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When there is a Twitter hashtag “livetweetingabortion” you know something’s very wrong somewhere. A 27-year old American mum-of-one has come under fire for using social media to chronicle the progress of her abortion. On Twitter and YouTube, Angie Jackson gave gory details as she aborted her three-week-old foetus, due to health reasons.
Even as I typed the first two sentences of this post, it felt surreal. Going on Twitter and writing about your body expelling your foetus seemed nothing short of barbaric. I don’t know what the mum’s intentions are for doing this, what she hopes to achieve but my mind simply boggles.
A few months back, a mum got major flack for tweeting about her son’s accidental death as he fell into the pool. I didn’t see anything odd in that as I felt she was just reaching out to some support in her time of grief. But in this case?
A case of social networking gone awry, methinks.
Jordon aka Katie Price would def agree to that definitely. But Tamil actor-director Parthiban? Not likely.
First he complained of Chennaionline.com illegally selling his books of poems online and then a day after, when the company’s officials furnished proof that they were in fact, asked to do so by the actor himself, he amended his statement but not without adding that it was the portal’s fault for not corresponding with him since.
Time for a new secretary, maybe, Parthiban?
It is hard to believe now how much I used to hate brinjal as a child. As it was my dad’s favourite veg, the purple thing used to grace our plate more or less on a weekly basis. I was so tired of it that I was quite happy when the pater developed food allergies and could have it no more! Typically, after a while, I started feeling differently about brinjals and now, make it at least twice a month in some way, shape or form.
And one of my most favourite ways of making it is pulverising the hell of it and have it with rotis!
You need:
Aubergine – 1 big (or, if you get the smaller sized ones, go for a kilo)
Onion – 1, diced
Tomato – 1, canned
Spinach – 1 bunch, washed and cut
Coriander – to garnish
Oil – 1 tbsp
Mustard seeds, cumin seeds – 1 tsp each
Ginger-garlic paste – 1 tsp
Dhania-jeera powder – 1/ tbsp
Red chilli powder – 1 tsp (or to taste)
Turmeric – 1 tsp
Dried red chillies – 2
Salt – to taste
To start with, wash and prick the aubergine all over with a fork. Rub some salt over it and roast it over the open fire of the stove. Keep the flame low and turn the veg frequently. As the skin puckers, turn it over and make sure that it is roasted uniformly. Repeat the process till you have roasted all the aubergines.
Now, you can cook the aubergines thoroughly in two ways – peel the skin off, mash the pulp roughly with a fork and nuke it in the microwave on HIGH for two – three minutes. Or, in a foil-covered sheet, place it on a warmed oven at Gas Mark 5 for 20 minutes.
Once the aubergines are cooked thoroughly, pulverise them thoroughly using a blender or in a mixie jar. Keep the mash aside.
Next, heat the oil in a kadai. Splutter the mustard and cumin seeds. Add the dried red chillies and fry for a minute. Add the onion and saute it till it changes colour. Once the onion becomes translucent, add the ginger-garlic paste and saute for a minute.
Add the dry powders, mix well adding a tablespoon of water.
Add the aubergine pulp next and mix well. Add salt, stir. Cover and cook for 2 minutes.
Next, toss in a can of chopped tomatoes, along with 150 ml water, mix well and cook till the mixture bubbles nicely.
Add the spinach, stir everything well, cover and cook on a low flame for 3-4 minutes.
Take off the lid, stir once more and garnish with lots of chopped coriander.
Serve hot with roti.
 
Watch the amazing talk given by activist Sunitha Krishnan on her fight against sex slavery. Warning: NOT for the faint-hearted.
I took the last step to change my surname today. Finally. No going back. And I feel kinda weird about it.
I have been using the married name slowly and gradually since I came to the UK. From strictly stating “I WILL NOT CHANGE MY SURNAME” to ” hmm yeah maybe in my medical forms – and purely so the baby will have your name”, it was a journey fraught with difficulties. What’s in a name, you ask. Well it is MINE. The one I was born with and here I am becoming something else.
