Microwave Chicken Curry

I have a sister in Hongkong who hankers for home-cooking. It’s not as if she cannot rustle up a gourmet Indian meal, but that she finds the whole process from chopping to searing very tedious indeed. And the mountains of receptacles piling up in the kitchen sink cause her to wrinkle her Grecian nose in despair. The better alternative is to eat out – and that is what she does, most of the time.

On her pre Diwali visit home, she asked me, a trifle tentatively, if there was some way in which she could put her microwave to better use than just warming up the victuals. This recipe is for her!

Ingredients

Chicken 500g

Yoghurt ½ cup (after hanging to drain out some of the liquid)

Oil 1 tablespoon

Ginger- Garlic paste 1½ tablespoons

Green chillie paste, to taste

Salt

Chillie powder

Onions chopped, 100g

Tomatoes chopped, 1 large

Turmeric ½ teaspoon

Garam Masala ½ teaspoon

Coriander powder 1 teaspoon

Kasoori methi 1 tablespoon, optional

Coriander leaves, chopped, to garnish

Modus Operandi

1.       Marinate chicken in yoghurt, ginger-garlic paste, green chillie paste, salt and chillie powder for at least 2 hours or more.

2.       Heat oil in a microwave safe dish for 30 seconds. Remove.

3.       Add onions to hot oil and return to oven for about 2 minutes. Remove. Stir to mix. Return to oven for another 2 or 3 minutes. Remove

4.       Add tomato, turmeric, coriander powder, garam masala to the onions. Mix well. Return to oven for 4 minutes, removing to stir once in between. Remove.

5.       Mix in the marinated chicken along with the marinade. Coat well with the fried spices.

6.       Cover the dish with a perforated lid to prevent splattering and return to the oven for 8 minutes. Remove. Check to see if the chicken is tender. If not, return it to the oven for another couple of minutes before proceeding to the next step which is optional, but recommended.

7.       Stir in methi, and microwave for another one or two minutes.

8.       Serve, garnished with coriander leaves.

The gravy for this recipe is a fairly compact one. If runnier gravy is required, add a cup of water or buttermilk at the point where you check to see that the chicken is tender. Mix it in well, adjust the salt, and return to the oven for 2 minutes or thereabouts to allow it to homogenize with the spices. Then proceed as directed.

Ren, I hope you actually do try this, after the trouble I have taken getting it across to you! This is for all the rest of you too, who balk at home cooking when the help is not around!

The Biggest Apple

Steve Jobs’ passing on has left a deep void in hearts that did not even know him. The tributes and accolades continue to flow as the entire world, cutting across international divides, mourns his loss. Even those who shrugged their shoulders, it was reported, did so in a way compatible with his ‘i’ range of products – an idon’t care.

What is it about this man and an apple? While Adam was derided for his bite into its flesh, Jobs took the world by storm by redefining its role in the history of mankind. His apples shrunk the world for us to hold in our palms.

He was just a man – a two legged homo sapien like us – but infinitely more sapient than the best of his educators, on whom he turned his back. It was his vision that impelled him forward, driven by insatiable curiosity and bundles of energy. Many of us have those qualities, but perhaps not all of them together in equal measure. While we mark time among the milling throng, occasionally rising a full head and shoulders above it and patting ourselves on the back for those rare moments of glory, he took a vertical leap all the while respecting that other apple, the law of gravity, that kept him earthed in reality.

Many callisthenic gurus take vertical leaps and sit cross legged six feet off the ground. But what do they achieve, even for themselves? Ironically Jobs himself, it is said, sought the counsel of gurujis at one stage of his life, but it is very apparent that he saw through them – or that he used their skill at sharpening the intellect and the soul to hone his own, but for the greater good of mankind; and so became the greatest guru of them all.

Rajyoga

The rains spill over into September as an earthquake wells up from within and sends hilly North India into turmoil. A small shower can cascade a mountain slope – we’ve encountered scores of landslides, fortunately post the actual calamity. They cause so much terror, heartbreak and destruction.

Simultaneously in Gujarat, Modi fasted; and along with him were two counter-fasts. Several fasts too many for a slow moving behemoth of a country like ours. Bureaucracy and red tape never need to rear their ugly heads here because they are perennially upright for downright corrupt reasons.

