Nisha's Toor and Mung Daal [fr]

[en] Une des deux recettes de daal que je fais régulièrement.

So far, when I’ve been making daal in Switzerland, I’ve been doing either Aleika’s masoor daal recipe, or this one — which I’ve had for some time but never written up. Time to do it!

  • boil toor daal and a little mung (roughly a quarter) to a paste
  • add chopped tomatoes, mix and cook a bit
  • in a separate pan, heat oil, half a spoon of black mustard seeds, half a spoon of cumin seeds, curry leaves, 2 green chillies (chopped if I remember correctly)
  • add turmeric (a quarter spoon)
  • add to the daal (or add the daal to it, but be careful, it will spit! the daal is water and the oil is hot!)
  • add a teaspoon of salt or to taste, and lots of chopped coriander leaves

I usually make a lot and freeze it in handy portions — comfort food!

Nisha’s Famous Sweet Sheera [en]

[fr] Une autre recette de Nisha à base de rawa, sucrée cette fois.

Here’s another rawa dish of Nisha’s — a sweet one (see upma for the salty one). I really think I need to get myself a karahi, because pans with flat bottoms just don’t seem to cut it when it comes to making spices and stuff swim in oil or ghee. I’m just wondering if a karahi is compatible with an electric stove like the ones we have in Switzerland. Anybody know?

Nisha's famous sweet sheera for breakfast

  • heat quite a lot of ghee
  • add half a cup of rawa and mix them together — the rawa absorbs all the ghee
  • mix in half a small banana cut into little pieces, and mash everything up
  • add in cashew nuts (broken up), raisins, and pine nuts (I think they’re pine nuts)
  • heat half a cup of water and half a cup of milk separately, then add them in
  • heat for five minutes, add lots of sugar, and some green cardamom powder

Yummy!

Love the Chaos [en]

Shinde and I took a rickshaw across town today, and as soon as I was in the streets of Pune, I was gripped by this now-familiar feeling of elation I get when being on the road in India. I get it on the ride from Mumbai to Pune — despite the stink of the slums we drive through, I can’t stop smiling and want to jump up and down in my seat.

What I love here is the chaos, and nowhere is it more present than in the streets and traffic. Vehicles, roadside shops, painted signs all over the place. It’s ugly, but it has some kind of rickety beauty in my eyes.

Hard to say if it’s just because it represents a lot of what India is to me, and I have a bond to this place because I lived here, or if there is also a more personal dimension in play: being a pretty controlled (controlling, ouch!) and organized person, maybe I find some fundamental excitement in this seemingly disorderly sprawling mass of life.

Pune at the Shindes 1.jpgPart of this chaos: Flickr is acting up, so I can’t upload the photos and video sequence I took for you from the rickshaw. They’ll be online later, when I manage.

In the meantime, keep an eye on my “India snapshots” album (photos I’m taking on the road with my iPhone and instagram) and on the growing collection of Pune photos taken with my proper camera (which I’m still learning to use, so forgive some technical clumsiness).

Happy to See You, 2011 [en]

Let me say it clearly: just like Nicole’s did, my 2010 sucked raw eggs. I won’t go over the details of the bad stuff — suffice to say that losing Bagha was just the last of 2010’s rotten offerings to me, right when I was starting to feel back on my feet again and thinking that I was done with this crappy year.

There have been good things, though: more work opportunities than I can handle, finances back on track, good health, sailing, friends, a judo 2nd dan, better organization as a freelance professional, and of course… growth (gotta love them bad times, they make you grow like nothing else does).

Enough looking back. What’s important is what’s ahead. I don’t make resolutions, though I try to give my year a direction or objectives — a bit in the spirit of 6changes, though it’s not exactly that.

So, what’s to look forward to in 2011?

  • my holidays are set — stick to them and travel more with my friends (one of the advantages of being catless, it makes traveling simpler)
  • keep up the good job with my work, and free up more work-time for research, reading, writing, and generally fooling around online (my “food” if I want to continue being as good at what I do)
  • get an aquarium for eclau
  • look after my plants better, get orchids, grow veggies on my balcony (Jamie Oliver style)
  • more cooking and inviting people (good food, and nurturing my tribe)
  • go sailing, hiking, sing, and do judo

There will probably be more or less to this year ahead. But that’s what comes to my mind as I look forward.

Lunchtime: Nisha’s Sweet Aloo [en]

[fr] Encore une recette indienne de Nisha.

