Memories of Mayo - a little non food writing

My class of 94 is having a reunion at Mayo Girls this weekend. One that I tried very hard to get to but gave up on when several factors worked against my favour. I had made my commitment to Kala Ghoda ages before this reunion came up and between it and having to travel to Melbourne to promote Masala Trails in the first half of March, niether budgets, nor time allowed another three days away from my children. From the moment I sent the message saying I will not be attending, I knew a point would come when a part of me would regret my decision. Juggling as much as I do, over the years I have learned to live with the decisions that I make. But as classmates updates have begun to pepper my facebook page with messages about the reunion, a part of my heart has begun to hurt. 'If onlys are crowding through my head'

So I thought I would deviate from norm to post a tribute to my school and my class in the form of these two essays I have written. The first one, Beyond the walls, was written just after leaving Mayo. The other "Uniform" a little later. Both are dedicated to the first batch of Mayo Girls, our school and our teachers. We set a precedent of our own. I think of you and carry you with me always in the sunniest corners of my heart. As some of you will remember, I was always sentimental...... 

We’ll meet again
Don’t know where,
Don’t know when,
But we’ll meet again,
Some sunshiny day…

Have a GREAT reunion this weekend,,,

With Much love, 

Rushina (S 146)

Beyond The Walls

When the time to leave the security of the four walls came, I blindly followed the dictates of my mind. For a while I oscillated, one part of me regretted having to leave when I could have stayed; the other part patted me on the back for having taken such a difficult step. Then one day I woke up to the fact that I could not expect to move forward when I had one step in the past.

There’s a familiarity about the “clang” of school gates when they close behind you for the last time, but I am not here to take a walk down memory lane. I shall leave that to the movies where the clang is more often than not coupled with a “THE END”. What I am here to do is testify that this clang is a beginning too, to tell about beyond the walls …

My mind goes back often to those to the friends of those lovely idyllic days. Loyalty to your class – Unity was all-important then, friends were to die for and it was easy to promise forever. Beyond the walls I found different friends, the hang around when they need something kind, the use and lose kind, the loyal kind, they all came and some of them stayed and each of them left a legacy that molded me into what I am.

You don’t leave behind teachers either. Beyond the walls there is always a twist on the road where you will meet someone who will teach you a new lesson. An urchin girl – with barely enough clothing on to her covered taught me that if you want even a simple piece of can turn into a crown.

School days never come back. They can’t be recreated but inside those walls I learnt the things that will help beyond those very walls. Those walls that we felt grew every year, they represented jail and we likened ourselves to prisoners, each with our own number, but today 146 is like an omen of good to me and it’s presence works towards making or breaking a situation.

Beyond the walls lies a life just waiting to be embraced, new experiences, a stretching of the wings as it were. Learning that you can do it. Depending on yourself. All those races at school that disappointment in the loss, that exhilaration in the win. We’re the same runners, the prize is as important. Only the race is different. We still cry when we lose, are ecstatic in our wins. We still make mistakes.

And when life gets a little to tough to handle, I can always go back into myself…In me, where I carry that magical place “Behind The Walls”.

Uniform

I remember longing to belong, be a part of everyday life. However I WAS A FREAK. I could be identified by the rotation of outfits I wore. My first months at Mayo (post the wave of homesickness) are a recollection of tumultuous feeling.  Painful embarrassment, a longing to belong and ire at my fate.

Embarrassment? What else could I was usually clad in a Games singlet (white or blue) with jeans or a lace embellished “A line” PURPLE skirt and a salwar.

On arriving at school with a trunk (notably containing the total of THREE sets of home clothes), hockey stick (very ambitious that), and sundry other worldly belonging.  I had been issued the requisite parts of my uniform from the stores. But thanks to the ancient tailor we had, borrowed, (as were most things) from the well-oiled machinery of the boys school accross the road I did not get my uniform. And he took a particularly long time to deliver it too! Maybe that was what happened if a man used to stitching clothes for the erstwhile  princely school of Mayo BOYS was suddenly entrusted with the task of putting together uniforms for paltry GIRLS. (I mean considering that the shirts were the same and technically there was less work involved since we wore skirts as opposed to pants, how hard could it be?)

