Political Evolution at High Altitudes...

My  blogging friend, botanist researcher Sangeeta Khanna  recently visited Sikkim , and  was smitten by various local veggies that don't normally make an appearance , say, in big metros.  Naturally, she probably lugged back a basket of those , to experiment later while cooking.

Have a look at the various vegetables here.  While some were heard of but not seen , there were some which looked a bit hybrid. Like the ones below.

Neither the brinjals nor the  tomato parivars would have been thrilled.  Purity and all that.

And a thought kept reccurring in the mind. ......

The Congressi brinjal
and
BJP red tomato
eloped to the mountains
straight from the backyard
of Lutyen's Delhi.

No Party Sharty
in the Himalayas,
and a tough
but a healthy life
slogging in the winds
and cold
and brilliant Himalayan Sun,
and
their children happened,
losing all the
excessive colorful traits,
except the beaklike stem
from
all the shouting their parents did
in Parliament.

You can tell
whose children they are,
but they all now belong
to the Greens Party.

A Sab-ji(yo) morning

The most enjoyable season in New Delhi, in undoubtedly winter; particularly the onset. Misty mornings, clarifying sunlight, lovely breezes, small bonfires on their last legs on sidewalks, a wonderful nip in the air, kids in blazers, walking and being driven to school,  and the amazing crisp vegetables that are available in this season.

Blogger friend IHM posted recently on what it is about this season that she enjoys in Delhi.

One such picture , of a lady , lugging her supply of fresh veggies to the market , ensconced on top of the heap, and pulled by the ricksha driver, right there in the middle of the road traffic, touched something in the mind somewhere.

Winters,
a nip in the air,
and thoughts crowd
the mind
like traffic in Delhi.

For some,
an indulgent childhood,
dustless closed transport
sometimes for pointless learning;
sometimes conditioned by air,
sometimes by money,
designer lives,
and
a designer alliance
with a designer bidaai****.


And for some,
a green childhood
open to the sky,
anchored to the earth,
drenched in rains,
nodding in winter,
only to bloom and open up
in the Sun,
cared for by her,
but now en route
to a new life
in a sasuraal.*****

The cauliflowers,
and the spinach,
and the bhindi,*
and the tomatoes
huddle together one last time,
as the barat
reaches the mandi,**
the mother,
firmly holding them
all together,
as the man drives
to the venue,
the load,
more on his mind…..

A Bidaai of a different kind….


****Bidaai :  Bidding adieu to the bride as she leaves her maternal folks

*****sasuraal  : House of the in-laws

** Mandi :  vegetable market

*Bhindi : okra,ladyfingers

The Rise of the AluGobi folks....

I was sent this picture by someone, along with some other pictures.  The other pictures were immensely funny, most of them showing  human ingenuity, entrepreneurship, and sometimes, even a one track mind.

Rice, unflavoured, white and dry is not a personal favourite.

While some folks salivate at the thought of this lazy thing shamelessly posturing on the rice, time has come to remind folks of the delights of curd-rice-lemonpickle, tamarind rice, vegetable pulao, veggie biryanis,  bisi-bhele,  varan-bhat-tup, tup-bhat-metkut, and other things that delight the soul....

P. S  I am a pucca vegetarian .

Proletarian grains of rice
dry and wanting
crushed
under the weight
of an
unconcerned
dictator
overweight
chicken,
keeping the
rich spices to itself.

A la Egypt and Libya,
it is time
for Alu Gobi and Bhindi
folks
to rise,
protest,
and drive
this shameless dictator out......
:-)