FIFA flu

11 more days to go. And there is just one word that rings in my ear football more football and even more football. Along with the endless number of fevers that monsoon brings along with it in my little Kerala, a new addition. FIFA flu. Once in a four year epidemic.
I can’t understand this hue and cry. Well a more honest statement would be I can’t understand football and hence I don’t understand this passion involved. Ok I can understand if my country is playing, but not this fuss over some Brazil playing against some Italy in some country called Germany.
Even Toyland has been invaded. My little cousin has lost interest in his Gijoes and Mattel cars. All of them suddenly giving way to Zidanes and Rooneys.
My granny’s village, where cable TV is nothing short of a luxury, hasn’t been spared either. I bet hard core jingoists would be shocked. Flags of Brazil and Italy flying high. Wonder how many times you actually get to see an Indian flag flying high. The not to be missed piece of work was a life size cutout of Ronaldo with a bottom tagline that read “BEST WISH TO BRASIL FROM BRASIL FANSE ASOCIATION”. That’s when I learned my life’s lesson that football is one game where the heart overrules the head. Guess that explains the football rogues. Spellings don’t count, all that counts is the passion involved.
Entire blogs are being dedicated towards football and FIFA world cup. People including me are writing about it. Media for a change is forgetting India’s biggest religion, cricket, and its god, Sachin. Football jerseys are the latest in things in the world of fashion. Guess football is actually a phenomenon
I was halfway through this blog entry, when my calling bell rang. A group of young guys, led by my neighbor, all clad in jerseys of their favorite football playing country. All they wanted was a meager donation for their FIFA ( fathima nagar* inter-club football association) cup. For the less knowledgeable mortal souls Fathima nagar is my neighboring colony. Eyes popped out I looked at these guys again. I was told that this cup actually is conducted on the same lines as that of FIFA. Well I wasn’t going to contribute my hard earned pocket money for something as silly as this. But a bit more of coaxing, some threats, and lots of blackmailing from my neighbor and I ended up paying 100 bucks. Hey after all I was a rather nice little girl .
Gosh!! My neighborhood has fallen prey too. And now…..Sniff sniff. Hachoo!!! And now that the air is laden with FIFA flu, surprisingly, I seem to be catching it too. Hachoo!!!

A tryst with aalo ke parathe

STATUTORY WARNING: refer http://www.indiarasoi.com/aluparatha.html
before u cook. Don’t ever trust azeera for the recipe

As usual dad had caught me sleeping over the morning paper. A Vesuvius all ready to erupt. “Highly irritating to the core”, that is what he called it. I tried explaining that I was more of a nocturnal creature, that I loved working at night, that I prefer to go to bed late and get up late and hence if I am forced to wake up early in the morning I will naturally tend to sleep over the paper. Everything fell on deaf ears I guess coz I was still sent to my mama to help her out rather than doze away.
No surprises again mama was already to assign me my task for the day . “Cook dosa’s for breakfast dear”. Oh my god!! She dint expect me to slog in the kitchen early morning did she. “U must be kidding”. Her face turned all red with anger. I suggested, “how about bread and peanut butter for break fast”, grinned gleefully and lauded the brilliant idea by my rather meager brains that helped me get into NITW. Fumes from her nostrils. A matador bull charged at me. Hey trust me I don’t remember wearing red.
I protested hard only to be subjected to a torture even greater than the guillotine. A frail woman still standing straight at eighty something (I often wonder how), the best mom in law any girl can ask for, walked in. A droning lecture on “101 reasons why girls should learn how to cook” all reasons cited with examples from real life. I learned the stories of Mr. Khan’s wife, Mrs. Kumar’s daughter, Mrs. Sharma’s daughter in law and god only knows who else’s . Excerpts from the lecture ….. “Girls are the light of a family….. has to care for her kids and hubbies ( oops I meant hubby , I am strictly against polygamy you see)…. holds the key to the future.. good girls take good care of their mom in laws ( I bet that was a dig at my mama)…. Fights…. Talaaq…” Man I swear I heard the entire script for an Ekta Kapoor saas bahu serial. I ran to kitchen for refuge, I would rather cook.
A rebel that I am I vowed to let the world know that I was cooking. I clanged the vessels hard, grumbled (loud enough for my neighbors to hear), dropped the spoon every two minutes, mumbled under my breath. Hitler marched in,” don’t test my patience and
You don’t have to keep that face of yours grim when you cook”. Okies gimme a break. I continued with alacrity on my face but reluctance in my heart.
Brain wave… I love aloo ka paratha for that matter anything Punjabi. Eight months of life@warangal , and I was already in love with Punjabi food, the Punjabi dhaba [PD] next to my college, the delivery boy at Kazipet PD (oops I swear I don’t love that guy but he looks cute alright). I loved dealer mehndi, RDB (at least the title song), and Harbhajan Singh…..brain waves again. Why not cook one of my all time favourite dish and also stun my mama with my expert culinary skills.
With all new found vigour and enthu I embarked on the suddenly delightful task of cooking. Peeled potatoes.. chopped onions.. boiled them .. sautéed them with masala… mixed the flour .. made the dough .. rolled them into parathas and fried them. Yippee my first paratha was ready. I called out, “try my paratha it rocks”. Music Lights Action. Mama took her first bite. “Hey azeera how about bread and peanut butter for break fast”.

first ever blog ....... A million hues to be touched upon