Then I actually had begun to wonder if he was even going to. I was one of the last ones to get mine. Hating the advertisement that I was a “New girl”, Not fitting in… I chaffed at the “civilian” clothes I had to wear. Well partially civilian, anyways, considering that I had the right socks, shoes and tie but the rest of my body was enveloped in anything from jeans and tshirts to lace trimmed party dresses..

Then one sultry summer Saturday, I was summoned from my dorm by the matron. My Uniforms had finally arrived. 12 Grey skirts with broad pleats, 12 snowy white shirts. 2 Divided skirts (for games).  I would be as dull and boring as the other girls now! No special attention would come my way, I would not attract the eyes of the teachers in class and face the embarrassment of having to answer questions that I did not have answers to… the anonymity of a uniform beckoned!

Over the weekend the matron had one of the baijis work double time to label my clothes so that they would not get mixed up in the laundry and that Monday I donned my armour and went out to face the world. When the bell rang for breakfast lineup I was polishing my shoes at the bench in front of the quadrangle. I caught a quick glimpse of myself in the mirror as we filed out towards the mess. Shoes polished to a high gloss, socks pulled up as far as they could go (probably with my chest puffed out to there with pride) I entered the ranks of anonymity. I do not remember anything between that time and rushing to the toilet at school when the end of breakfast bell had rung.

I bunked assemblty that day. I had an assignation with the full-length mirror in the first floor bathroom. While the whole school otherwise occupied, away from ridiculing eyes, with the strains of morning prayers ringing in the air I admired myself in the mirror. I turned, I twisted, this way and that, I cat walked, I pirouetted, I simpered, I blew kisses at myself and I smiled. I belonged. 

What an anomaly a Uniform is. At once the most celebrated yet the most maltreated garment in ones wardrobe. It gives you an identity but affords anonymity. It commands respect but gets abuse. An institution by itself it leads a life of drudgery. Thrown (into the laundry bag), boiled (in hot water), beaten (by the Dhobi) and subjected to burning coal (the Iron) before it comes full circle, freshly laundered to your pile to be donned with great pride, fresh smelling, startched, crisp.

For the ensuing years of my life at Mayo, I wore that uniform through hot summers and cold winters. With great pride we marched out into the glaring light of the sun on sports days our Shirts shining white, skirts crisply ironed. Basking in the attention of the guests gathered under the rainbow hued shamianas.

Our uniforms played many roles in our lives. They were Our Identity. Our camouflage “Oh no ma’am that was not me it must have been someone else talking to that boy.” Our plumage, “Yes Mr. XXX you are right we are Mayoites” (spoken with a preen).  Never stopping for a moment to think that one day it would all come to an end.

And end it did. At the end of my last day at school, I sat on my bed, counterpane neatly stretched across the four corners. I stared down at my Uniformm, gleaming white and crisply ironed as the first day I saw it, white and red label, discreetly claiming me, stitched into it’s collar, it rested there, on the top of my packed trunk, never to be worn again. Inevitability had been the atmosphere all of the last term. There had been an increasing bittersweet air to things as I did them “for the last time”. Finality had not been part of the picture however. It was still distant, then ….the end. But a sense of loss was pervading my world now. It could wait however, for while. I could not bring myself to shut the trunk.... 

Food writing workshop at Kala Ghoda Arts Festival 2011.

On the 6th of Feb, I stared at the graceful arches of the empty seminar room at Elphinstone college stretching into the distance, a little stumped at what to do next. I felt like I had run a marathon (and personaly WON) but what now? The students had gone home, the camera man too. It was just me and these reagal stone walls that had witnessed so many revolutions in writing.

When the literature section of the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival asked me to do a workshop on Food writing I was excited but accepted with trepidation. It was exciting that Food writing was getting some long overdue recognition but I was also apprehensive. I had no literary or culinary qualifications, was I the right person for the job? I had never done any sort of workshop, let alone a literary one, would I do it justice? And then I thought of myself, right at the beginning I had no training because formal training did not exist for food writing, I did not even know food writing existed as a career! And I remembered the people that have guided me down the years, Roshan Taman, Vikram doctor, Arnab Chakladar, Antoine Lewis, Naresh Fernandes, Monica Bhide... they have all been teachers, either knowingly or unknowingly. It was time to give it forward...

