From Salads O No, to Salads, Hello

"Salads, Yuck" has been my motto for most of my life.

Growing up in a staunchly Bengali household dedicated to the unwavering search for the freshest fish and the sweetest sweet, I grew up in blissful ignorance of the vast world of salads.

Fibre be damned and greens, well, who on earth heard of that?

The only taste of salad I remember were the customary, large, round, pieces of onion, cucumber and tomato that used to be the standard accompaniment to the Sunday morning, post-Mahabharata, feast of Mutton curry and rice. But well, with the omnipotent Kosha Mangsho around, did anyone else stand a chance? We had so much more to chew on than just cucumbers and onions.

Little wonder then, that I stared in amazement when Popeye extolled the virtues of spinach and wrinkled my nose at the occasional "shak" that dared to venture near our fish-laden plates.

Experimental trips to taste continental cuisine in restaurants mostly had me scraping off the pieces of chicken with utter concentration leaving the bland, bits of boiled carrots and beans to wilt away in abject disgrace.

Till the following kicked in:

• A 7 year old, world travelled, Masterchef watching daughter with her own gourmet demands
• An urge to finally battle the post-motherhood weight gain
• The world of BBC Good Food Magazine that made salads look good, mouthwatering, even
• Nigella, Masterchef Australia and a host of other cooking shows on television that showed salads not just as side-kicks to the glorious meats and fishes but as delicious dishes by their own, healthy rights
• Salad talk did sound way cooler than cucumber when Matt Preston spoke about it in his trademark style in Masterchef Australia
• And did I mention that salads are the easiest to cook and amazing to try your hand at creativity with myriad salad dressings sitting invitingly in Natures' Basket counters?

So, our Sunday morning lunch is a far cry from those good, old days. Mutton, or no mutton, yummy salad is always the first course on offer, much to the surprise of my parents.

Did you know there is a salad for every palate,

Cold pasta, Chicken Ceasar, Waldorf,

Spicy Thai, Gourmet Italian, what's to hate?

Easy to try, just mix and toss,

For extra spice, add chat masala or a dash of pepper sauce,

And say hello to weight loss!

Greek salad with grilled lemon chicken..Source - Internet

The shades of life

We know them well,
They who ruled our dreams and our nightmares,
The angel of white,
Of hope, of love,
A mother’s undying love, a friends’ unshaken belief,
Childhood’s caress, love’s unspoken faith.
The devil of black,
How well we know him.
The black loss of despair,
The swirling snake of hatred.
The empty seed of envy, the ruthless power of ambition,
We grew up watching them, Dancing to their tunes,
But where are they now?
And who are these shapeless forms, watching us instead? 
Unknown, unseen mass clouded by grey,
The mangled web of mediocrity, The naked face of fear,
The shaking hand of indecision, The laughter of cynicism,
The insipid lack of inspiration, The fake smiles of polite disdain,
All shrouded in grey,
They surround us. They engulf us.
We look for the known faces,
The familiar world of black and white,
But they recede further,
The quagmire of grey rises.
It shifts, it turns, the faces change, the faces leer,
You gulp, you gasp, you try to breathe, you try to run,
But your legs give up, you stand rooted, tranfixed.
It is too real to be a dream, too real to be a nightmare,
It is too real,
This endless, rising, blanket of grey.

Sponsored Video: Help a child reach 5!

At 1,

You are working nights, planning her first birthday party,

They are working nights, fighting to get food and safe water for her.

At 2,

You are running for her school admission,

They are running to save her life; she is fighting diarrhoea.

At 3,

You are reading bedtime stories to her,

They are reading the hospital bills with tears in their eyes.

At 4,

You are teaching her about the world,

They just lost their world-

As they stand in front of the small pyre; life and dreams up in flames.

At 5,

She is with you, today and forever,

But for them, she is lost forever.

This is the plight of millions of children in India. Millions who die even before they turn 5. Millions who never get a chance to live, to dream, to learn.

This is the India we never stop to think about as we shower all our love and our riches on our children.

India, a country which has one of the highest number of child deaths due to diseases which can be prevented by simple preventive measures such as washing hands.

Diseases such as Diarrhoea and Pneumonia.

Can we help? Can an action as small as awareness about washing hands help them? Yes, it can. Please watch the video and spread the word. This campaign has adopted a village called Thesgora in Madhya Pradesh which has the dubious distinction of having one of the highest number of diarrhoea cases.

