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Fish 'n' Chips
Jul 19, 2008
In India, yesterday's newspapers move fast beyond the raddi man. They are vital for 'atom bombs' and other Sivakasi fireworks. In Kashmir, papier mache objects are dependent on them. Bhelpuri on beaches is commonly served in them, as are hot pakoras and jalebis. They are the south's lifeline for parcelling idli-vada. Abroad, when not relegated to humiliating existence as linings for birdcages and collecting doggie poop, fish-like stunned mullet are covered in old newspapers. But perhaps it is in Britain that old newspapers are most revered.
For ages they have been used to wrap batter-fried fillet of cod with fried potatoes. In distant Hong Kong, that tradition continues with restaurants serving the fare even if it means importing old English newspapers. So, expats get the genuine article when they lob up at Wanchai's Joe Bananas or MadDogs and Englishmen. Post take-over, UK's biggest culinary discovery is now served faithfully in the old South China Morning Post. No, sir, there’s no way fish 'n' chips will be served any other way.
Besides tradition, it has long been suspected that the wrappings play a role in promoting interest in the printed medium. English workers, for instance, while putting back the fishy fare are often found poring over 'The Guardian' or 'The Daily Telegraph '. And for good reason.
There, in the crumpled depths of the oily sheets, is 'all the news that's fit to print': Angelina Jolie and her five-pound bundles of joy. Bush threatens to bomb Iran (again). Gas prices soar. Tendulkar clobbers some hapless bowler all over the park. And when burly yellow helmeted 'lads' gather over fish 'n' chips, jokes flow fast and furious as they poke each other's beer-bellies and point to 'The Sun's seemingly inexhaustible supply of pin-ups of top-heavy babes.
So, where does all this leave the desi abroad pining for taaza khabar and home food? Here's an idea that's likely to be widely and heartily endorsed by one and all: wrap takeout tandoori chicken in yesterday's mass-circulated vernacular daily.
Influence the publication to load the daily with generous dollops of mirch-masala, say, Rakhi Sawant in revealing ghagra-choli! As the Wah! Wah! fills the air of Birmingham and beyond, the ecstatic Indian diaspora may well go ballistically Balle! Balle!!
A Shining Example
Aug. 12, 2008
IN the morning constitutional in the big city park, a paunchy middle-aged gent in trendy gear — snazzy sneakers, cell-phone, pulled up under a neem tree, snapped a twig off a branch and began chewing one end. In time, others — walkers, joggers and exercise enthusiasts — pulled up, individually or in groups, to do likewise. That practice as old as civilisation, blithely continues into the 21st century in many parts of the country.
Besides the neem stick, a host of similar practices thrive. For instance, a considerable section of the population routinely cleans teeth and freshens mouth by delving into cold hearths or chulas to extract firewood coal or even ash to brush teeth.
In some homes, particularly in the deep south, just as their ancestors did, old women work on mortar and pestle to prepare a mixture of firewood coal, salt and camphor powder. This dentifrice will be carefully put in tight containers for later use by the whole family. Such family secret recipes have been hijacked and morphed into slick readymade mixes. Today they reappear as branded herbal preparations. In paper pouches or nifty little containers, they line shelves in the neighbourhood kirana.
Targeted at the aam admi, these products have impossibly esoteric brand names. Just as town-slickers thought it was history, a particular brand is to be found in the most unlikely places including on the net. Apparently the brand has quite a following both here and abroad. So much so it can be ordered online from anywhere in the world! Proving, once again that people of this ancient land cling to tradition and old habits with unwavering tenacity.
Such practices no doubt continue to have value — particularly when people have a robust and active lifestyle — working in the fields, walking much, eating garden fresh veggies, fruits and other wholesome food, consuming less of sugar and so on. But with changing times, sedentary habits, deluge of colas, junk food and sweets galore, there has been a perceptible increase in the incidence of oral disease.
No less than 80 per cent of Indians, it is reported, suffer from chronic gum and teeth-related diseases. Clearly the benefits of modern medicine and a dentist-driven approach haven’t percolated to places where they are most needed. While a national strategy and response are being hammered out, it may be a good idea to increase awareness and importance of good oral health through the media savvy. What better way than using Bollywood icons and movies to convey the message?
Here is an idea. Re-boot a hugely popular advertisement of yesteryears with modern contextures. In that famous vernacular ad, if you remember, an old teacher turns to a bright-eyed student, “Tell the class, Raju beta, how does one get healthy gums and teeth that sparkle like pearls?” The impish lad flashes 32, talks of his twice-a-day brushing routine, and names the brand responsible for the shine. Then for good measure, the mischievous Raju takes a dig at the older generation, “Masterji, tell us what toothpaste do you use?” Expectedly that smart-alec remark cracks up the class as masterji sheepishly grins and tries to hide his paan, tobacco-stained mess of teeth!
To make for effective mass communication, perhaps SRK could be persuaded to play masterji. With the star’s charisma and persuasive power, for sure the serious matter of oral health will get the much needed wide attention, even as the ad makes for good entertainment.
Old Music of the Night
Jul.20, 2008
There’s no stopping good old music, people said, as the eclectic middle-aged bunch of golden-oldies got together at a flat to put out yesterday’s nostalgia-generating melodies: Green Door to Besame Mucho to Sugar, Sugar.
That was fine for most everyone. The ‘seniors’ in the apartment complex - retired military personnel, public officials, school teachers and such reached out to the relaxed, easy feel of the old hits. The younger residents, as those from IT, were equally inclined to lend ear. And so many a Saturday became Julie London or Nat King Cole or the balladic Beatles’ night out. So good, was the magic in the moonlight, even at 1.00 AM.
Things got out of hand though when a teenage guitarist was ‘allowed’ first, to bring friends and play a few interludes of their ‘old music’ on their tiny innocuous looking Bose system. A big mistake. Sauce for the goose is seldom sauce for the GenNext gander. For soon, before anyone knew what was hitting them, the building complex reverberated to amplified heavy-metal. Actually Jagger’s Satisfaction was a sign of the up-coming storm. Sure enough when Metallica’s audio signals burst into the night, the song’s raw energy and raucous chords shook the establishment and sent cold shivers up and down the neighborhood.
People said, street dogs howled. Roosting crows noisily jumped off their perch into dark flight. The old Nepali watchman at the gate clung to his Gita. Residents tried to block the nocturnal incursion in any way they could. Many pulled pillows on head while a quick-acting middle-aged lady raced to the police line only to find that a top cop was part of the music ensemble. One pretty young thing swore she saw grandpa throw back two stiff ones and disappear before frantic grandma discovered him under the cot with a rasai, quivering. Just as everyone thought the earsplitting marathon known as Creeping Death (1983) would never end, came relief from a most unexpected source: unscheduled load-shedding. Abruptly semblance of order descended on the riotous night.
Later, as the residents and the old Gurkha tried to calm jangled nerves and get some shut-eye, downstairs the teenagers hauling their lethal musical gear, seemed non-plussed. Said the guitarist, ‘Dude, I don’t get it. Am I getting old or are people just not relating to good old music any more these days?’
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