Book Review of ' The Help ' by Kathryn Stockett

Just finished reading a well written , gripping book The Help by Kathryn Stockett.  Set   in the 1960s, in Jackson, Mississippi , it is a story revolving around  Aibileen,  Milly and Miss  Skeeter.  Aibileen  is a black maid at Elizabeth  Leefolt’s  house. When  Elizabeth has a daughter, Mae Mobley.  she  takes on the task of caring for her. Mae Mobley is a sweet child  and Aibileen  dotes on her. Aibileen is the soul of the book , especially in scenes that have her raising Mae Mobley.  Having endured the pain of losing her only son in a freak accident she showers her love on the white child  in her care.

Miss Skeeter is a young white woman,  raised  and loved by her  black maid, Constantine. When Miss  Skeeter  goes away to school  she stays in touch with Constantine through letters. But then  the letters suddenly stop. When she comes back home  she finds that the maid is no longer with the family. All attempts to find Constantine’s whereabouts draw a blank. Little does she know at that time, she will never see her black maid again.

 Minny,   Aibileen’s  friend,  is a sassy character, who loves cooking and cannot keep her mouth shut.  She rubs  Miss Hilly the wrong way and pays for it by being dubbed a thief by   Miss Hilly. The latter is the  villain of the story. She campaigns to have the white households install extra toilets so that colored help will not have to use the  bathrooms  of the white families. She raises funds  for the sake of “the Poor Starving Children of Africa” while treating the  blacks of Jackson as if they were not human.

Elizabeth  Leefolt’s  Hilly Holbrook and  Skeeter  have  grown up together and are friends. When Skeeter returns  they maintain that relationship. But Skeeter begins to see a different world from  the one she remembers. She begins to pay attention to the interaction of the maids and the families they work for. She tries  to get the maids to tell their stories but finds no one is willing to speak openly.

 Skeeter  finds a job with the Jackson Journal. She is to  write the Miss Myrna column, a column that supplies answers to domestic questions. Her friend , Elizabeth,  allows her to ask Abilieen  for answers. The two women form a fragile and uneasy  bond .This bond is to later  shake the very foundations of the  lives  of the whites and the blacks living in Jackson, Missisippi.

 Stockett’s characters are strong, well etched and believable. The  humor ,many a times, evokes a smile.  The pain and anguish, of both the domestic black servants working in white households and of the white ‘Missus’ ,  can be felt sharply .The pain pulls one into the story as much as the humor does. 

The story hurtles towards its climax when  Skeeter comes across a copy of Jim Crow laws and   begins dating the son of an intolerant local politician and  as  both Aibileen and Minny become increasingly privy to the secrets of their employers’ households.
If you haven’t read the book yet you simply must.

Dreams and Reality - a short story

I turn the pages of the album in a desultory manner. Photographs are memories of days filled with either too much pain or too much happiness. Involuntarily my fingers stop moving at a page. It shows a henna dyed hand resting ever so trustingly in another hand. In my husband’s hand. In Sumit’s hand. I close my eyes before the tears can escape. Oh ! those were the days of love and  laughter which we both lived with a song . Ten years of togetherness and then the abrupt separation….

The shrill ring of the  telephone  brings me back to the present. It is Roohi, my childhood friend. “ Come over to our place for the weekend”, she says. I start to nod my head but the word that escapes from my mouth is a ,”sorry- can’t make it”. “Why” she asks with the possessive ease of thirty years of friendship. “Have invited someone for dinner this weekend”, I lie glibly. She keeps the phone but leaves me thinking. A weekend  dinner?  Not a bad idea.  But dinner for whom?  And then  it comes to me- dinner for Sumit – for a husband who used to be….

Two hours of intense planning later my menu is ready.

For the entrée  

 The evening  definitely  had to start with   Sumit’s    favourite    drink in summers- chilled aam ka panna. With this I would serve a platter of freshly pressed cottage cheese cubes, cucumber sticks and nachos with  Pineapple and green pepper chutney.

