states and internationally. However, it was different in "our times". 

Firstly, it was our conditioning - you are accountable for your safety. So one traveled, worked, checked into a hotel and stayed put in the room. The one odd time you tried to have a drink at the bar (leave alone hotels but also in your Club) you ended up being propositioned. Over the years, you realised that you have been to great cities but hesitated to discover its culinary delights or many sights as you chose to be "careful".

What is even more important is that you sacrificed on networking and will never know whether it resulted in missed opportunities.

Secondly, as a real minority you did not present a threat. This is borne out by the fact that in areas like education, entertainment and journalism (where there has been a larger number of women for years) is where we are seeing the momentum on #MeToo. 

Thirdly, it was somewhat difficult to connect in the pre-mobile age. Permission had to be sought in person, or through the hotel house-phones. Landlines did not provide direct access to an individual. When technology changed, the need to seek permission could not be controlled.

Times have changed. 

As more women opt for a career and many despite family pressures, they will insist on equal opportunities. Not just on the job but the right to be out in public places, be seen and heard outside the confines of an office space or a single organisation. They will also have their right to unwind after a day's work in a place and in a manner that does not restrict freedom. The same that is a given for their male colleagues.

An issue that cannot be overlooked is the threat perception. The exercise of power is a game. Sexual overtures send the message that you (the lady) are weak and need me to help or promote your career. You marginalise her performance by hinting she needs your support. Further, it is not uncommon to brag about achievements and many times a particular lady gets branded as "available". Sexism is a larger bane. The men who wait on the fringes, do not predate but reserve a right to be judgmental. So, she "slept her way to the top" is a comment you may easily spread without any knowledge of the person.

It is not, therefore about controlling behaviour, it is about changing the mindset which is not restricted to men alone. The assumption that if she is out of home, opting to drink, going single to a party or staying back late -she is "available".  Naming, I fear might superficially mask behaviour but at the same time open up a host of problems for working women. As has been seen in the case of the 'moms unite for Kavanaugh', there will be many irate wives, mothers and the boy's club who would unite to berate and victimise. Also, such high profile failures will be touted as examples of sexual harassment being used as a weapon. The superficial contriteness of those called out  is threatening to trivialise the issue.

There is already intense debate on whether consensual relationship between people in a reporting relationship falls within purview of workplace harassment. An actress is contesting the sexual harassment claim made by another.  Many are opting to remain silent, while at the other end of the spectrum with television joining the fray there is much noise. Then again, one must reflect that between the Weinstein movement and the current #MeTooIndia there has been almost a year of silence. Knowing the fickle social media, the forthcoming elections might anytime divert all attention. 

Men's predation of women, risks becoming yet one more battlefield. In this battle the advantage as of now is to the men - by their sheer numbers in positions of power. It is the Sun Tzu moment for women, to step back, unite and strategise.