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We had Christmas, next a germ-infested mini Basu and then my grandfather passed away.
In the meantime, UK’s Channel 4 gave us Indian Winter. A classic example of how the Western media stereotypes India with one clean sweep. We are all slumdogs. Naturally.
The posters were enough to send shudders down my spine. A celebrity chef, most famous for the excessive use of the F-word squatting on a railway platform amidst turbans, saris and drums. Shame they forgot magic carpets, snake charmers and a couple of Maharajahs.
Then I saw the line up. There’s a Hindi movie or two. A building design TV presenter to tell us why slums are wonderful. And the chef will learn about the, hold your breath, staggering diversity of Indian food. Shock, horror, he also learns how to make a samosa from scratch.
Just for the record, I don’t know anyone who makes a samosa from scratch in India. But why invite an Indian to help the creative process? I could go on, but I couldn’t put it better than this or indeed this.
Perhaps someone should inform Channel 4 that there’s more to India than slums and samosas. Like this quick fix, mid-week lamb pulao. Soft and spicy, it’s anything but a bitter pill to swallow.
Read on for recipe »
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So what does it feel like being back at work?
Wonderful. I bought a new pair of four-inchers and the shortest tulip dress I could find.
Hello intellectual emancipation.
Not that I didn’t make the best possible use of maternity leave. I researched the purchase of Mini Basu’s every toy, wardrobe essentials, equipment with the fervour usually reserved for groundbreaking client reports. I shook in my shoe boots as I read the latest baby management techniques. For the third time over. Mostly, I bonded with the little fiend. Wooden spoons, I am proud to report, are her favourite kitchen gadgets.
Six month’s later, I was tripping over myself to get back into the real world. Heartless me! It’s clearly okay to be asked why I don’t want to spend more time at home with mini Basu. It’s clearly not okay to wonder why one would want to embrace soiled nappies instead of a well-deserved promotion. Or am I being unreasonable?
It’s not easy. Racing home to see mini Basu, feeling guilty most of the time, about mostly everything. Still, I think I’m lucky to live in a world where I can make the choice.
I choose rushing around. And moist Aloo Keema, or lean mincement with potatoes, tucked into a pitta bread. Something different to an every day spag bol supper.
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It’s official. Home cooked Indian equals free babysitting volunteers.
Front row London Fashion Week: Curry.
Birthday party in neighbourhood local: Curry.
When sis offered her services for an old friend’s shock wedding I knew I had to pull the stops out.
I made for the farmer’s market. Followed by lunch in a Polish caf with mini Basu, the man, his crazy younger bro and friends. Then made a pit stop into a boutique to buy an entire outfit for the evening. While mini Basu slobbered on the season’s latest polyester offerings. The bro offered unsolicited fashion advice and the man faked a fainting spell.
Luckily, the recipe wasn’t going to finish me off altogether. Durga Puja, the annual Bengali religious calendar event was on. The dish was going to an old family favourite – Maacher Jhol – the famous Bengali fish curry.
Aromatic and light, it didn’t render me fishy. Sis said it made her teary – with happiness. Bro declared it was the best fish he had ever tasted. Both offered endless nights of babysitting.
It pays to cook Indian. Quite.
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Maternity leave has ended.
The last jobless Friday night involved a leggy single brunette. Also top friend and white wine fiend.
First stop, the global launch of Smirnoff’s new Green Apple and Lime flavours. My favourite choice of tipple. Followed closely by Tanqueray and tonic. And champagne. (There must be some others)
I expected free cocktails and vodka bottles. I got a row of melting ice sculptures. The top had fallen off St Paul’s Cathedral. The London Eye had liquefied beyond recognition. Drinks were an hour later in a different venue.
An hour? That’s two eternities for a new mum on a night out!
Cocktail bar, French bistro and Cinema cafe later I was ready to call it a night. Return to my previous life as a corporate superbitch. Whip the world into shape with some quick Indian cooking.
No better way to get going than an easy, simple dal. It takes 20 minutes. Doesn’t disappoint. Enjoy.
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