Another recipe! I already have one of Nisha’s aloo recipes from my last or previous visit (aloo = potato) — I have it in my notes but haven’t published it here yet — here’s another, more saucy one, and somewhat sweet (not that sweet, though).

So, here we go:

  • in enough oil, add mustard and cumin seeds, curry leaves, and salt (the mustard seeds start popping when you put them in if the oil is hot enough, and the curry leaves will fizz — give them a few seconds before continuing)
  • chopped onion: add and let it soften
  • then, add red chili powder (quite a bit — Nisha added a teaspoon and a half for two smallish potatoes… a good handful when chopped up), garlic/ginger paste (Nisha liked my idea of freezing it in an ice-cube tray), coriander powder, and goda masala
  • add in the potatoes, a tomato, enough water, and cook
  • after a while add in some jaggery or sugar

Goda masala, which I’m discovering for good today, is a typically Maharashtrian spice mixture. There are of course multiple variations if you want to make your own (see one, two, three for starters). I’m going to buy some to bring back (hear that, Raph?)

Here’s the dish, somewhere in the middle of the cooking process:

Cooking

And jaggery, if you’d never seen it.

Weird sweet thing Nisha doesn't know the name of

Bon appétit!

Breakfast of the Day: Nisha’s Upma [en]

[fr] Recette de l'upma de Nisha (petit-déjeûner indien).

I promised myself I would steal all of Nisha’s recipes during this trip. Here’s the first one: her upma. This is what it looks like:

Nisha's upma for breakfast

And here’s how she made it:

  • heat enough oil in a karahi (maybe I should get one? I wonder if it would play nice with my electric stove)
  • throw in mustard seeds, cumin seeds (half a spoon or a spoon each), curry leaves (give those 15 seconds before continuing), a spoonful of urad (urid) daal (you can replace the daal with whole peanuts) — let the daal go brown
  • add a green chili broken in half, onion, salt, and let the onion soften for a bit
  • add two small cups of water, chopped coriander leaves, a little sugar, and bring to a boil
  • add rava (roast it when you buy it before storing it in an air-tight container), turn the heat off, stir well, and let it sit for a few minutes
  • remove chili and fluff it up before serving

You’ll have to figure out the exact quantities through trial and error 🙂

Enjoy!

On Grief and Losing Bagha [en]

I’m in India. I’m in Pune. I’m in IUCAA. I’m where Bagha was born, where I started to love him. It’s also the place where I spent a short year with Aleika, Somak and Akirno, and the Shindes, and all the other people and beasts who were part of my Indian world. That world is gone forever.

So as I grieve for my cat, I also grieve for these other pieces of my life which are lost and gone, never to return. Being here makes it all the more raw — also because I’m so happy to be here.

Pause à l'eclau 7

I’m still terribly sad about losing Bagha. I’ve been crying every day since he died. I didn’t have much time to myself between packing and traveling and arriving here, and it’s all been piling up, because I’ve been forgetting. Completely forgetting, because there has been so much positive excitement these last two days.

But now I’ve been remembering. Remembering that I miss Bagha not because I left him at home to go on a trip, but because he is gone, gone, gone. And it hurts like hell.

I don’t believe in any afterlife. I don’t believe in any spirit hanging around. There is no more Bagha, except in our photographs, our memories, and the changes he might have brought around in our lives. In mine, in any case.

I hinted that I would be telling you more about what I’m going through and learning these days. I actually started writing about what I was discovering about grief the other day, but got lost somewhere in the middle.

Grief is a weird state: it goes back and forth, up and down.

The first days after Bagha’s death, I would find myself going from a kind of numbness in which I’d “forgotten” he was dead to the horrible realization it was true even though I “couldn’t believe it”, and then devastating sadness in which my world seemed to have come to an end, and from which I had the feeling I would never emerge. And back out and back in again.

I would wake up crying in the morning and go to sleep crying at night. I had no trouble sleeping, however, to my surprise: I discovered that it is not sadness but anxiety which keeps one awake all night, mind spinning, too wired to slow down one’s thoughts enough to fade into sleep. For me, at least, grief seems to tire me out.

I put most of his things away over the first few days. Not in an attempt to make all traces of his presence disappear — more as a way to try and accept that these bowls, pieces of string and old expired meds would not be needed anymore. It took me a long time (until my imminent departure, actually) to touch his spot on my desk, though: I could still see the shape of his body on the pillow, and feel myself hanging on to this very physical trace of him.