We may not have the magic wand to get rid of poverty but we can do our bit to spread awareness in our neighbourhood, in our schools and in our homes. 

And if we want to do more, we can donate at

http://unr.ly/16W4RWa

6 lakh children under 5 die this way every year in our country. It's not their time to die. Not yet. Not this way.

They need our action. They need our voice.

This post has been sponsored by Lifebuoy.

What do we really give?

The eyes, you notice them first,

Eyes that have seen too much,

Eyes that know what’s false and what’s true,

Yet eyes that smile, warm and pure,

As you stand at the door; transfixed, unsure.

The smiles, yes, you notice them too,

Uncertain, yet bright, full of hope,

And dreams, untarnished by the past.

Their bodies frail, their clothes faded,

But nothing about them seems tired or jaded.

They may be

Children of war,

Or of abandonment,

Or of unimaginable terror.

But they want to live,

Are we really able to give?

Rushing every moment through life's giant schedule,

When did we lose time in this maze and riddle?

The money, the gifts, yes, they need them for sure,

But before you drop them and flee that door,

Do you feel this too?

That you might respect yourself more if you give them that lost time,

A long minute, frozen, just to hear them laugh, loud and free,

A gentle touch, a hug, a smile; will all that take up too much time?

But maybe innocence disfigured does still make you flinch?

You turn away - hey aren't you giving, standing at the fringe?

That clock, do you wish you could turn it back? To heal those scars?

Before the abandonment, or the terror, or the wars?

But then it’s all over, it’s time to run again,

To the giant schedule, the maze, the pain.

Does the mirror show just your own battered soul?

A futile attempt to feel again cleansed and whole?

Or does your heart skip a beat, do you feel that tug,

That glow of warmth that you cannot dismiss with a shrug?

Do the smiles and the eyes stay with you

Long after you leave that door?

For they may be

Children of war,

Or of abandonment,

Or of unimaginable terror.

But they want to live,

Are we really able to give?

image sourced from google.com

All that we cannot share

Don’t share with me your golden smile,

They need it, those that with you will walk a mile,

Or maybe two. Let them see you sparkling always.

Don’t share with me your glorious mornings,

Full of laughter and charm.

When you feel invincible,

Free from hurt and harm.

Share with me but your silences,

Share with me your fears,

Share with me the rush of sudden, unbidden tears.

Those unimaginable nightmares that 2 a.m. in the night, seem so real,

Awakening the demon of self-doubt, the mad urge to flee your dream.

When you are no longer the tower of strength that you may otherwise seem.

Let the world see you in your glory,

Share with me, you.

This ain't funny - A corporate limerick

A limerick for the funny ones who are scared of unleashing their humor on the poor unsuspecting souls lurking around the 'serious' corporate corridors. And they have every right to be scared. After all, 

a) people might laugh at them rather than at the joke

b) people might not laugh at all

c) people might stare at them as if they just landed from another planet

d) people might banish them to another planet (meaningless roles) in office

“Hey, is it true, I just heard a terrible rumor,

That you dare to show signs of wit and humor!”

The office gossip shares,

And conspiratorially declares,

“The Boss says cut it out, this may be a non-benign tumor”

Shades of Rain

In your gentle whisper, in dreams that got woven and in stories that got told,

The innocence of childhood, my outstretched arms tried to hold.

Yes, the paper boat washed away but the color of memories, will they ever fade?

The first taste of freedom, white and clear; the fresh smell of pain, raw and red?

The times when you lashed out in a torrent of utter rage,

Wiping out all that was practiced and scripted, leaving behind just the blank page.

Insidious and relentless, you hammered away, at times, in vain,

Washing away reason and control with bleak madness and pain.

You teased and tormented stoking the ache of longing in the play of love and hate,

Amid the stolen glances, the forced distances, and the seemingly endless wait.

But they said run away, don't dream in the rain,

Beyond the poetry and pain, lie the everyday mundane.

Muddy shoes, endless snaking traffic and a sick child’s cough,

Did you wonder why none but children found you gloomy and tough?

But I loved you best, rain, when you drenched me senseless and free,

Happy sharing you with a smile, a caress, a book and tea.

I see you today again,

The pellets of dreams, the drops of hope,

I see you today, rain,

Not your whisper, not your anger, not my happiness, not my pain,

But a second chance to relive,

My lost childhood again.