 The main course

 Sumit had turned strictly vegetarian just before leaving me. Serving vegetarian would be the best bet. The main course would be :

 Paneer Darbari

Mirchi Ka Salan  

Dal Bukhara 

Vegetable Biryani  

Missi rotis and laccha paranthas

 Dessert

 Kesar kulfi

 Jodhpuri Moong ki dal halwa

 And , ofcourse there would be paan , fresh betel nut leaves from  Benaras, to round off the evening.

 The weekend

 It is Saturday evening.  The terrace   of my house is looking lovely. The fragrance of the  flowering  champa tree wafts over the evening. The  white rajnigandha   blend with the  marigold to provide both color and light. The full moon of  June  casts its magic   . The candles on the table  illuminate Sumit’s face. He looks just the same. I want to ask him- “ Why did you leave me?” But I don’t. There is no one else on the terrace. I have given the servants an off.

I serve him dinner on plates from my new dinner set collection. Everything is going so well. Just then the doorbell rings . I ignore it. The ring is more insistent. The door bursts open .It is Roohi. She looks at the table and then at me. Tears are streaming down her  cheeks. She hugs me tightly . “ Priya, Sumit died  five years back. You have to accept this fact. Stop living life with a photograph”.  I look at Sumit in the photograph. He seems to be saying, “ she is right .”   A  dam bursts . I cry for the first time in five years.

My weekend dinner is over. It has brought me back to reality.

 

 

                    

                    

and this is what they thought on Vijay Dashmi....

Ofcourse it all began with Ramji , the seventh incarnation of  Vishnu - Vishnu   the all-pervading essence of all beings, the master of—and beyond—the past, present and future, one who supports, sustains and governs the Universe . Ramji picked up his bow and arrow to slay Ravana .This was his duty- to free his people from all evil forces , and this is what he had been doing in these fourteen years of exile . The final three had to be slayed and as he aimed the first of the three arrows he thought , and prayed, " let there always be someone to guide my people and protect them from the evil ones".  Through a smoke induced haze  a  blurred vision of a slight man, bespectacled , holding a
wooden stick swam before his eyes and vanished . Ramji relaxed and lazily shot the arrow. His prayers had been answered. For had not the man  been wearing  wooden slippers- kharaus - just like what he was wearing right now ?

Lakshmana , Rama's brother waited on the sidelines for his brother to do the final honours. What were his thoughts at this time ? None  actually. His was not to ask , or question, or speak. He had taken it on himself to only follow . He was the original follower of the original leader.

And Ravanna ? you would think that a man on the threshold of death would be praying for forgiveness - full of angst at the evil  that he had embodied coming to an end with his death ? Nah - Ravanna was full of beams , giving a high five to Meghnaad, and sharing a , ahem , dirty joke with Kumbhkaran. He knew what no one else knew till now - and that is that he would not die. Hold on - the story is not being distorted-   his body would die but his evil would not. He knew that where ever the ashes of his ten heads fell - evil would take root there . And when that evil was killed ,  a new stronger strain of the old would come up ...and the cycle would go on.

Today is Vijay Dashmi . The triumph of good over evil . The country's  top brass is at the Ramlila grounds . What are they thinking ? Why  are they looking so  uncomfortable ? They are looking at everyone but not at each other and certainly not at ' Ramji'. The symbol of peace - doves- are released . The 'Silent  One ' shoots the symbolic arrow. Before doing so he looks at  We know who . An imperceptible nod of the head. Permission is granted.  The evil ones are on fire - in a minute they have been burnt to ashes. Everyone claps. It is agreed that good has triumphed . Crackers light up the western sky. The tamasha over , everyone heads back home .

A slight breeze stirs. The smouldering ashes are lifted and carried . Where do they fall ? How does it matter ? It has stopped mattering . The man with the wooden stick has come and gone. For some years after him people talked of faith and service and nationalism.  But slowly , and slowly, all that became a memory. The ashes of Ravanna's ten heads had spread from Kashmir to Kanyakumari. The people , the mango people, know that whether it is  ' the hand' that rocks the cradle or the  saffron forming a brigade at the lord's janambhoomi , they are on their own- rudderless and clueless.

