Of Curd Rice and Life…

One of my favourite dishes of all time is the good old curd rice. I do not try to comprehend the raison-d-etre for this penchant. It could be because, I refuse to let go of the evanescent strings that attach me to my infancy and the general disposition towards mushy things that defines that particular stage of man’s life. Or it may be due to the undisputed fact that my mom happens to be a lousy cook ( she’s a lovely mom, otherwise ) and curd rice is the only edible thing she wasn’t able to leave her signature upon..( touch wood!).

My loyalty to curd rice was given an impetus due to a conversation I chanced to read in the comments section of a blog I like to visit every now and then.And hence this post.
It was a fairly serious conversation, which I belive is on the choices people make in life. (Atleast, that’s what I think it was about…!! ) . Somewhere the commentator quotes Calvin, of C n H fame :
“Some people are pragmatists, taking things as they come and making the best of the choices available. Some people are idealists, standing for principle and refusing to compromise. And some people just act on any whim that enters their heads. I pragmatically turn my whims into principles.”

And the author of the blog responds with this analogy:

I was having dinner yesterday -- curd rice -- and the guy next asks me, "Is that good?"

So, now, of course, what choices do I have -
1) Quote a universal, objective specification about how curd rice should look, feel, smell, taste, compare it with what laid in front of me, and pronounce a judgment.
2) Spend some time with the guy, understand what he means by "good", learn what standards he uses to judge curd rice, whether he likes it cold like me, whether he likes it a little sour like me, and so on, and then give him an answer.
3) Compare the quality of the curd rice I was eating with the standards that I feel "good" curd rice should possess, and then give him an answer.

Now I like to think of myself as pragamtical, idealistic and whimsical (....) and so I decided to make the best of the answers available, at the same time refuse to compromise on the correctness of my answer, and bring my own whimsical notions about curd rice into the picture. So what did I say?

"It feels good to me. I like it a lot."

Of course, you're darned right when you say human experience is the last resort, because all theories fail at some point or the other.


Though I got lost in the middle of all this high talk, something caught my eye near the tail. It was this thing about curd rice.

What would I do, if someone sidled up to me when I was relishing the most divine of delicacies, and asked “Is it good?”

Well… I d probably be so engrossed in eating, that I d answer something supremely unintelligible with my mouthful , with all the ensuing sputtering sending the questioner miles away --- getting rid of the choices, my way :-) (maybe by questioning the premises ?)

Or offer the other person a spoonful and let him/her deciede for their own. This option has 4 sub sections.

1. Other person feels its good.
Soliloquist feels its bad.

-- Soliloquist offers the whole of it and looks up into ether to see the halo around her head.

2. Other person feels its bad.
Soliloquist feels its good.

-- Soliloquist twitches her nose in contempt and says “What a snob, not being able to appreciate the simple things in life”

3. Other person feels its bad.
Soliloquist feels its bad.

-- Soliloquist encourages the other person to join her in her lamenting, cursing the cook, the farmer who cultivated the rice, the lactobacilli that curdled the milk, the weather conditions which supported the curdling, the milkman who supplied the milk, the cow that produced it, and so on and so forth. To be concluded with a well-synchronized sigh in chorus.

4. Other person feels its good.
Soliloquist feels its good.

Soliloquist does a Little Miss Muffet, the other person suddenly transfiguring into a Spider.


Last things last, the gist of this post is that each one has is entitled to his own perception, and that there is very less point in trying to theorize a generality out of it. Choices in life, good or bad, ultimately boil down to an individual’s perspective. How much ever we might deny it, it is always the self before the rest. I can put up with something as long as the tolerance thereshold of my comfort zone to environmental blows isn’t crossed. I would rebel if my peace of mind is disturbed beyond my capacity to recover it. I could be wrong , I could be right. But the thing is, the choice is mine to make, and mine to live with. Afterall, curd rice is curd rice. Nothing can beat it. Yum.

Estranged....

Thanks to the Karnataka bandh, and some unusual shrewdness on my part, I got to spend 5 wonderful days at home. As though an evil eye had been cast, my vacation was marred by a blocked sinus, and an infected eye.
But all that couldn’t take the fun out of the neighbor’s and relatives visits on the last days of Navrathri. For once, I didn’t seek refuge in the recesses of my room, leaving poor mom struggling to create extraordinary yet very plausible excuses for my absence. As a matter of (utterly useless) fact, I actually enjoyed playing the host. I was found answering the same questions over and over again , asking the same questions over and over and over again and bestowing a gracious smile upon the blessed of the men folk (/grinning away to the end of the world) to perfection that someone even told my mom that I was coming of age, at last.

Though I managed to escape my standard chores during the festivities, by almost feigning a wheeze, the task of dismantling the Kolu (a doll display, the highlight of the 10 day long festive season) fell upon me. Surprisingly, I liked doing it, and it so happened I was pretty efficient at it.

The last day of my vacation proved to me and the world at large that there was nothing really surprising about my surprises. I was home-sick. Dreadfully home-sick. I, who was sick of home 730 days back was finally and phenomenally home-sick. Not having spent more than 3 days at a stretch with the family the past 2 years, had eventually wrecked its havoc on me. And every moment of these 5 days, was so precious to me that I couldn’t bring myself to sulk even for a second, much against my true nature. I was so anxious to make the best of the time I had at home, that I didn’t even crib about having to leave.

On retrospect, just as I was bemusing over my fate, weighing with utmost graveness, the pros and cons of my estranged existence, the “fair” side of my self, murmured “Think of all those girls who visit their families once a year, staying far away, atleast you have the luxury of going every other weekend.” But still, self-pity is a strong emotion. Crushing the fair one, it loomed large, clouding the days to come.

That’s when, one Ms. R.C, who happens to one of those “girls-who-go-home-once-a-year”, sent me this poem. It appears, that she started to write on “childhood dreams”, inspired by a conversation with a collegue, and came up with this lovely piece.

And the fair one had the last laugh.



P.S: Ms R.C happens to be a talented poetess in hindi too, unfortunately I don’t happen to find a translator at hand all the time, to appreciate her works. This is the first one in English that was brought to my perusal.

P.P.S : I had always wanted to do something with the publishing industry, but considered myself too naïve for the field. But this time, continuing the trend, I surprised myself with a tactical move, reeking with originality. Before she could think of syndicating her writing, I pounced upon the guile-less poetess with an absolutely tempting (!!!) offer to feature her in my blog.