There was some help needed in my quest for new food stories, sharing love for finding and developing new recipes. I went to learn how to make mini samosas from my foodie friend Richa once again on a rainy day recently. Funny, how it rains whenever I plan a trip to her place! We have a thing for tea and snacks it seems. Sometimes it’s with salad or chaats and sometimes with other kinds of snacks.
About 2 years ago
It rained heavily on my birthday in July 2022 when I was on my way to Richa’s. I had recently moved to Bangalore and was in a rented room in an apartment. I was waiting for my husband to come to have a more serious conversation about our moving back to India. Unfortunately, he seemed to have other plans with his school and college mates. I was given a time slot on the 3rd day of his visit I think and a vague narrative about any present or future plans.
I shared with him my story of progress made while he shared with me a soundbox, a packet of biscuits and a cake. And then went happily seeking pleasure elsewhere leaving me to attend to my struggles of recovering from crippling pains, migration, finding a house, finding work, migrating paperwork, etc. Apparently, he had the full support of his parents, family and friends to continue to seek pleasure elsewhere leaving me in that condition. And I have to be either silent or pay my respects to such people. Hmmm. Interesting. What am I missing here?
Sure, there are therapists galore to make more money out of the miseries of such people. Or perhaps lawyers. I am an agent for the economy to flourish for choosing to hide men like my husband behind other women’s skirts.
Privileged Only Child Syndrome
Do I have to spell it out further about the impact of Privileged Only Child syndrome. If there is no such term yet…there should be. At least to raise some level of consciousness in others to what kind of human beings we are in the process of creating. And good deeds done by so-called social causes supported is not going to wash off the pains from the challenge of dealing with such difficult people.
These are players who refuse to cooperate, collaborate or cease their bullheadedness. One cannot make out from the outside what is exactly their point of view. They will either shut you out, ghost you or continue along their path silently leaving you to deal with all the rubbish and the baggage. It’s called “My Way or the Highway”. I have done my fair bit of highways in the past. Perhaps I need to seek refuge in a nunnery or ashram next. Oops I have done that too- several times actually. So where do I go next? I can’t keep running around like this. I’m really tired! So, I sit down and type.
Admonishing advice from Granny Smiths
We have to be ok with being “gaslighted” or “catfished” or whatever is the latest term used to negate the reality of our experiences as narrated by such people. Since it comes from a so-called “different” world view which we MUST endorse and support. Apparently, it may be coming from a higher order pulpit. Perhaps from someone with greater monetary power to shout it out from the rooftops. So, I choose silent typing because I have lost my vocal cords by trying to make someone listen to or see my point of view. My voice is muffled, and my throat strangled. Some called it fear. I call it banging your head against a wall. I choose easier ways to die. But I have a few things to do before that date arrives. I try to finish as much as I can, and ginger masala tea helps.
I have a photo from that small birthday party which Richa kindly threw for me during a busy week while she attended to her work, her daughter and a friend’s daughter who was visiting as well during a gap year before going for her further studies. We had a lovely time sharing some food, a little bit of music and cutting that cake with two giggly girls. I continue to be grateful while my husband continues to abscond and not understand the cost of his actions. Such are the ways of men who believe in consistently deserting their loved ones and family by refusing to acknowledge any role and responsibility in taking care of anyone.
Be Blunt, Be Open, Be “Unprude”
In two years, I feel like I have aged 10 years to be honest. In my quest for being heard or trying to manage the different aspects of the migration process, I have lost my face and my name. Lost a fair bit of my hair too. And there is still the silence from my husband refusing to even hear or see my side of the story. Uncaring, unemotional, unmotivated, unwilling…whatever words work. It’s only me- a woman narrating this story with nobody to help or support. Hence it has no credibility or value in anyone’s eyes. Apparently, silence is more recommended to maintain “dignity of strong character” and “tender feminine appeal”. I am quite surprised by such definitions. I want to understand this further. Which romantic school has written these rules of behavior? Was it coming from The Crown TV series show? Or is this a new version of Nabokov’s Lolita? Been some time since I came across such dated stuff.
I do want to get to sharing the recipe of Richa’s mini aloo samosas. I get sidetracked sometimes. Coaches told me- it’s an affliction of “lack of focus”. I mostly ignore them because unfortunately I have other things to focus on as well. I am not aiming to be an Olympic athlete. Anyways there are these “men’s clubs” where apparently, we are not allowed any entry. I laugh since I grew up amongst some of them. Suddenly, I am the enemy, and my words are untrustworthy?
What’s the link with Samosas?
Coming back to mini aloo samosas…actually, it is her mother’s recipe and she shared it as it was one of her daughter’s favorite snacks. It’s a way of paying homage to her mother as well as making a treat for her daughter during the school summer holidays. It is a simple recipe but takes some effort. It is more fun with a bit of help from others around. Most importantly for me it was a fun afternoon with a dear friend sharing our stories of mothers, daughters, food, cooking and other little slices of life.