Happy Dussehra !

the secret diary of Digvijay Singh@ diggy raja

I turn the pages of the dictionary( Merriam Webster) feverishly . I am looking for smirk and sneer .  P Q  R   S ...smirk -' a  smile showing insolence , smugness ,scorn'. And  now  sneer -'A contemptous facial expression characterized by a slight raising of one corner of the upper lip'.  The  dictionary closes  with  a  thud. I  rush  to   the  mirror .I  am  looking  for    the smirk and the  sneer. My  face- my  honest    to God  face ,  looks  back   at  me . Alright  ,  there is  a slight  amused  twitch  to one corner of  the  lower lip, but  that  has been  with  me   since  ages ( infact to  let  you  in  on  a  little  known secret,  it was told to me that I entered the world chuckling , with the corner of my left upper lip sort of curled in amusement) .I  tell you  we  Indians  have  no  sense of humour and anybody who shows his humour by the curl of the left upper lift is said to be smirking and sneering . Bah ! No wonder damaadji was driven to call them ' the mango people'. Infact the aam junta should be touching madam's feet in gratitude that her damaad even deigned to talk about them . I tell you these Indians have no sense of duty - duty to worship madam. Did she not leave her Italian roots trailing  behind her  to attach herself  like a limpet to Rajeevji ? But history will be witness to the fact that I never lagged behind in doing my duty by the  Maino ,sorry,  Gandhi   family. My sole purpose in life is to glorify Madam and Rahul baba and I will keep doing it- even if my own partymen smirk and sneer behind me. Just this evening I was asked for a soundbyte on this Kejriwal fellow and while discussing him in my measured way I cleverly managed to bring in  madam's name and her views about the gentleman in question. And still the mango people, sorry , the aam junta keeps asking why Soniaji doesn't open her tightly clenched mouth. Arre baba ( no, no not Rahul baba -this is another baba ) why should she ? Am I not there ? To open  my mouth, that is. Never mind that many a times people are left with their mouths hanging open when I open mine. But enough of this open business. Let me shut the case by calling it a night. I have to wake up early tomorrow for the devi puja starting from tomorrow for the next nine days. Ofcourse , in my case the devi puja carries on 365 days a year.
Jai Sonia Maa

4 Days In Kasauli

 

The Shatabdi Express chugs in at  Kalka station exactly on the dot, and this sort of sets the  tone of the holiday , which is  –‘ this holiday will work’.  Kalka station is like any other station acting as a feeder point to a hill station – small, quaint and giving a tantalizing hint of the promised mountains. We hire a cab to Kasauli and settle back in our seats in  anticipation of the drive . Writing this  article, one can almost feel the movement of the sharp curves of the road, inhale the smell of the pine trees , feel the caress of  the fresh mountain air  and hear the distinct chirrup of the  hill birds….  

Just after Kalka is Parwanoo,  and this is where the drive gets interesting . The hills are full of flowering shrubs and trees  and a lazy yellow   merges with a burst of  sharp orange. At one point we are almost eyeball to eyeball with the passengers of the  hill train and the eye contanct is  broken only when the train disappears inside a tunnel.   

Further along the road is the town of Dharampur, which is in two parts.  One road turns off towards Kasauli and another towards the famous Lawrence School, Sanawar. Both roads meet below the school at Garkhal.  Another  road  climbs steeply uphill towards Dagshai. Dharampur  is famous because of  its many dhabas , most notable ( and most crowded ) being Giani da dhaba. The food is uniformly good, the crowd is also, almost uniformly , good but what is great, nee mesmerizing, is the speed with which the food is served.

