Hello Beautiful

The stretch marks on my belly are erase-proof, my sagging breasts defy any attempts at upliftment and the daily-emerging wrinkles on my face make me really, really consider botox. I don’t believe I just mentioned “sagging” and “my breasts” in the same sentence. But you see, that’s what has happened. I am mother to an 11-month-old baby girl and since having my daughter, my whole concept of ‘beautiful’ has done a volte-face. It’s not about me anymore, not about what I consider beautiful. What then will I teach her about beauty?

Baby sense is tingling

Batman needs the Bat Sign to be flashed and Spiderman's spider-sense sometimes fails. Both of them could take lessons from Miss Mia, her baby sense never fails. EVER. At this rate, we will never manage a second baby. Not that we want one right away, but you know, it's good to keep up the practice. Only Miss Mia doesn't think so. :|

Kiss and tell

My first kiss was when I was 9. The boy was visiting one of our neighbours -- he was a 'Delhi boy' -- and he kissed me on my cheek. Before all the other kids who laughed. I promptly punched him and went and complained to his aunt that he had kissed me.


Then there was the dude in grade 8 -- who had a girlfriend and had failed twice in the same class and was supposed to be some sort of a Taekwondo champion -- who tried to kiss me after class. I turned my face at the last minute, the kiss landed on my cheek and I saw few other boys -- who'd been peeping in through the window -- run away. Despite the fact that I hadn't asked for the kiss, a HUGE scandal followed.


Many years and kisses-without-meaning later, Partner kissed me for the first time. Strangely that was the only time I have ever been asked if I wanted to be kissed.

Daddy's cool, yay baby

I have to say that despite all the negative stuff that's written about the Internet -- vis-a-vis children and the dangers of unsupervised surfing -- this particular technology has brought about some welcome changes to the relationship with my parents.


I've always felt that in the Indian scenario at least, there's always a certain distance in the parent-child relationship.

Can we have some penis?

The first time I’d really thought about it or noticed (the lack of) it was while watching a lingerie show on Fashion TV.

There were female models parading in next-to-nothings. Wispy laces, satin and silk and see-through garments that that were more see than through. You could see the nipples, the shading of the areola and even how one female models’ cleft was perhaps slightly longer than the other. I was watching and thinking how washing anything so delicate – and I mean the lingerie here – would be a bitch when this male model walked on to the catwalk.

FAAAAAAACK

I HATE housework. I have no idea how countless women before me have spent their entire fucking lives doing it everyfuckingday. I am LOSING it. It's getting bad, so bad. I woke up this morning contemplating writing a comparative post on the best detergent to remove red wine stains. FUCK.
I SO want to pick a fight today. Punch someone. Something. I HATE housework.

Introducing: The Buboons

click to see larger image

...because sometimes, words are not enough.

tried and tasted: Tomato, goat’s cheese and caramelized onion flan

(Even as I upload this post it begins hailing in Melbourne. Hail the size of dragée. The recipe that follows the post is perfect for this weather. Served warm it gives a feeling of snuggling under warm blankets. I do love that feeling.) 


What makes a good cookbook? Rather what do I think makes a good cookbook?
1.    Recipes that have been tried, tasted and that actually work when you follow the instructions.
2.    Instructions that are clear and give you an idea of what to expect. Eg. When making bread: Let the dough sit for 30 minutes is NOT as good as saying ‘let the dough sit for 30 minutes till it doubles in size’. Or when making a curry: ‘Fry the spices for 10 minutes till they give off a cooked aroma’ is BETTER than saying fry the spices for 10 minutes.
3.    Pictures that give me an idea of the finished product.
4.    Proper index that makes it easy to search for a particular recipe.
5.    But most importantly, a friendly cookbook. I don’t mind a cookbook with only 10 recipes, but those recipes need to work. They don’t have to be fancy recipes but rather recipes that make me come back and make them again. Eg. I haven’t read Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, but I have a feeling I’d hate it. While I understand what JC did for “cooking in America”, I don’t like a cookbook that makes me feel like a dunce. I like a cookbook that says “You might be a dunce but here let me show you how to work with your dunce-ness and have something good to eat it at the end of it”.

go to recipe | READ MORE

Not a nice woman to know

My birthday was like any other day. We woke up to Mia’s babbling at 5.30am. Unlike when she was a ‘new’ baby and had me sprinting out of bed, her morning babble got the usual reaction from me. I slunk deeper under the doona hoping she would perhaps go back to sleep. I hope every morning. Every morning she continues the gibberish till she realises that no one has responded to her yet. Then there are a series of grumpy, staccato bub-bub-bub-bubs followed by a screech. BAAAARGH. It is an imperial command for us to respond without any further delay. I slink lower and Partner happily goes into her room, changes her, cuddles her and then brings her into our bedroom. My birthday was pretty much the same except that Partner entered the room dancing with his daughter in his arms and singing Happy Birthday. Mia thought it was a much better start to the morning and responded gleefully. Bub-bub-bub-bubbab-BUB!

Dead on target

Gulp: Skarsgård as Eric Northman

Should a book be made into a movie/teleserial or should it be left alone? Can the onscreen version sometimes better the printed version? If you have read a certain book, should you watch the movie/serial? Personally I am quite undecided on those questions. I love the Harry Potter books and it took me a while to warm to the movies and perhaps watch them out of loyalty towards the books.


However, when it comes to the Southern Vampire mystery series by Charlaine Harris -- the Sookie Stackhouse series or now as they're known as HBO's True Blood series -- I veer towards the TV series by just that much. I've quite enjoyed the books but I am really enjoying the televised version as well. Maybe it has to do with hottie Alexander Skarsgård who plays former-viking-now-vampire-sheriff Eric Northman. I love Skarsgård because he can play a devious vampire and still have the comic timing of Meekus in Zoolander.

So (not) MILF

Another four days and I’ll be 32. Frankly I don’t want to be 32 and if you asked me – even if you didn’t – I’m not ready for it. I’d barely turned 30 and now I’m being told it’s been two years since. When the hell did that happen? How? 

I’ve been in a bit of a funk for some time now, the blog silence being one of the resultant ramifications. There have been other ones too. Like not wanting to get a pedicure, a refusal to wear low-waist jeans and an absolute hatred for anything labeled ‘anti-ageing’.