I was told many people do not read the stories and quickly scroll down to read the recipe instead. Be as it may, I still share it because for me there is a link there. Samosas and chai are perhaps some of the most loved and common snacks across many parts of India and the world. You can find them in roadside tea stalls as well as in more upscale restaurants. They are often ordered online or purchased for a quick evening snack. Children love it and so do adults. It is universally relatable.
But they are calorie laden, so I have really missed having them while in Singapore under the strict guidance of my “master of all advice and device”. Can children be manipulative? Can adults be manipulated or manipulative? Hell, yeah! Just throw in an article about “How to be more intuitively empathetic”. Or better still, “Have you been feeling tired and looking like shit lately (subtext: it’s all your fault)”. And then the self-doubt and constant questioning begins. Memes help too to make fun of your situation further.
Why home-made mini samosas?
The mini samosas are a good idea for portion control. Being home-made, the quality of the ingredients is much better. Who knows how many times the oil has been used/reused on the roadside stalls? While it is ok as an indulgence- I always appreciate the home-made samosas more. Not that I am going to refuse the samosa on the streets. Just saying that I understand and appreciate the love and care that goes into the tried and tested recipes from Granny’s kitchen. 🙂
Gilly Gully More Girls
I recommended Richa to watch Gilmore Girls with her daughter. I think they could relate to it and have some fun watching it together. And funnily another friend mentioned it right thereafter about how she recently watched that show with her cousin. Later I realized that the show had reruns now on Netflix in India. I guess, some of these are classics which are quite relatable to many adults across the world going through difficult times in their parenthood journey. I remember enjoying it a lot at one point! Truth is that no parent comes with a manual for bringing up children and most mothers find their own ways of parenting that works best for their kids. Judging from the outside is easier said than done. Each one’s context is different, and each child is quite special in their mother’s eyes.
Simple rant at times
I really enjoy food, cooking and tried & tested recipes from home chefs. Richa and I also share a love for art, creativity and storytelling. I find a lot of love and warmth in many homes and kitchens which is what I tried to create in my own little home. Something not understood or appreciated by my husband and in-laws who swiftly kicked me out and replaced me with a helper instead. Today they are trying their best to do it- all over again. To what end do they justify this- I don’t really know. The details of what motivates such inhuman treatment is not shared with me. It may have something to do with their inherently miserly, misogynistic, penny-pinching, high-handed ways. But that’s a wild guess and a lot of “undignified name-calling”. I was told I must not be so judgmental and impolite. I must evolve to a bigger me or a higher ground. Why? Otherwise, it would leave me open to ridicule and shame.
Truth is, nobody cares about my shame, about me facing constant ridicule or attack. Perhaps, I should just leave it to others to continue doing the same. Some people even make money fueled out of that drive I believe. So, who am I to judge anybody?
Footnote
On a brighter note, do check out this longer video of the fun with Richa and her daughter learning to make her mother’s Mini Aloo Samosas and learning a little bit more about her journey through different cities and different stages of her life.
Freedom from Shame
If I had a child or a family around- somehow, I am more relatable in my fortunes or misfortunes
Since I apparently have no one beside me, I must be the difficult alien character (?)
Who has no voice and no choice.
Is there any reason for the poison quill or pill-
Why can’t YOU just accept and bow down to others will?
I have nothing to share. Nothing to wear. Nothing to tear.
Or so they said time and again.
And I simply smiled and looked at the child within and without.
I do recognize it in others because I have it too.
Somewhere, there is more to this little story. But who is feeling that?
I am to go on a long pilgrimage because that is all I am good for.
I have no use for anyone and noone has any use for me. I have lost my shield
I have lost my field. I have lost the tears and the fears too…
Is it? 🙂
“It’s depression, anxiety, it is mania.” It is something described by others who have the power
To give that decree to others while silently suffering themselves.
Alas, I am not qualified to give that title. I can share a few more stories and memes.
I can only say today-
I am free. I am free. I am free.
Come and punch me anytime. I am open to attack. It’s only pain.
And my vulnerability comes at no cost. It’s something that you can choose to ignore.
Because you benefit from that through the power of being protected by three or four.
If you are naive enough to deny this claim. I have nothing to say further.
I really have no shame. I have the voice of at least a thousand or more.
– 2nd July 2024 in Loving Memory of tldr versions of Samson & Delilah
(another attempt to simplify complicated communication).
For the coating For the filling For the final shaping Best serve hot with some chutney. We had it with sweet date tamarind chutney. Fillings for the mini samosas can be changed. I share the recipe as the simple version which is Richa's mother's recipe. And it tasted yummy! 🙂
Goes great with hot ginger/masala tea as a teatime snack. Richa's Mother's Mini Aloo Samosas
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Ingredients
Instructions
Notes
