Is it possible to love someone but not really like them?

Vicky's La Terrazza: The Mudpie that Wasn't

It reminded me of a homely tavern in a Grecian village...all the blue shimmering against the whitewashed walls. Wait a minute! Isn't this supposed to be an Italian place?!

This is Vicky's La Terrazza, with the best pesto in town!

On a whim, Pooja, the Giant and I decided to go there. Our previous efforts to locate the place had led us to Boca Grande,the Pizzeria Romano and a shady cafe, but never Vicky's...

The starters we went for was Bruschetta: Now the thing which sets this place apart, and I must mention this at the outset, is the liberal use of extra virgin olive oil. Served on toasted slices of garlic bread, with garlic and basil, the additive dash of oil lent a brilliant aftertaste to the chopped fresh tomatoes. Since we were three of us, there was much of 'No you take the last piece.".."you do!". [If nothing else, our manners never desert us ;) ]

Another thing which struck me was how reasonable the proportions were. I use the word 'reasonable' deliberately, because most Italian restaurants either serve too little or so much that the Giantends up leaving everything getting full.

I ordered Mediterranean Chicken and the presentation of the dish blew me away. Tiny cubes of feta, surrounded by strips of sun-dried tomatoes and baby olives, rested on a chicken breast. Mashed potatoes on the side with sprinkled oregano added to the charm. Penne was swamped in a delicious pesto and it was all I could do to not close my eyes in ecstacy.

Pooja always plays safe and stuck to her favourite - Chicken Parmigiana. The crust was crisp in all the right places, the meat succulent. YUM! The Giant experimented this time . She chose Spaghetti Dellarocca, a heavenly toss-up of green and black olives, mushrooms and spaghetti. And who can forget the ubiquitous olive oil!

I was a pig!! Not only did I finish my dish, raving every second about it...I also ate most of the Giant's exotic sounding spaghetti. There is NO HOPE for me.

Rounded up the dinner with a slice of Mississippi Mud Pie - which I must warn IS NOT WHAT the terrazza people tell you it is. This version was a biscotti with ice cream on top..strange but nice!

Vicky's is on the lane parallel to the Forum Road, Koramangala. Just take a left from the street where Boca grande is. Sorry, this is how i give directions!

Visit this place. Its a a slice of Tuscan sun :)

Avatar, Bollywood na?

You google Avatar, and the search engine shows more blogspot hits than news about the movie.

You dread reading a blog to find yet another maverick giving his take on the-one-thing-you-must-see-before-you die... It is inevitable.

This is not a review. This doesn't have amusing comic panels breaking down the movie scene by scene. I write today because of the courageous political overtones the movie contained. Courageous? Why? Did you not notice how the battle lines were drawn? A powerful nation invading a smaller country....refusing to understand their ways, blinded by the 'threat' of terror, disguising their greed for a rare mineral by calling upon the patriotism of a mighty race who unfortunately is also the most ignorant.

James Cameron spent a better part of the movie allowing the viewer to connect with the Omaticaya people - something not many movies dealing with a similar subject really concentrate on. We are so seductively drawn into the world of the Na'vi that before we know it, we are lustily cheering the hero to take on those bleddy amreekans. (I war-whooped couple of times!) We want the underdog to win so bad, that each bullet in a Na'vi, each Irkan dying makes you want to jump into the battlefield.

But what is most interesting is that Cameron went into the psyche of those Marines forced to live and survive in hostile conditions - "We gotta fight terror with terror...them blue savages are amassing their numbers to end our race". You can't really blame Colonel Quatrich - leader of the security forces on Pandora, for isn't this what generations of Americans have grown up to believe? A unidimensional conviction, a fear that allows no room for rationality. In the 1930s, they were convinced the world will be run over by 'yellow babies'. In 1960s Moscow became the boogey-man. Today savages from the east bring terror.

You feel for the scientists scrambling to do...something...for the Na'vi. You join the league of the rebels furtively helping out Sam Worthington. And yet the utter pointlessness of war, the all-consuming greed for a stupid mineral does not escape you. The director won't let you forget Today. As we know it. Even as we experience Pandora through flimsy 3D glasses. Iraq is very much on his mind.