Soon however all these noble thoughts were sidelined. There was no time for thinking anymore when I found out that I would be conducting FOUR HOUR long workshops! I would have 8 hours of workshop time to plan for. What I was going to do, I had no idea! But I did know this much, I had to make it count. Every nano second of it.

I had two workshops, on the 5th it was Sharing An Appetite for Gastronomy Writing which was for beginners. And on the 6th it was Eat! Write! Love! Which would explore new frontiers of Food Writing. So I battened down the proverbial hatches and got to work. Cleared the schedule, framed a plan and sequestered myself behind a wall of books. I dusted off work I had diligently filed away for 6 years. I revisited mistakes I had made, recalled areas I wished I had had guidance in, read, and wrote late into the night, read some more and wrote some more. It was absolutely WONDERFUL to be immersed in something one loved!

India’s food scene is set to soar, cheap eats, fine dining, home cooking, TV, every sector related to food is on the brink of change. And food writing is an area that is parched for new blood! Wasn’t I always lamenting about the lack of food writing out there? Well it was time to be the change I wanted to see! (Or try anyway!) A fusion recipe for a Butter Chicken Pasta, The history of Chocolate, Where to find the best Vada Pav in Mumbai. A first person adventure in the food precincts of Melbourne, A guide to ayurvedic cooking, How eating vegetables can save the world. Food writing is like a buffet, there are so many delicious reads to pick from! And yet a food obsessed country literature rich country like ours, barely gives food writing any space. There were so few spaces dedicated to food writing in the media when I started and even these dwindled as recession hit the publishing industry in the last few years.

But that has changed with the advent and growth of digital media and push button publishing. Today you do not have to wait for the gratification of print media, you are literally a blogpost away from publishing yourself. Yes, there are a lot of issues, plagiarism, copyright etc that are very real and very present. But for a writer that writes to be read, the satisfaction of their words realising as thoughts in other minds comes much faster today.

I had a single minded objective with my workshops; to awaken those participating to the world of food writing, to the delicious vastness of it.Someone commented that the workshop seemed to be about eating more than writing, It was, how can you write if you do not eat, taste.So, I admit I went in there with all my guns blazing, tempting with Dragon fruit, Heart of Palm and Turiya Patra Nu Shaak, blackmailing with food memoir, leaving no food description filled page unturned, unleashing the aroma of Kaffir Lime, reeling them in with Chocolate and Chillies, and seducing them with macarons, cupcakes and honey. And every single moment of wakefulness in the week before, every second of study I put in was validated when the first of them read their pieces, Rajesh read his description of Kaffir Lime. And then the rest of them came Ankiet, Ramya, Jayashree, Pooja, Prahniika, and my favourite, Shubham! each flooring me with their writing.

My ‘students’ came from different walks of life, with a variety of reasons for being there. Would they make money? was a question I was dreading, because that I could not guarantee. Surprisingly nobody asked that! The questions I got were, more along the lines of “How to research?”, “How to validate research, where to look for informations, how to taste the best at restaurants and of course the ethics of reviewing was a big issue. Which was great, because, they came from different walks of life, with different reasons for being there but they were unified by a love for food and a love for writing. Two things, that to my mind are essential ingredients in Food writing.

As I packed up after my workshop and all the way home and reading all the assignments that are coming in, I have made a commitment to myself to take this further. I am going to put in more time and keep the ball of foodwriting rolling. (Hope to update you with some exciting news on this fron soon!)

I would also like to say THANK YOU to Preeti Singh, Ayesha, Peter, Shakti and the Lit section of KGAF 2011 for giving Food writing this space (I thingk it is the first food writing workshop in India EVER), for just making this happen and for everything you all do behing the scenes to enrich writing in Mumbai and India.