The best thing that I’ve heard in a long time is that we are breasting the finishing tape of Kalyug, and Satyug is just around the corner – a giant leap from the Iron Age to the Golden Age. This point in time is apparently a Sangam of the two yugs, where we purportedly cast off the yoke of a decidedly seamy age and embrace an unblighted future.

You guessed correctly that we, Child included, completed the meditation or Rajyoga course at a Kolkata centre of the Brahma Kumaris close to our house. It was not so much meditation that we learned from our designated teacher, but a clear and almost facile enlightenment of our true selves. It’s a course worth attending for it actually awakens you to the possibilities that exist within you. I don’t think I will ever feel the need to lose my shirt or criticize another being after this course. The implications are just not worth it for me.

For those not enthused by more awakening in the name of religion, I must add that the teaching is totally secular and compatible with any faith across the globe.

Child is in baking mode. Like the Medicare advertisements for tackling lice, she bakes ‘Sunday to Sunday’. Then she photographs her confectionary to mail to her long list of drooling fans, chiefly her brother whose Sunday evening conversations these days are peppered with ‘wow’, ‘awesome’, and, occasionally, ‘I want to come home...!!’

Spouse and Child are now gymnocrats so the gateaux have no effect on their corporeal frames; but it is an entirely different kettle of fish as far as yours truly is concerned for she also serves those who don’t watch their weight!!

Meditation

We were physically drawn to the Brahma Kumari centre near us by a large hoarding bearing the proclamation that Rajyoga was taught there. Both my husband and I were keen to learn yoga, and this seemed a bonafide place to go to. On actually visiting the centre, however, we were met by an elderly lady who said that the yoga referred to was mental yoga, or meditation. Yoga, she said, meant ‘connection’, and Raj referred to the supreme force or Parmahatma – the highest soul in the Universe.

The centre, she added, conducted a free seven day course on the art and act of meditation beginning every Monday. The duration was for an hour, between 5.30 and 6.30pm every day, for the week. A smart young lady clad in jeans and tee shirt explained to us the concept of the Universe in a simple and lay manner, and she looked so pleased with life and the act of being alive, that we feel compelled to join the course in the near future.

Meditation is indeed an art. Most of us, yours truly included, have a tendency to balk at such cerebral talk. Thoughts are so random that the idea of collecting and collating them even for short spells sends us into spasms of agony. Our minds jump on to their own rails and steer off on auto pilot at breakneck speed, catapulting simultaneously into different directions, carrying their proprietors away with them!

At other times, when the outer eyes close to begin meditating, all other senses join in the shutdown and we find ourselves blissfully asleep! This happened recently to a friend of my student from Japan. Keen to learn all aspects and forms of yoga while in India, she began to meditate in her guru’s classroom only to find herself rudely awakened by her own snores!

However, we do want to delve into the realm of the unknown, and sooner rather than later we will join the course to explore our inner selves, our souls, the core of our being. Child has agreed to come with us too, surprisingly without duress. I hope we find ourselves in the metaphysical world and learn to shape ourselves into better human beings, thus enriching ourselves and our karmas, and the lives of those around us.

Wedding of the Dolls

The house was only a stone’s throw away from our own, but it felt a lot further trotting there on my little legs. It was a hotbed of girls, a kind of sorority, vibrant, sparkling and full of beans. Four femme fatales were aunts, two married and two very young bachelor-girls, and the rest a bevy of girl cousins.

I lucidly remember an afternoon party at the house, arranged by the two youngest aunts, Badi and Chhoti. It was, purportedly, a wedding between my beautiful, buxom and blonde Angela, and Kiko, Cousin Raju’s large baby doll with rubbery curls embossed on his skull.

Clearly decorated as a venue for a wedding, there was a priest and a miniscule fire around which the nuptials were to be solemnized. Hordes of underage wedding guests milled around, bearing gifts and clutching glasses of ‘sherbet’; and a banquet of sorts was laid on the large dining table.

Raju and I took our places around the fire as mothers of the dolls as the wedding got underway. It was so real and so fantastic!