Burping delicately we get back inside the cab for   the last leg of the journey , from Garkhal to Kasauli. Now,  beautiful old british style bungalows   come into view, some of them dating to the time of the Raj. The houses within the confines of the Army cantonment cannot be changed structurally, so most of them retain their quaint charm along with their quaint, old fashioned  names like Cloud 9, The Raj Villa, The Pine View ….

( A few days into Kasauli , and a few long walks , are  enough for us to see , and envy,  the beautiful  summer homes of  the Kasauli elite. We also chance upon  writer and journalist Khushwant Singh’s villa. Pretty exteriors, well manicured , lawns and long driveways are the common features of the summer residences.)

 

 

How did we spend time in  Kasauli  ? We went for long, lazy  walks, absorbed the atmosphere of the British built bungalows, took  in the panoramic views , steered clear of numerous monkeys and langurs, and ate amazingly thin and beautifully served crepes at a local café, Rudra. At  Rudra  we also heard a lot of Bob Marley . Evenings were spent at the rooftop restaurant of the hotel we were staying in. Picture this : a room with glass walls which offer a ringside view of the twinkling lights of Sanawar , the only light inside the room  is provided by the    paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling , Sanju, the inhouse  vocalist cum guitarist, who also happens to be a music teacher in the local school ,crooning hits of the seventies and eighties  and a ponytailed guy, who we discovered is the owner/partner of the hotel , giving moral support to the singer by slapping his right thigh  repeatedly with his right hand  in tune to the music.  ( Incase anyone out there is wondering why the right hand was in overdrive , let me explain. Simply put, his left  hand was holding his drink and so was incapacitated). Also, and this was the best part, a couple of good looking  local school teachers ,fetchingly dressed in shorts and jumpsuits , dancing in synchronization to ‘Dum Maro Dum…’ Will we go back to the rooftop restaurant ? yes, we will. The waiters were the best I have seen in a long time !

The Kasauli Model

One hears of planeloads of babus going to foreign lands to study  models which can be implemented back home .What needs to be done pronto , to save the hill stations in India , is to study the Kasauli model and implement it.  In all the days we were there we did not come across any litter. There are no pestering  touts / tourist guides badgering one at every step. There are no ice cream parlours, restaurants serving Mughlai and Chinese and continental. No restaurants means absolutey none.  Infact we hunted high and low for a bakery but drew a blank. The town retains its old world charm precisely because of the absence of all these factors. Kasauli has a strong army presence and much to thank the army for. The greenery here has survived only due to the presence of the Army .The discipline enforced by it is clearly evident. A case in point is the walk to Sunset Point- a place of tourist attraction. No  vehicles are allowed about a kilometre  or so before Sunset Point. At  ground zero there are no shops selling chips, no jhoolas, no ice cream vendors – absolutely nothing .Only the people and the setting Sun.

 The town  has two main roads, the Upper Mall and the Lower Mall. Both have bungalows and cottages along them .  Simla lights are visible on clear nights from the Lower Mall. The Upper Mall faces both Chandigarh and Simla and gets beautiful morning and afternoon sunshine. Like all cantonment towns, Kasauli  has an old bazaar . Here we  bought some asafoetida and rock salt   ( the only  bit of shopping we did )from a wizened old lady  who looked as old as methuselah  .If someone had told us she was a remnant  from the time  Kasauli had been built we would have swallowed it, so old did she look.

We heard from the locals that there are two annual  social  events  in Kasauli. The first  is in the last week of June and is called Kasauli Week.  During this week a lot of parties and socials are organized by the Army and  by  the Kasauli Club.  A dance party is held at the Kasauli Club as the grand finale. The second event is during the Founders celebrations of Sanawar  held in the first week of October when parents and Old Sanawarians swamp  the town.

File Fact  :

 Kasauli is located at a height of 1927 metres  and is  an army cantonment  town established by the British in 1842. It is located in Solan district in Himachal Pradesh, about 77 km from Shimla.

 History

According to mythology, Kasauli came into existence after Lord Hanuman placed his feet here in order to get the Sanjeevani  herb. It is  also believed that the Rajputs of Rewari took refuge in the jungles of Kausal village during 17th century

Best time to visit

Kasauli can be visited any time of the year. However, April to November is the best time to visit.

