I will be moving out of Copenhagen in less than three weeks, after staying here for an year and a half. This place will always have a very special place in my heart, for reasons more than one. I have taken a resolve of publishing a photo each day of my remaining few days in Copenhagen.
Yesterday, I had been out to the city centre with my good friend Thomas. He has incredible knowledge of Copenhagen and has never ceased to shower me with invaluable pieces of information.
It was his suggestion that we go to the Irish pub Shamrock near city square, or Radhuspladsen, as it is called. We both are very fond of Kilkenny draught, and after a stressful work week, a couple of chilled pints really makes life feel perfect. Shamrock is on the right, with Thomas gracing the photograph. You can see the glimpses of the city centre in the far end of the street. In spite of being so centrally located, we found the pub quite tourist-free and reasonable in price.
The pub has a long history from the late nineteenth century and has wonderfully preserved the gleaming oak panelled decor and the gold and maroon color theme, which was quite to my taste, if slightly on the heavier side. The music played was relaxed, with a touch of country to it. Beers were served from the glinted taps with us sitting at the counter. I feel Kilkenny to have a very clear, yet creamy taste, and when served at the right temperature, which in this case was done, can beat most of the ales in this world. More on Kilkenny here.
The pub is dedicated towards selling Irish ales, though I could see the standard locals like Carls and Tuborg also on offer. Next, I tried an Irish stout called Murphy's, which was heavier and more intricate in taste. It also had a herby overtone. Finally, we both decided to seal the evening off with our much trusted friend Guinness. Somehow, in any corner of the world, A Guinness never fails to make me happy. It has a similar creaminess like Kilkenny, but very distinctive flavour. I feel it is a bit heavier too.
While leaving, Thomas left me with the trivia that it is best to visit Shamrock on St. Patrick's Day, when you can watch and participate in live Irish Dance.
Copenhagen Daily Photo: 1
Marriage! MBA!! Oxford!!! I am back with a BANG!!!!
I have been away from the blog for a notoriously long time. This is not an excuse post, but I would love to tell you that more changes have happened in my life in these few months than have happened in many years!
Most importantly, I am getting married! I met Suchismita last year. She is such a wonderful and charming lady that I instantly fell in love with her, we had some great time together and decided to tie the nuptial bond later this year. It is a wonderful feeling and once in many years I have felt so calm and secure in a relationship. I will keep the blog updated with how I am getting prepared for the marriage day. A full detail of the ceremony will also be in order.
Second, I got selected for management studies in University of Oxford! In the Saiid Business School. How about that?! The preparations for the MBA admissions were one of the primary reason I could not spend much time on the blog or elsewhere. After writing and re-writing 23 MBA application essays in a span of just 2 months, I never felt like writing another word in English ever! :-D
The MBA applications in itself had been a very enriching experience. Check back here for a detailed account of my MBA application experiences. I have gathered a lot of information, acquired a few new skills and had some extraordinary experiences in the process which I intend to share with my readers. May be some of it will be useful for future applicants as well.
So as of today, I am preparing for the marriage ceremony in August and the upcoming course that starts in the end of September. I have already handed in my resignation and serving a notice period with my current company. I am trying to lose weight which essentially means I am trying to cut down on my sugar intake (which is very difficult for me, having a very sweet tooth). I seriously have to take up some lose-30-lbs-in-3-weeks kind of gym regime and start looking fitter and younger >(:o)
Preparing for the course is more academic in nature, and I am still at a planning stage. More to come on that as well on this blog.
So I can assure you that you will find regular updates here from now on. So keep visiting and keep reading.
Cheers!
Sapphire.
P.S. How do you like the new look of the blog? I made it all by myself :-D
The Withering Flowers
The title of this post is inspired by the song Sei Fuler Dol by Mohiner Ghoraguli, a pioneer music band from Kolkata. The link to the song can be found at the end of the post.
This is the story of how I got interested in volunteering. Back in my college days, I had a friend who was very dedicated towards social causes. Both his parents were into some kind of non-profit work, and hence his early initiation. None of this really meant much to me and I used to scorn at him as a samajsebi. He always smiled gently in reply. Once our classes got over soon and I was not in a mood to return home early. He was going to an anti-aids campaign in a red light area, and he invited me. Now, I have had a over-protected childhood and in my family children are kept secured from the unpleasant facets of life. So naturally I developed strong curiosity about the 'adult' things in life and the idea of visiting a red light area seemed very alluring.
But once we were there, the scene looked nothing like the vivid picture I painted in my imagination. The surrounding was smelly and unhygienic. All the people including the prostitutes had a sullen and deplorable disposition. I was disappointed. The volunteers were talking to the women and trying to make them aware of hygiene and venereal diseases, and something of the sort. I couldn't have cared less. I was getting irritated at the foul language and occasional obscene laughters in hoarse female voice. Then one of the volunteers just asked me to help him distribute condoms. I was petrified, I had never even seen one before! But I was grown up and in college, so I feigned courage and stood beside him to help him out. To my surprise, I could feel slowly my inhibitions melting away, and a strange sense of being in control flowing in me. That was about the first day, but that sense of control, some weird feeling of satisfaction kept me joining my friend every time he would ask me to. And I became a regular, and even an enthusiast.
