Gundappa,
I can be sooo irrelevant.
Since I have nothing else to do, I will bore you, when you come here seeking entertainment.
Here, updating you on my life:
I'm squandering precious little free time, just the way I like.
I hate it when free time comes restricted. Limited. It comes with bloody boundaries.
Then just why the fuck is it called free time? Must be one of those nomenclature inadequacy things.
I'm somewhat hungry, and on ravaging the kitchen, I found yumness in the form of MTR Khara Boondi. Must eat, you. And someday, we will go to MTR and mukkofy from the moNakai.
Of course, this someday is a pipedream, just like movie (and something else, I forget).
So, I'm thinking of making stir fry veggies.
I can't believe that I'm thinking of making my own meal. Inclusive of nourishment. This is no pull-packet-from-fancy-wooden-cupboard-and-two-intercuts-later-fancy-bowl-of-noodles-ready thing. It involves hazarding my grandmother's precious woks (okay, banDali. sue me.) and a few gaalis from her also.
But I like cooking.
I like how the mustard seeds sizzle, and how onions turn golden-brown, and sugar caramelizes on veggies, making them all sheeny.
I like how it involves sharing something simple with people. I like how it makes a nice seasoning to dreams. Dreams of the quality of owning a self-sufficient duplex, far away, facing a quiet, white beach; made of wood, many french-windows, and light curtains. Remember the opening credits of Cinema Paradiso? Just take off the table, the funny pot-thing, the centerpiece with the fruits, the telephone, the people. The suniness is just right. The indoors feel welcoming.
I promise, there won't be lentil soup, or Kulhads. Make do with the steel plates, (which you will wash and put away yourself) and tumblers clearly not belonging to the same set. Loka's tumbler will not be touched, mind you.
And, I make super gooey-brownies (see, this lack-of-modesty business comes from you) and you can contribute with the vanilla (or better, chocolate) and the whipped cream, considering you still owe me the treat (eight events, just what the fuck was that?)
No, your treat will not be just an addendum to something impossible, and in my head.
Okay, I'm going to make stir fry vegetables. You can knock yourself out with your lumpless ready-to-eat soup. (I'm throwing at you a *purist jeer*)
I can be sooo irrelevant.
No?
Fine, I'll bugger off. Don't hate me.
Luff you,
Puttamma.
PS: I don't want cake fudge
PPS: I want not-so-sweet Gulab Jamun. Nisarga. or Kaju Katlis. *faint*