It is okay for the men, who are Mr XY from the day they are born till forever after. Unlike us poor women, who have to suffer the collateral damage of getting married, as a friend once put it. Here we are, happy going through life as Miss AB and suddenly, in one fell swoop, everything about you is changed – right from what you call “home” to your flipping name! Not fair, is it?
And, being a Tamilian, I didn’t have a “surname” as such, just my dad’s name after mine. So it felt like I was letting go of my maternal home by ditching the pater’s name.
Well I whined variations of this theme for the past almost 9 years and The Spouse has become blase to it. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have the long-winded name tacked on to mine at all. I just didn’t get it done officially – in my passport, it still stated my name as my maiden name. And that was just fine.
Till today.
This morning, we took the first step towards finally embracing Britain as “ours” by applying for British citizenship and had gone to the National Checking Service to get our documents verified and our application passed through. It was all going swimmingly till the nice lady who was checking things turned to me and went “Would you like to change your name to your married name? It would be easiest to do it now” and started the old “should I? should I not?” argument again. Though she was quick to say “You don’t have to, you know – I just wanted to point out to you if you mean to get it done, now will be the easiest time. Afterwards it will mean more money and time”. Well, there she said the magic words “more money”. After having shelled out a whopping £1310 + £85 for the three of us, we were feeling slightly sick and I think I jumped at the words “MORE MONEY”.
So, I hummed and hawed and finally mumbled “Ok fine. Change it”.
There. Changed the most fundamental bit of me forever. For less than 30 pieces of silver.
Superior Scribbler? Moi? *gasp*
Especially when the awarder is a Super Superior Scribbler herself, it is no wonder that I am, thankfully, lost for words! Gosh, milady! And as this is the first award that I have received for my, er, scribbling skills, I am mega chuffed. In the same mood of mega chuffed-ness, I will do my bit and pass it on, hoping to inspire others. I am nothing if not generous.
So, my five Super Scribblers are:
1. Mags – Maggie, mum of Moppet and Munch, who writes so well. I read the post she had written on her mum, less than 200 words probably and it moved me. When one can write so well, isn’t it a crime not to do more of it? May this award inspire her to keep up her New Year resolution to blog more!
2. Poppy – aka Poppin and Sweetpea’s mum, in another of my fellow former MTBs, who writes seriously superior stuff. Her writing reflect her no-nonsense and get-straight-to-the-point persona to a T.
3. Uttara – formerly known as Ra and Mumbai Girl, Uttara is a lovely writer. Hers is one of those blogs that make you go “Hotdamn! Couldn’t have put it better myself! In fact, why bother?” and just sit back and leave writing to the likes of her!
4. Krish Ashok – a bloke from my own neck of the woods (Besant Nagar, yo!) KA is supremely funny. How he comes up with some of the out of the world things the way he does is beyond me. His Facebook Mahabharata, tragedy of Ravana and even the hilariously redone Musee de Louvre.
5. Amrita – of Indiequill is one of my old Desicritics pals who never ceases to amaze me with he crazy funny take on life. Her insanely funny and mega extended family, her superlative grasp of all things Bollywood coupled with her quirky take on life make her blog a must-read.
Wow that was fun. Now all you peoples, please go forth and spread the joy. And not in any way you please, but following these rules of tag-dom.
* Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
* Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
* Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.
* Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to Mr. Linky List. That way, we’ll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!*
*Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.
After 4 years of blogging and 3 years of adsense-ing, I finally made enough for Google to send me a cheque. Yep! I reached the magical $100 mark and merited a payment from Google Adsense. I am so pleased with myself – it is the first earning I have made from my blogging.
Think of the Cheshire cat – multiply that grin 10 times. That’s me now!
Onwards and upwards!
19 years, 400 hearings, 40 adjournments and at the end of it, Ruchika Girhotra’s family had no justice for the injustice meted out to them in 1990. It was in 1990 that 14-year-old Ruchika was molested by DGP Shambhu Pratap Singh Rathore and within the span of three years, drove the child to take her own life rather than face a day more of torture and harassment at the hands of Rathore and his goons.