Climate

Kasauli has a moderate climate. Winter temperature is approximately 2 degrees celsius, with Summer temperatures rarely exceeding 32 degrees celsius.

Places of Interest

Central Research Institute

The CRI works as a ‘Collaborating Centre’ of the World Health Organization, and as an immuno-biological laboratory producing vaccines for measles and polio and the DTP  group of vaccines.

The Parsonage

This  was built in 1850 for priests of the Anglican church.

Kasauli Brewery

The Kasauli Brewery and distillery, founded in the 1820s before the establishment of the Kasauli cantonment, is the oldest extant distillery for 'scotch whisky' in Asia.The brewery is also known as Mohan Meakins.

Kasauli Club

The Kasauli Club was established by the British  in 1880 as an accessible summer retreat. It is currently located within Indian Army premises and managed by a regular Indian Army Officer as 'Club Secretary', aided by civilian staff. Typical of hill architecture, the Club is constructed chiefly of wood.

Schools

Kasauli is synonymous with the Lawrence School , Sanawar . British official Henry Lawrence, who founded the Lawrence School at Sanawar, was one of the earliest inhabitants of the town. The cottage built by Lawrence still stands on the ridge. Other educational institutions,  in or near Kasauli , are the  Pinegrove School, St Mary’s Convent School   and the school at Kasauli's K.V. Air Force Station.

Christ Church and Baptist Church are amazing examples of classical Gothic style of architecture. Christ Church has beautiful stained glass windows, a common feature of churches built by the British during colonial area.

Flora and Fauna

Surrounded by dense forests, Kasuali is home to several species of Himalayan flora and fauna including endangered ones. Babblers, Red-billed Blue Magpie, Striated Prinias and Jungle Owlet can be spotted in Kasauli. Summer is the best time to visit Kasauli to watch the birds in the natural habitat.

.Where to stay

In Kasauli  most of the  resorts are located at the top of the hill. These  offer a  panoramic view of the surrounding areas. Budget hotels are located near the foot of the hill. There is a Himachal Pradesh tourist hotel ( very lost and forlorn ) and a few private ones (Alasia Hotel , Kasauli Resorts, Kasauli Regency , Baikunth Resorts etc), but the best place to stay in  is The Kasauli Club. It is a members-only club but visitors can get temporary membership for a few days and use the club facilities. One can also check out the few cottages which take in guests.

 

 

A quick and easy recipe for Gnocchi in Tomato sauce

    

                   

 

I  first  made Gnocchi  about  10-12 years  back. Ten years back we, in India, were  just  waking  up to  food beyond  pav-bhaji  and chowmein . My son was six months old and it seemed to me that all that I was doing was feeding him and ensuring that he burped and then again feeding him and ensuring … In a fit of inspiration , born mainly from a bout of rebellion , I started grooming and cooking classes aimed at the young woman – the girl on the threshold of marriage. The classes turned out to be a huge success and lasted well beyond my rebellion did !

 

Well, to cut a lonnng story short I taught many cuisines- Indian, Mexican, Chinese, Italian etc. The commonality  was that all the dishes were vegetarian and ,  more importantly, easy to make . One of the dishes that featured in the Italian section  was Gnocchi and in the process of teaching the dish it became a personal favourite ,  coming just after Lasagne and a light pasta salad that I learnt on the job.

Coming to the present , yesterday I made Gnocchi ( after a long gap) and it turned out good enough to inspire me to post the recipe.

 

So here goes :

This recipe  serves  4-6

 Ingredients

 

350 gms potatoes  freshly boiled and  peeled

75 gms self raising flour ( maida)

2 tsp dried oregano

2 tbsp oil

1 large onion  chopped fine

2 garlic cloves ( optional- I hadn’t used them )

400gms chopped tomatoes

2tbsp basil leaves, shredded ( tulsi will work fine)

salt and pepper to taste

 approx ½ cup Parmesan cheese, grated

 For the Gnocchi

 1. Mash the potatoes. Add the flour, salt , pepper and oregano .

Mix with hands to form a  dough.