Cleaning the flat was very hard. Tidying up. Removing the subtle remains of his presence in my life. The first time I hoovered without him trying to run out of the flat. The first time I changed the sheets without him trying to get under them. The first time I washed things in the bathtub without having to worry about him drinking the soapy water.

That cat was everywhere, all along my days. Watching TV: a break comes up, where’s the cat? I get up from what I’m doing, “to find the cat”. All these reflexes which are now meaningless.

My one consolation right now is that my grief is simple. I did everything right with this cat. He was a wonderful pet. I have no regrets. He lived a long life (14 years is not exceptional, but as Aleika put it, he probably outlived all of his litter-mates by at least 8 years) and even died pretty well (if one can die “well”). I don’t feel guilty, there’s nobody to be mad at, I knew he was going to die someday, and I treasured the time I had with him, specially these last few years.

It doesn’t make things easy, but it makes them simple. Even when it hurts as much as it does right now, I know that what I’m going through is normal, and that it will get better in time and tears, and that I will probably be ready at some point for new feline companionship.

So here it is: the one pain I’ve spent my whole life being so afraid of. I’m in it, it’s dreadful, but I’m still alive and happy to be. I have plans, I want to do things, I laugh and I smile. Life goes on, it really does, I know it for good now.

It hurts, but it goes on.

I'm in Pune, India [en]

[fr] Ça y est, je suis à Pune! Plus de nouvelles plus tard, quand j'aurai dormi ma première vraie nuit ici (la nuit entre l'avion et la voiture roulant comme folle de Mumbai à Pune, ça compte pas). En attendant, lisez L'Inde, dix ans après...

I made it. After all these years of not managing to come back to India, here I am. The blood of a dozen mosquitoes on my hands, a bottle of Bisleri by my side, stomach full of delicious home-cooked food by my friend Nisha.

Travel went smoothly, aside the hour of waiting for our luggage at Mumbai (but these things happen). Mumbai airport is unrecognizable and so, so much nicer. A lot has changed in 7 (or 10) years.

I have a few photos already, and things to say (India is has always been about taking the time to do things, for me — and I will). But’s 11pm local time and I’m really tired. This is a good thing, because it means I’ll sleep and get over the jetlag quickly.

Keep an eye on Twitter, and Flickr.

L’Inde, dix ans après… [fr]

[en] As the editor for ebookers.ch's travel blog, I contribute there regularly. I have cross-posted some of my more personal articles here for safe-keeping.

Cet article a été initialement publié sur le blog de voyage ebookers.ch (voir l’original).

Bon, j’exagère un peu: si ça fait dix ans depuis l’époque où j’ai vécu un Inde une année, ça ne fait cependant que sept ans depuis ma dernière visite.

Mais quels sept ans!

Complètement à chaud, des constats en vrac:

  • je n’ai mis dans ma valise ni guide de voyage, ni carte, ni dictionnaire Hindi: j’ai tout installé comme application iPhone ou sauvegardé dansEvernote
  • dans Evernote également, des photos de mon passeport, de mon carnet de vaccination, et de tout autre document de voyage précieux
  • pas de stress pour mettre la main sur une copie des tarifs des rickshaws! Un calculateur sous forme d’application iPhone existepour la ville de Pune, et probablement pour d’autres… (tuyau: cherchez le nom de votre ville de destination dans l’iTunes store)
  • une fois encore, j’ai fait le voyage Mumbai-Pune en taxi collectif organisé par un ami sur place (KK Travels) — sans un accroc, du gaillard endormi sur sa pancarte à la sortie de l’aéroport au dépôt à domicile, en passant par l’escorte privée jusqu’à la voiture et le changement de véhicule en cours de route (échange de passager, on rationalise les trajets de dépôt des voyageurs)
  • et puis tiens, venant de chercher le lien ci-dessus: tout est sur internet à présent (je vous avais déjà dit pour le train)
  • la traversée des bidonvilles de Mumbai par la grande route sent toujours aussi mauvais
  • il y a toujours plein de monde (à pied et en véhicule) dans les rues à 4h du mat’, et il faut toujours avoir le coeur bien accroché face au style de conduite indien

Bombay airport arrival has greatly improved in 10 years!

