Songs of the not-so innocent

Once upon a time there existed a peaceful neighbourhood in Pune called Aundh. Perhaps the almost magical somnolence was related to being far from the maddening crowd. Kids cycled to schools, adults sauntered along the kadappa -paved footpaths to shops and, true story, cows could spend afternoons patiently browsing at one corner of Parihar Chowk. The police workshop was a buzzing hive of activity during the day but the massive tree and creeper cover provided plenty of shade for sparrows, owls, squirrels, mongooses and cuckoos. The city fathers, operating on the principle that all good things must come to an end, eventually turned their beady eyes towards this slumbering haven and dealt the coup de grace in a jolly roundabout maneuver popularly known as Hinjewadi Infotech Park. Cut to more recent times, where the same neighbourhood is now a chaotic hellhole choc-a-bloc with traffic, all of which seems to be headed to a plague spot called the Westend Mall. While assholes parade up and...

This is a journal-ish post, cobbling together various floating topics under one hat. On cooking I've been pottering around kitchens on a regular basis since 2006. In all that time, pasta has never once been on the menu. The reason is trauma. You see, over 17 years ago when a Masterchef was someone you'd only meet in high-end hotels and the only famous Oliver I knew was the Twist fellow... let me get to the point; videos of cooking instructions did not feature in my life and recipe books were my mother's domain. Yet, I seem to have found some reason to crave Mac-n-Cheese. It must have been damned compelling because I can't for the life of me remember. In any case, macaroni was procured from the local grocers, cheese was shredded or cubed (I forget) and, watched by a highly amused & bemused mater, I tossed the macaroni into boiling water. Half an hour later, the two of us peered into the pot, at each other and quietly agreed that we had two years' supply of gl...