And the punishment? Six months imprisonment and a fine of Rs 1000. That is what the life of Ruchika Girhotra is worth. That is the price of her honour, the price of the harassment her family has faced.
Shame!
A supposed pillar of the community in Chandigarh, Rathore, a Director General of Police, sworn to protect the lives of the common man, woman and child cannot keep his glands and check and molests a child, one who is the same age as his daughter and is in fact, her classmate. He, Rathore, is defended in the court of law by his wife. Not one to sit back, he keeps up a daily assault on the Girhotras – Ruchika, her ten-year-old brother Ashu and their father. Ashu is repeatedly tortured and beaten in a bid to make Ruchika take back the case. Ruchika is kicked out of school on trumped up charges and their father is harassed at work, with false cases of murder and theft filed against the Girhotras, man and boy.
After years of this non-stop harassment, Ruchika commits suicide. Not even an FIR has been filed for the atrocity committed against her and the teenager finally gives up her fight. But still her family wasn’t left in peace until they were driven out of Chandigarh, forced to take up menial jobs to survive.
Whilst the lives of the Girhotras swirled in a downwards spiral, things couldn’t be more different for Rathore. Less than a year after Ruchika’s death, Rathore gets promoted to Director General of Police. In 1999, he is recommended for a President’s Medal for Distinguished Service.
Meanwhile, the fight for justice for Ruchika continues. Ruchika’s friend Aradhana Prakash, the eye-witness, is running a signature campaign to garner support. Her family has appeared on NDTV, where Barkha Dutt interviewed various power figures like Kiran Bedi. Online petitions have been set-up, in a bid to get the President’s eye.
Will the Girhotras get justice? Will Rathore get his comeuppance? Going from the past, where Jessica Lal and Priyadarshini Mattoo got justice after a furious campaign kicked up by the people, one can live in hope. But justice? Basic rights of the common man? Truth? Do these have place in the Indian society? Or will money and power be the only currencies and, in the words of Kiran Bedi, the criminal justice system be on the side of the criminals?
Another year come and gone. 2009 – finished. Well in a day and a bit. Isn’t it the time now to make mega resolutions to turn pi that turn to dust within week 1 of the brand new year? But that isn’t the point, is it? Can anything beat the glow from the halo we get as we promise to climb Everest, find cure for the common cold, spend less time on the Internet?
My number 1 is to lose *deep breath* 11 kilos. Gym ho!
Next one, equally important, is to start writing seriously – enough to make money from it. Have been a kept woman long enough!
So go on.. spill. What are your resolutions for the New Year?
So the annual festival of gluttony and over-eating has been and done with. After months of whipping everyone to a “CHRISTMAS IS COMING” frenzy, the shops are now welcoming people in by the busloads, promising them twin carrots in the form of heavy discounts and less VAT.
But things chez moi cannot be more different. As one or the other of us chooses to fall prey to stray viruses, we are staying firmly put inside the warm walls of our house. The times I feel my wallet flutter against the door, bursting for a foray into the High Street, the spouse sits down with massive tomes, muttering arcane words like “Coursework!”, “Deadline!!” and thwarting my desperate bids for freedom.
To top it, the Boy has one of his bum chums over for a sleepover. Since last evening, they have been raising merry hell, making the Child’s head spin with their mad antics and generally behaving like a pair of paroled hooligans. This morning, they are hard at work, trying to outdo each other on the Wii. The spouse, typically, decamped early, having wisely set up a study date.
So am trying to hold the fort, trying to keep the Boys and the Child away from one another. Which is easier said than done, cos ever since she figured how to switch off the telly, she has been pressing the button off at the most (in)opportune moment, followed swiftly by cries of “MINTYYYYYYY! NOOOOOOOO!!”
As you can imagine, my cup is overflowing with joy. Does anyone care to pop over and babysit for a while? Pretty please?
…. said in a high, squeaky and panic-filled tone. I haven’t done ANY shopping, save for one online foray. Haven’t got any of the ingredients for the Christmas lunch and we have friends joining us for grub. HJaven’t got no flippn’ crackers either.
To top it all, our tree has gone missing!!! Where’s the panic button?
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