 2. Make balls of the dough. Press the balls lightly .

 3. Bring a large saucepan of water to boil and cook the Gnocchi  ,in batches,  for 2-3 minutes. Drain well and arrange them on a greased baking dish.

 For the Sauce

n a pan put 2 tbsp oil ( I used olive oil  but any cooking oil will do) and cook the onions and garlic for a minute. Add the tomatoes, ½ cup water, salt and pepper and cook uncoverd for 10 minutes –or till it achieves sauce consistency. Add the basil leaves.

To Serve

Pour the sauce over the Gnocchi. Sprinkle the cheese and bake for about 10 minutes at 180degreesC or till the cheese melts.

 Serve warm.

 

 

Ritu Dalmia’s Diva Piccola

                      

 Till Saturday I had never been to Diva! There - my guilty secret is out. O.K , lemme correct that - one of my guilty secrets is out. Living in Delhi and admitting that one has never seen the inside of Ritu Dalmia’s  original Diva at Hauz Khas Village is like committing social harakiri . So , of course , one had never done it – admitted, that is . But come Saturday, we sailed majestically to the cafe –only to be brought up short by one of life’s inescapable truths, which is, in Diva the door is not opened to the outside. It has to be pushed to the  inside. But the good thing is that even if one does do it, open to the outside , one is not looked condescendingly at . Nah !  Ritu’s battery of   ‘Servers’ ( ‘waiters’ would be blasphemy) are God’s own angels . They smile understandingly and   unobtrusively  open the door to the inside to let you know what you hadn’t known till then and then seat you at one of the three tables for four. The other three tables are for two . Cozy is an understatement and I smile at the adorable tot dangling over the back of the husband’s chair.

In the meantime a basket of bruschetta and the menu cards have been placed in front of us and we eat the bread and  pore over the menu . We look up to confabulate but by then one of the angels has floated over to us and is smiling beatifically. “Ready to  place your order”. A devil whispers in my ear –“ that is being super efficient “ but I push the devil away and , returning the smile- albeit not so beatifically- simper- “what do you recommend?” The angel is very firm about the penne pasta with eggplant but here I get slightly distracted. M , by now we know his name,  looks one of us alright but hey he doesn’t talk like someone from Lajpat Nagar ( don’t ask me why Lajpat ). He talks like one of them.Maybe a crash course in  ‘speaking English the Italian Way’ is mandatory for everyone at Diva ? 

 

We order a pizza margherita, a risotto and the penne pasta with eggplant. A very attractive girl catches my  eye and by the time I finish checking out what she is wearing – beige trousers with a white shirt that is not tucked in but  belted to emphasize the tiniest of waists- the pizza arrives. It is rectangilish /ovalish in shape and extremely good. Next to come is the risotto. Here I pause because I must confess that the risotto left me with mixed feelings. Firstly - but maybe this one is because of all the episodes of last season’s   Master Chef I had watched ,where the presentation was as good , if not better than Gordon Ramsay’s scowl – because it looked exactly like what my dishes look at home when there are no guests but only family. You know , very comsi comsa. Secondly, it made me promise to myself that I must do some research on what is a perfect risotto. What I am trying to  say is that it was nice  –  but that it wasn’t perfect.

How was the pasta ? entirely forgettable and , though pride is one of the seven deadly sins, better pastas have been dished out from my kitchen .

But then the angel brought me back to earth. How? By placing before us the dessert-the  best ever chocolate cake . It came on a wooden platter with a floating candle on one end  and  thin geometric lines of chocolate sauce at the other. The cake was served with vanilla sauce . Mmmm

 

We get up to exit. I open the door. Ooops. Did it again .This time I pushed it open forgetting that now it had to be pulled in. From the corner of my eye I could see one of ‘them’ rushing to do it  the  right way.