Cameron then slowly directs our way back to Nature. The wildlife, even the creepy insects are painted a vivid colour, while the mechanized AMPs, military camps are a dull grey. The Omaticaya seek forgiveness of the animals they prey on, pray for its after-journey. Cut to the impersonal nature of modern warfare. The collocation is brilliant.

More than Cameron making the film, I'm surprised a major studio like 20th Century Fox backed such a controversial movie. I guess 3D meant big-bucks.

Anyhoo, Avatar had all the ingredients of a typical Bollywood masala movie! Love, clan loyalty, violence, the villain even tries to kill the girl to avenge himself on the hero, who did a total Namak Haram on him. :D

Plans of going to Rohini for a lazy lazy Sunday lunch.

As aditi put it beautifully the other night: "It has chicken and coke and tv...what else do you need??"

I want to cut. I want to cut. I want to cut.

Dal-bhaat

There should be a law that auto-drivers cannot refuse a sawaari. For two nights in a row, around 15-20 auto-wallahs have turned me down the moment i utter 'Indira Nagar'! This happened at 6, 7.30, 8.45 and 9 pm.
In fact, they don't even bother to stop and bargain. No! For that would ask for too much effort- a waste of their precious time, that could be better spent ogling at ammas near the tea-shop.

Auto-drivers in Bangalore are above all that. There is a technique to appease this elusive deity. U must shout out the name of your destination across the street for him to even acknowledge your presence. If he likes the syllabic sound, he may deign to come nearer...but keeping sufficient distance enabling him to bolt in a second. Ur hopes high, visions of hot kaapi awaiting u at that cosy place u call home, u say "ABC chaloge?"
And you get... The Look. That gaze of utter contempt. He might even sniff, derision wrought all over his greasy face. I have even gotten a few laughs!
WHAT THE HELL IS SO FUNNY? and wat do these jerks have up their asses, that prevents them from entertaining legitimate requests? No city in this country has 14 bucks as minimum auto fare...and no place has auto-drivers as rude and arrogant as here.

Calcutta

I was reading the Giant's blog and she'd written a lovely post on Home. Yes that idyllic place of memories and parathas, homework and adrak ki chai, ma and her nagging... it's such a part of me that the capital H comes on its own accord.

But these hols Home, is not tiny Doon, but languid Cal.
I wanna gorge on tiger prawns at my masi's place...
go to my favourite restaurant Mocambo and have their famous prawn cocktail, then zip to Oxford to spend two glorious hrs browsing random books... aah!
and then! sigh...eat puchkas on a rainy cal evening, half-drenched, giggling...

sit on the terrace when it gets too hot...aadabaazi-ing, all the while trying to catch that tiniest murmur of a breeze...damn that Calcutta weather!

Cal, for me has always conjured the images of Ol' Cal....possibly because my earliest memories of the city are of Victoria Memorial (I used to run round and round the building in a polka-dot frocka & white ribbons in my hair. That my mother did not die of exhaustion trying to catch an abnormally energetic 4 yr old is a testament to that woman's strength); Howrah; Blue Fox, a colonial restaurant which is has succumbed to the recession Calcutta has been facing long before America; and my sojourns in North Calcutta with my chhoti masi where I'd eat all the sandesh & then promptly throw up..

While growing up, in my teens, Cal now took the form of The Forum on Camac Street, Pantaloons at Goriahaat, endless rides on the ancient metro. And frequent bouts of indigestion i suffered at the hands of my dida's spicy bong preparations.
The visits grew more f
.
.
.
These holidays, hopefully, I shall be going to the city after 4 years. I've no idea what to expect. Has it changed? Will i like my cousins now that they re growing up? What about the tidal wave of relatives who would want to know all 'bout my blood group, height, weight,roommates,college,teachers,career,cgpa,boyfriend,marriage plans and everything under the blazing Bengal sun!
I don't care..
All I know is I'm going to Calcutta!!!!!