Adhi Potoba

When I was in junior college, Pirangut (which is now almost in city limits) used to be a destination for day trips. En route, one could drive for miles of lush paddy fields and open land on both sides of the road, the monotony broken only by a lake, a river or the occasional small body of water. You would have to slow down sometimes as herds of sheep walked alongside the road, blocking most of it. Village folk sat under the shade of tamarind trees waiting for the greatest form of rural transportation—the S.T. bus, known to most of the junta as the Laal Dabba (red tin can). The road took you straight to the village of Mulshi, where the Mulshi dam is located. There is a village on the way named Disli. In Marathi, Disli means “I see it.” The reason it is so named is that as you take a turn to enter the limits of Disli, you can see the walls of the massive dam for the first time. Just before the village of Disli is the village of Pirangut and also the home of one my favourite joints, Bunin...

So my girlfriend and I finally tied the knot with a small ceremony in Pune last week and flew straight to Jaipur for our honeymoon. My wife wanted to live in a small place with lots of character so anything with the name Taj, Oberoi or Sheraton was out. We found this small hotel, Hotel Palms that must’ve been someone’s residence at one point. It was one of those hotels where the owners lost interest in running it just as soon as they acquired it, giving it the right amount of character and ample scope for comic relief that we were looking for. It came with notable amenities such as mosquitoes, an internet café that was open only between 10 a.m. and 5 p.m., a utilities shop that never opened the entire time that I was there and more staff than there were rooms none of whom were of any real help. On my first morning there, I woke up and ordered some tea. The tea came in a stained thermos with a jar of sugar cubes. The jar of sugar cubes had ants crawling all over the sugar. When I pointe...

Growing up I had always been attracted to red foods. I could never really understand this fascination, but a red curry always seemed more appetizing than a green curry. Beets seemed more attractive than cucumbers. I never gave it much thought till I came across a research paper done by our friends at the TWBA / Chiat Day agency for their client, Heinz ketchup. Apparently, this is a very common phenomenon and not as I thought, one more of my many irritating habits. A plate of food where the central item is red always looks appetizing. This is because the eye associates the colour red with many appealing things. Freshly killed meat and blood. An abundance of blood in one’s body also signifies good health. And thus the eye looks for this colour on a plate. I just wish that I could’ve known these facts when I was young. It would’ve made refusing some rather unappealing dishes that mom tried to shove down our throats easier. It also explains my disdain for all things green. Like this Palak ...

Since my move to Sunnyside, Queens I have been spoilt by a neighbourhood blessed with some really good restaurants. One of my favourite restaurants is a Turkish restaurant out on Queens Blvd. My girlfriend, who has spent considerable amount of time in Turkey, loves visiting our local Turkish Grill . Her favourite dish there is the red lentil soup, which I admit is really, really good. However, the only thing it misses is the burning sensation that can only come from excess spice. And that as we all know is the one thing a ‘pucca’ Puneri needs. I recently attempted to ‘Indianize’ this soup and the results turned out pretty good. Not to mention the cheap brownie points, since this can be done in a healthy 'organic' fashion. Ingredients 1 cup Red Lentils 1 Onion shredded 2 cups Vegetable Stock 2 tsp Butter 1/2 tsp Chili Powder 1/4 tsp Cumin Salt to taste Method In a pot heat the butter and add onions Heat the onions till they are light brown Add chili powder and cumin and stir Add...

For students in Pune, especially those that have passed their SSC, the ones that are in the final year of their degree courses and everyone in between, hanging around spending entire evenings doing nothing is a big part of life. My immediate circle of 40 odd vagabonds such as myself had chosen a particular corner of town when we were 16 where we would waste a major part of the next 12 years of our lives. It was a small “ paanwala ”. For those unfamiliar with the concept of a paanwala , it is a shack, which sells beetle leaves and loose cigarettes. , a staple for said age group. Our Paan Tapri stood proudly next to a run down hotel, Village Corner. Village Corner had changed hands faster than coalition governments in Delhi till it finally shut down one day. The little cigarette shop however stands proudly to this day as the hotel that would’ve given it business stands in a state of utter disrepair. We would park our respective two wheelers next to the Paan shop and blowing hot air that ...