  • l’aéroport de Mumbai est méconnaissable: complètement refait, et aussi nettement plus civilisé (personne n’a tenté de se jeter sur mes bagages, ni de me proposer un hôtel ou un taxi que je n’avais pas demandé)
  • la ville a gagné en voitures et en magasins (et je n’ai encore pas revu la ville pour de bon, juste une petite expédition pour acheter de l’eau et deux-trois indispensables comme les anti-moustiques à mettre dans la prise)
  • le « beau supermarché » d’aujourd’hui est environ 5 fois plus gros et mieux fourni que celui d’il y a dix ans; on y trouve des pâtes Agnesi, comme à la Migros
  • la campus dans lequel je loge baigne dans le wifi; tout le monde a un téléphone mobile (c’était déjà quasi le cas il y a 7 ans, mais là c’est indéniable)
  • j’ai pris dans mes bagages mon ordinateur portable et mon nouvel iPhone, en plus de l’appareil photo de mes rêves; que de technologie, direz-vous — oui, mais un de mes plaisirs en voyage est de pouvoir partager ce que je vis (un téléphone avec bon appareil photo c’est d’un pratique, pour ça)
  • parlant de téléphone: mon opérateur (Orange) vend des paquets de données à l’étranger prépayés (ça reste cher mais toujours moins que les 15.- CHF/Mb du tarif « normal ») — dans le même ordre d’idées, il y une option voyageurs (Travel) qui permet de faire des appels depuis l’Inde pour 2.- la minute au lieu de 4.80… (ouille); c’est les vacances, et mon téléphone n’est pas juste un outil professionnel, c’est un moyen clé pour communiquer avec mes proches
  • les bouteilles de Bisleri ont été relookées
  • j’ai pris avec moi un peu moins de saris et de salwaar kameez, et plus de vêtements « occidentaux » (pantalons et haut) — la mode évolue et s’occidentalise de plus en plus (j’ai vu des choses durant ces premières 12 heures que je n’aurais jamais pu voir ici il y a dix ans).

Je suis vraiment heureuse d’être de retour. Les odeurs, qui m’avaient relativement peu frappées lors de mon année ici, me prennent les narines et me renvoient dans le temps.

Internet et la mort: plus qu'une vitre brisée [fr]

[en] I write a weekly column for Les Quotidiennes, which I republish here on CTTS for safekeeping.

Chroniques du monde connecté: cet article a été initialement publié dans Les Quotidiennes (voir l’original).

Après ma chronique sur la théorie de la vitre brisée il y a deux semaines, je n’avais honnêtement pas l’intention de vous faire faux bond à nouveau. La mort de mon chat, fidèle compagnon de ces dix dernières années, a quelque peu coupé court à mes bonnes intentions.

Bagha peeking out 1

Ce deuil me fait prendre conscience d’une dimension de complication qu’ajoute internet en pareille circonstance. Mon chat n’était pas juste présent dans mon appartement. Vadrouilleur, il était connu dans tout le quartier, et passait aussi ses journées à l’eclau, dans mon espace coworking. Mais en plus de ça, il était connu sur internet. Un compte Twitter, une page Facebook, un compte Catster comprenant un blog, des myriades dephotos et d’articles sur mon blog.

Alors OK, je suis une mamy à chat et je suis très présente sur internet, mais n’empêche: en plus des gamelles et des bouts de ficelle devenus inutiles, de l’appartement vide et des soirées télé sans ronron, il reste toute cette présence numérique devant laquelle je me trouve un peu démunie.

Que faire du compte Twitter? Est-ce que Bagha va utiliser sa page Facebook pour envoyer des bons mots de l’au-delà des chats à ceux qui l’ont connu? Dans les jours, semaines et mois qui viennent, il y a aura des profils à récrire, des sites web à modifier — en plus de toutes les annonces déjà faites pour informer ceux qui le connaissaient (souvent sans l’avoir rencontré) de la triste nouvelle.

Mais au-delà de cette mort féline, je pense aux conséquences de nos présences en ligne quand notre heure sera arrivée. Qui aura accès à nos comptes? Je martèle qu’il ne faut pas partager ses mots de passe, oui, mais quand on ne sera plus là? Je me dis que je vais sérieusement jeter un oeil aux services comme La Vie d’Après…

Sur ce, je vous prie de me pardonner pour cette chronique pas très festive. Bonne année à tous, et je vous retrouverai à mon retour d’Inde, quelque part en février.