As the guests began to troop out with little farewell gifts after the revelry, Badi and Chhoti produced two identical packages for Raju and me. These were supposedly gifts from our fictional fiancé-brothers, Sunil and Sagar. Sagar, always portrayed as steady and earnest by the aunts, had gifted Raju, senior to me by two years, a beautiful piece of jewellery.

The illusory Sunil was apparently another kettle of fish altogether, so I should actually have known what to expect when I excitedly tore the wrapping from the box and flung it open. Nestling within the expensive tissue was a larger than life cockroach – in plastic, thank God.

The mother of the bride, in classic, time-honoured tradition, sobbed all the way home....!

A Good Book

We had to read a synopsis to understand the movie, despite being riveted to our seats watching Angelina Jolie execute dangerous stunts on high rises, down elevator shafts, and on trains and buses amongst other things. The write-up reported that she actually doubled up as her own stunt man – plucky girl.

The movie was ‘Salt’, and it won or, at the very least was nominated for, several Academy awards. We were totally confused as to which side of the Cold War she was batting for. I guess that testifies to the brilliance of the narrative, if not the brilliance of our little gray cells!

Today is one of those days when I want to watch a really good courtroom drama of the Perry Mason ilk, or a who-dun-it like Castle; but the idiot box is not in an obliging mood. Neither can the abundant multiplexes around satisfy this craving.

Or maybe a good book.

Can anyone recommend a good monsoon read seasoned with family drama, plots and sub-plots, twists and turns?

Would that my younger sibling , who claims to be suffering from writer’s block, hear my plea and write a saga to complement her cache of three books? She can delve into family history and unearth the skeletons of the black sheep that lie buried in the ancestral vaults – the charlatans, the buccaneers, the roués and cads of yore! Or were we always a morally highbrow family??

Juno’s 1st birthday

Yet another day gone by with nary a word from our cook. I was free today, so I rolled up my sleeves and rustled up egg sandwiches for breakfast, liberally lashed with butter, mustard, pepper and cilantro. The simplest food gives the greatest joy – and here I allude not to the creation of the sandwich, but the eating of it!

Child of course wailed at being given an egg for the second day running, but I would have none of it. Methinks she single-handedly keeps Kellogg’s in business in India. The latest love is Chocos and she downs the cereal as breakfast and an all-day snack, with or without milk.

I rolled the sleeves even higher and set out to craft a gourmet lunch for the both of us, spouse having gone off on his travels to the south of the country. The last two days he has been treated to meals created by Joseph, originally chef of a senior tea executive’s bungalow in South India, whose family are very dear friends. The now retired planter’s wife gaped in disbelief when she heard my spouse speak of him (the chef, not the retired planter!) in a telephone call with her! Tears sprung to her eyes as she recounted his skills with the skillet and the ladle!

Tears spring to my eyes too, when I recall those days of 5 course meals outstandingly created by our cooks at home. Forgive me if I sound maudlin here. Press the ‘Back to the Beginning’ button on your computer and re read the first sentence of this blog...!

The microwave oven is an infallible companion on days like these, but I still prefer the good old fashioned gas stove and the roomy stand-alone convection oven any day. I spent countless afternoons, especially monsoon or overcast ones, creating confectionary extraordinaire for my appreciative first-born and his dog! Swiss rolls that actually scrolled, chocolate éclairs, Viennese biscuits sandwiched with chocolate butter cream, quiches and tarts among other delectables rolled out with military precision in those younger days, quite untouched by new waves or microwaves! Having a full-time cook gives you the time to indulge in crafts and hobbies, and mine was baking – therapeutic!

I remember the 8^th of February 1985. I had just extracted a freshly baked cake sans embellishments from the oven. My young son, just short of 3, laboriously punctured it with a brightly coloured candle. We carried it out into the lawn and had barely lit the candle when a beautiful yellow Labrador, all of one year old that day, leapt to claim what was rightly hers, lighted candle and all! One swoop and it was all gone, leaving us, human parents and brother, clapping and singing ‘Happy Birthday dear Juno’ while she continued searching for crumbs among the blades of grass! It's not hard to understand why no photographs exist of Juno's cake cutting ceremony!