Independence Day

So, August 15 slunk in rather pessimistically this year, shoulders hunched in fear and crowded in rain. Even those fully-clothes Bombay Times pin-up girls that grace the front page had a dejectedly-hopeful air about them. Everything about the day was half-hearted. There was no visible flag-hoisting ceremony in our building society due to the rains, and most certainly not any yummy south indian brunch. I remember how we used to get a jalebi each in school after the flag-hoisting ceremony, and what a big treat it seemed in our porportionately smaller days. I miss those days. This time I didnt get even that!

On the national front, sorta, I was still seething over my minor humiliation on Saturday at the airport on the way back from Ahmedabad (we had gone for a pilgrimage and were returning that day itself). There we discovered after having run our handbags through security baggage screening (we'd all been only travelling for a day, so all our luggages consisted of hand luggage) that half our bags were thrown in disarray on the ground. I asked for my handbag, and he placed it on the table, said he needed to check it, and proceeded to do so summarily. Out tumbled a bottle of water picked up from the morning's flight, still sealed, my brother-in-law's ipod, his phone, his rather supicious looking unlabelled green cold balm, Kanthil- those ayurvedic pills, my phone, the latest book Ive been reading and my Burt's Beeswax chapstick!!! Needless to say they confiscated the balm, chapstick, kanthil and water and told me I could only take it to Bombay with me if I checked it in.

How much I cajoled, argued, made them look ridiculous, yelled, almost became reduced to tears! Not my chapstick!!!! Not my water! As soon as it is taken away from me I feel thirsty. It's an automatic psychological reaction. i need water with me at all times, even in a movie theatre etc. I told them the water was from the morning's flight - see, it was still sealed! And they said "You can drink it if you like." So, assuming a manly posture of swashbuckling bravado, with great style I tore open the cap and took a mighty swig, all the while looking them in the eye. They looked back, amused at this silly super-femmy girl trying to be butch.

I dont think it worked though because they still took it back once I was done with my swig, as they did the other stuff. I said my stuff was natural and Ayurvedic, that it was cold medicine, and lip balm, and that what was one supposed to do when one is sick on a plane, and that if they want to confiscate things the airport and airlines better have facilities for people to use for their personal comfort. They interrupted my tirade to inform me to put my complaint in the suggestion box in "big big words".
That stemmed my flow rather abruptly, let me tell you. I felt slightly ashamed of myself, partly because their job is not in the least enviable - that of calming or ignoring passengers far more irate and unattractive than me, taking away items of personal cconvenience and comfort from people who do have the right to feel offended - because do they loo like the type of people who would do sucha dastardly deed as blow up planes? - but having to be screwed from both ends one way or the other, because new inventions by sadistic antisocial elements using simple household items will keep getting invented - like that one using an Ipod charger and nail polish remover - I mean, who DOES that? - and the list of things to confiscate will keep getting longer until a day will come when people just wont be allowed to travel with anything and convenience stores at airports will have profits breaking the roof. The other reason because i felt ashamed of myself was because I had been trying so hard to be a fightercock, because people have put me under the impression that the woman is the defender of honour for her family and that people will cheat me right left and centre if I dont show them who's boss, and I felt like hitting myself to have picked the wrong people - in possession of immutable authority - to mess with, essentially, even though I was fighting for a just cause - that of innocent passengers to be able to carry whatever they wish. But that is the tragedy of this era - everyone is suspect.

So, choking back tears, i complained to my daddy and uncle, who then informed me that they were checking in one of the bags. Gleefully I rushed back and demanded my stuff and threw it in - zindabad preservation of above-mentioned yummy chapstick that makes my lips tingly and cool like a muscle coolant!

My little victory did come, however, when on the flight I discovered, much to my surprise, that my water bottle had made its way stealthily back into my bag, and was lying there, artlessly nestled amongst the other junk. Haha! I didnt let them win, did I! hehehhehehehehehe.

Ahem. Anyway. (Dont be evil like that kids, its for the greater good. Besides, I swear I dont know how it got there.They should have someone to supervise the packing of bags to check in). Im scared of saying this because Im sure some moron in the cyberworld will sniff out this observation and plan an attack. In that case, I spit on you and curse your semen so that no child of your damaged genes shall ever be born).

On the domestic front, things were not much better. An uneasy truce had been reached between the General and the Commander of Joya's household, one that put Joya in a position of severe disadvantage, assigning her to compulsory duty in the dreaded domain of - the kitchen. You can see her now, grumpy and sweaty in her caftan in the east-facing kitchen with the sun full on her face, feeling the icky droplets of sweat form and coagulate on her tummy and thighs, hair up in a disgraced dishevelled bun, learning grudgingly to make sambar and malabari stew, tentatively leaning over to throw stuff in the vaghar, and clumsily leaping back with a shriek when the curry leaves and rye crackle and pop, sending spiteful flames of burning oil flying high into the air, burning her ring finger, a purplish bruise forming. Resigned to her fate, she takes every opportunity to skip duty, her monthly period for once being a welcome excuse.

Sigh. My old cook said i have 'taste' in my hands. And I enjoy cooking, I really do, but I need a recipe, cool weather, and PEACE. No running around and shouting cacophony disturbing my zen state. But its very hurtful when everyone laughs at me and my poor travails in the kitchen. Just because I'm intelligent and have opinions but am lazy and ask stupid questions and make silly mistakes doesnt mean Ill be a bad cook ok! Hmph!

Oh, on 15th august we decided to try making Appams. We inaugurated a brand new appam tawa also. We mixed 3 parts riceflower and one part urad dal together with some salt. But they failed miserably. Why? We tried using the tawa at different temperatures, even added dahi to the mix. But the littke holes that should form didnt, and it didnt swell up either. Besides, the taste and texture were chalky and dry and stale. How does it work? Should we have added Eno/baking soda? Or something else? Please suggest!

Speaking of Independence day and school nostalgia, I remembered a time in 1st or 2nd standard when I was seated next to this little girl . We had to draw the Indian tricolour in those adorable notebooks with one paged lined and one blank for illustrated learning. I remember sitting with a ruler and pensil in my room and painstakingly drawing a straight, unidimensional, stationary flag, standing erect and perpendicular to the pole. I was proud of all my effort, and felt justified in earning that 10 on 10 my teacher awarded me.

My partner, on the other hand, had drawn a flag gently waving in the breeze, its contours a n abstract S shape, with little lines to denote motion and everything! Even the way her flag was coloured in, not in the boldness of colour of children learning to clutch a pencil firmly, but with softness and elegance, was noted by me in awe. But I had never really seen a flag drawn like that, so had no idea how to take it. Needless to say, my teacher yelled at her, failed her and made her redraw it.

Only now the thought strikes me that it may have been drawn by some adult in her family. But still, the fact that any element of originality may have been squashed at that age makes me very depressed indeed. Ironic that an item denoting independence - freedom - should have been made into an object used to propound subjugation and conformity.

Jai Hind!