There was another wing of the organisation, which works towards bringing willing women out of the nexus. Now those who know this business well, would know, this is playing hardball, and definitely much more serious than aids awareness. We had heard a lot about a specific girl called Pushpa who was considered a very prospective candidate for extraction. So in one of our camps, one of our elderly members, Sumitradi showed me, "Look, that is Pushpa!" I looked at her. She was hardly 16, big intelligent eyes, bright smile, neat dressing, definitely different from her inmates. Sumitradi called her out, but she, a little hesitant, smiled shyly. So this time Sumitradi went out of the stall and pulled her by her hand, and she squealed out loudly. Both of us got startled and looked at her hand. Her forearm was slashed by some sharp instrument, and the wound went at least 4 inches long. It was half raw, completely unattended. Had that wound been in any of our bodies, it would required at least 10 stitches. Sumitradi went completely neurotic and half-screamed, half-asked how it happened. The reply came back in another shy smile. This time could I see a hint of pain in her smile, or my vision was smudged with flooding tears?
I naturally have a sharp aversion towards violence, and this was my first close encounter with it. More I was in pain than in shock, when I heard the quiet, sweet voice say, "Didi, thik hoye jabe". (Sister, it will be OK.). I realised, how easily the girl, who should have been in a school, who deserved a loving home, who in her age should have been nurturing colorful dreams of future, has come to terms with her grave misfortune. I wanted to shout aloud, "Orey tor jaiga eta noy, prithibi ta boro shundor, tokey dekhte hobey, jante hobe", (My sister, this is not your place, life is beautiful and you should see it) but I couldn't. I knew I could do nothing to take her, and millions of others like her out of the state of subhuman misery we, the society are subjecting them to.
I am in tears when I write this, but I have to. Look at these faces. Do they look any less innocent than a neatly plaited girl walking to school in white and blue uniform? Do they look any less deserving than us, who have been pampered by our family all our life? Have you ever compared an evening of your life in that age and an evening in their life, where every minute their tender womanhood gets brutally ploughed and raked by the obscene desires of men, while their soul sheds tears of blood?
From that instant, I had committed myself lifelong towards the service of the distressed children, sex workers, people with alternative abilities and other fringe population of the society. I dream of a state where all of us will be integrated into the same social structure, with each one of us living with pride and confidence, being aware of our importance and rights in this world.
My solemn pledge is, as long as I am alive, I will fight every force which tries to subjugate humanity, through use of force and violence and I will drop dead trying to make this world more livable for our children and all future generations to come.
The link to the song is here. This song is very close to my heart, it is an outstanding lyrical rendition of the silent tears of millions of unfortunate girls.
[Acknowledgements:
1. The photograph above is taken from http://across.co.nz. They, in my opinion are doing great work. Please support them and pay a visit to the page http://across.co.nz/CalcuttaSexSlaves.html that hosts the original image.
2. The song is by Mohiner Ghoraguli. I have ripped this song from the original CD I have bought and shared it with a spirit of honesty. If you like the song, please buy their original works and support them. ]
My (Lamenting) Ode to Phuchka
I think I am under a severe foodophilistic attack. All I am thinking apart from work is food. Today for a change I thought about the dishes I dislike most. You might be awed, but what tops my list is phuchka. For the uninitiated, phuchka is not golgappa or pani puri. Those are Marathi and North Indian variations. Phuchka in Kolkata is distinct in taste and form than these.
I have been coaxed into eating phuchka by different women at different times and on every occasion I hated it more than ever. It completely defies my reason why Bengali women find phuchka such a romantic food. They just cannot stay away from it when they are on a date. OK fine, eat it. Why can't you eat it with me just standing by your side? Why do you have to make me gulp it along with you? It does not show affection in any way to push junk down my gut when I don't want you to.
And talking about standing and watching you when you eat it, believe me you do not look cute when you are trying to stuff your mouth with more food than you can chew and tokjol running down your chin and dripping all over. Thats not the end of it! You want the phuchkawala to add more of every spice that make up the unholy concoction. Believe me my friend, it is such a turn off to have a date drooling over spicy roadside junk for half an hour and her breath reeking of rock salt and tamarind. You smell sultry. Do you think any of the above does anything to add to your grace and poise? And then you expect me to look at you as the most adorable piece among all of God's creations.
If you think you can get away with all of this please think twice before next time you complain about me stinking of tobacco, or complain about my dress sense when I wear a dark blue shirt with a brown trouser, or if you think my clothes are way too big sized for me. I wear them because they are comfortable, and that is the way it would be!
