Chagrined at a baby’s frank views, the author turns to another generation for comfort.
To a man fattened by the endless and often overstated endorsements of friends, family and readers, the rejection of culinary skills by a 5.5kg baby cuts to the bone, cleaving through a flab of accumulated complacency. Read more
I’m feeling a little guilty today.
When I was browsing my blog recently, I saw some mails from readers who were either vegetarians or had spouses who were vegetarians. Read more
Growing up, I never knew how to cook vegetarian food. To this day, if we’re getting vegetarians for a meal, my mother shuffles around nervously and overcompensates by flooding the table with greens and salads.
Yet, today, I have my wife’s permission to say a vegetarian won’t feel uncomfortable in our home. The wife’s vegetarian, and after a nervy start I won over her stomach (The heart, obviously, followed). Read more
I am in a suitably mellow Bangalore frame of mind.
The entire family has spent the evening in the neighbourhood patch of green—Richards Park—listening to a band of the Madras Sappers under a canopy of stately rain trees in a pavilion that dates back to 1925. We tapped our feet, grinned at the group of rowdy 50-something women who excitedly snapped their fingers and tapped their toes when the poker-faced sappers played “Shalala in the evening, Shalala in the morning…” and later spent a peaceful evening with our neighbours as a light wind whispered through Richards Park and rain-tree blossoms fell at our feet. Read more
I hate to admit this in public, but there’s no running away from it.
My father-in-law always says—in the admiring manner that an Indian father-in-law reserves for his favourite son-in-law, “No, no, Samar, you’re a gourmet!” Read more