Also a HUGE THANK YOU and big hug to Samar Gupta of Trikaya, Pooja Dhingra of Le 15, Mohit Khattar of Nature's Basket, Pinky Chandan Dixit of Soam and Vijaya Pastala of Under the Mango Tree for always coming forward and supporting all my hare brained schemes and machinations in the name of food writing!

To the students of my Foodwriting workshop at KGAF 2011, I have this to say.
You all have immense potential, WRITE. (eat and digest, of course but WRITE) You have so much to say on food and so many lovely ways of saying it, please, PLEASE WRITE!

If you know where you want to to, there will always be a road to your destination.

Also
1. Please leave your comments/praise/brickbats/feedback/links to any posts you write in the comments field here.
2. I had the whole workshop videographed and copies will be available by next week or so for sale for anyone who wants one. (These will be at cost or a bit more.) So please leave a message here in comments if you are interested in a copy.
3. I will also create a Food writers group by the end of this week where I will review and critique all the assignements. If you have not sent yours in, PLEASE DO SO by Thursday 10 Feb or you will miss the bus. (AND TO THOSE LAZY ONES WHO ARE THINKING OF ABSCONDING, SEND THEM IN OR I WILL HAUNT YOU AT EVERY MEAL muahahahahaha....)

May you all write deliciously!


With much love,Rushina

Food writing workshop at the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival.

Lets get the show on the road!

My lovely 'students'!

Jayashree reads out her piece on Exotic Ingredients. As an excercise in focusing on and describing flavour, participants sampled a variety of exotic new ingredients Trikaya Agriculture has launched in the market, namely Kaffir Lime, Dragon Fruit and Heart of Palm. The assignment was to write a paragraph on any one or these describing their flavour. I also combined them, adding a little chilli and salt to make a salad to demonstrate how one can play with color, texture and flavour for recipe development.

Dragon Fruit!

Kaffir Lime and leaves

The sweeter, jucier yellow Dragon Fruit.

The Salad

Ankiet reads out his piece.

I used Dark Chocolate (80%) to help participants learn to focus on flavour. Once words like sweet, great and delicious were thrown out, and more evocative ones such as sinister, seductive and sensuous ccame out. 

The second assignment for the day was thanks to pooja of Le 15 Patisserie, Participants were given a sampling of Wasabi Cream Cupcakes and Macaroons. They had to use their tastbuds and skill and everything they had learnt in the class to write an article in a form style and voice of their choice.

Talkona about Food Travel and Masala Trails.

assignment time!

Day two Eat Write Love! kicked off on a fiery note with a little armchair foodwriting. Samples of chilli based products were circulated to participants thanks to Mohit Khattar of Godrej Nature's Basket, the assignment was that they had to write about any three. The writing that came out of this was as fiery as the subject,

Habanero Tabasco sauce, Piri Piri Chillies, Moroccan Harrisa, Japanese Tobajan sauce.

The Aji Nori that caused a fire!

Stirring the La Costena, Chipotle in Adobo sauce into the Mayonais for a dip.

Piquant and spicy pickled Jalapenos

Reading about the origins of Chocolate from Cupbouard love a refernce book on how foods got their names. Montezumas prowess was what cause many chuckles.

The many books we showcased and Chilli Chocolate - the chilli sneaks up on you!

I wear my chillies on my sleeve!

My favourite shot of the day!

The second assignment of the day was Memoir writing. I served up my nostalgia dish from Soam for tasting and talked about why it was so nostalgia inducing to me. Turiya Patra Nu Shaak in which pinwheels of layers of Colocacia leaves are spread with Chickpea flour paste, rolled up and steamed and then cooked with ridge gourd and peas into a melange of piquant flavours. This is served with Biscuit Bhakri at Soam. Participants were asked to take inspiration from my story and write a passage on a dish that instilled nostalgia in them.

Assignment three explored 'Writing for Change'. This is an issue of note globally and a lot of writing today is in this genre, Participants were asked to taste Under The Mango Tree honeys and write a passage that incited readers to buy that honey, at the same time informing them about the benefits of consuming honey to the individual and the environment.

Reading from the Best food writing series, these annual anthologies have been an inspiration throughout my career for both educating on the variety of genres within food writing as well as to nap trends in food writing,