I am sure I deserve a huge applause from my Bengali brothers who has suffered the torture as I have, for sending out this message. I equally deserve the wrath of the Bongololona's, but truth remains truth, and I proudly stand by it >(:o)
The Sausage Platter
Last night, my dinner was different. I have been unfortunately working over the weekend and stressed out of working the whole of Saturday. So I decided I need to freshen up my mood by cooking something good. I decided that I will not use a single ingredient from an Indian kitchen.
I do not know what this dish can be called, but here is how to make it:
1. You would need sausages. I used turkey, please feel free to take you pick.
2. Potato, boiled and peeled. Fresh cream.
3. Vegetables of your choice, cubed. I chose broccoli, baby corn and sliced carrot.
4. Olive oil, oregano, paprika, crushed dried tomato, chilli flakes, fresh black pepper, salt.
Sautee the cubed vegetables with a little olive oil on high flame. Strew salt and black pepper and wait just enough for the flavor to emit. Your vegetables are done.
Thaw the sausages. Slit them a wee bit diagonally at 3-4 places along the length for the spices to enter. Dab them with olive oil and sprinkle the oregano, chilli flakes, paprika and tomato flakes. DO NOT add salt! Sausages are very salty already. Now put this entire ensemble into the microwave or oven and keep for 5 minutes. Turn them around, sprinkle some more spice and keep it for another 2-3 minutes. Your sausages should be ready. Depending on what meat you choose, the cooking time may vary. Please use your judgment.
Mash the potato, add fresh cream, salt and mash more into a smooth blend.
So you have your dinner ready. Mine looked like this, and tasted decent. I would rate it at 7 on 10. I need to understand the finer balances of continental spices:
If you ever try this recipe, please let me know how you liked it. If you have suggestions for improvement, you are more than welcome to comment.
My First Iced Tea
I made my first iced tea last evening. I generally drink a lot of bottled iced tea, specially during the summers to keep my body cool and hydrated.
Yesterday when I was back from work, I realized I was out of supply of iced tea and I did not feel like going out again in the heat. So I decided to make my own home-brewed iced tea.
The recipe goes like this. You need a bag of aromatic natural tea like Earl Gray or Lipton Gold. Darjeeling tea leaves would have been best but I do not have the privilege in Copenhagen. The main idea is that the more aromatic the tea is, more refreshing your drink will be.
So put the bag in a cup and pour 1/4th cup of boiling water in it and keep it covered for 5 minutes.
In the meantime, crush a couple of mint leaves in a tall glass in mojitos style and discard the leaves.
Pour the broth in the glass and mix 4 tea spoons of sugar. It will be much less sweeter than the bottled iced tea, but I prefer it that way. You can adjust the amount to your taste, or use sugar substitutes etc etc.
Pour a few cubes of ice and cold water in it and let the whole thing settle for a couple of minutes. Just before drinking, add about 4 drops of lime juice.
I was surprised at how much this drink refreshed me and I have decided to brew my own iced tea every time. For the health conscious, I did a quick search on the health aspects of home-brewed iced tea and here is what I found.
So make your own iced tea, feel refreshed and thank me every time you do so.
Milton Keynes
Today at lunch I was talking to Mia and John when I mentioned that I had stayed in Milton Keynes for some time. John asked me whether it was an industrial city and I immediately started explaining them that it was not and that it is a very special town in England. Anybody could have thought that I was putting forth a sales pitch on behalf of the city municipality about how wonderful the place is.
I had really enjoyed my days in Milton Keynes and I remembered them after a long time. The lake, the boulevards, the lonely streets in winter, Lido, XScape, easycinema, the municipal library - all of them came back to my mind in a flash. The town has a pristine church, where they have regular Sunday mass. Neatly dressed people start coming in in pairs and groups, rarely alone, and assemble in the square in front of the church. In the summer we used to have a cute, little fair on such Sundays with colorful kiosks selling varieties of sundries. Surprisingly, I have never noticed any shop selling edibles, other than the regular 'Breakfast on Wheels' van selling cold sandwitches, hot dogs and of course fish and chips. I found it funny when I learnt that in England you call pommes frites as chips, and what we call potato chips as crisps.
Milton Keynes is the only pre-planned town in England, where the government had taken out land from the wilds and converted it into a dwelling place. I think it was primarily done to take the pressure of population off from the northern suburbs of England. But due to its unusual origin, the town has some distinct features. For one, all private houses in MK look exactly alike. All the roads in the city are boulevards. The town is also remarkably bicycle and disability friendly. The municipality has strong community support for older people and disturbed youth. I had very strange experiences as a volunteer in the youth programme. It is surprising to know that how much more difficult it is for a girl to grow up even in a first world country than it is for a boy.
Let me put a few images of MK from my old repository of photographs.
This is the house I stayed in MK.
The Mall.
The Lake.
This friend of mine cooks fantastic Biriyani.
Saalon! Talli log!!!