Home

I have often lain in my bed, looking at the ceiling which is so familiar now. The walls, the window blinds, even the feel of the carpet under my feet feels so familiar. You could blindfold me and yet I could find every little thing you ask me in the kitchen. Or the bathroom. Or anyplace in the house. This is what happens when you live in a house for more than 2 years. When I leave for office in the morning, I lock my house subconsciously. I don’t have to look for the right keys or watch while the key is put into the door lock. I just do it out of habit. Similarly, I exactly know how much to turn the faucet to get the kind of hot water I like. Every switch and knob, every little thing I touch in the house is familiar to me. So many parties have been thrown here, so many important things have happened to me while I was in this house. I always loved the fact that there was this amazing view of the hills from the window and it was a 2 minute walk from the shopping complex. I don’t have to wait to think when someone asks me my address. I can often close my eyes and find my way in the house.

But then despite the things I have loved here, I have looked for better options. I have looked for better houses, just to get those little extra things that I do not get here. I have thought of shifting closer to my work place. I have thought of shifting to a bigger place so that I can entertain more people and have more space for myself. I have looked at other houses and have wondered if I should shift. With me earning, I can afford a little more, and you know how the things the heart craves for are endless. I started in the US in a shared housing, ended up having my own apartment without sharing, and now, I want more. Other houses have offered things different and better, sometimes a little bigger kitchen to allure me, or that window facing the sunset, or a balcony where I can put some plants.

With time, a house transforms from being a structure of bricks and mortar, it becomes home. It is where you want to come back to and crash at the end of the day. It is where you want to start your day from. With time, our homes become so much of us. Despite my love for travel and my globe trotting expeditions, it always feels so good to put that key into the door and unlock it, to be greeted by the familiar smells of the home. I have looked at better houses, but have come home feeling guilty, as if my home is a friend personified and looking for better options would mean betraying her. I have wondered if the next tenant of this house would feel the same way about this house. And for more than 6 months, I have been in a dilemma. A part of me has wanted to shift to a better place with better amenities. A part of me has held me back to this place. It has told me that it is too much pain shifting. Told me that I belong to this place.

For more than 6 months, I looked at other homes and held back. I always came home feeling relieved that I decided not to shift. The familiarity of my home always welcomes me. Then one fine day, things happened, a decision was made, a deal was signed, and there it was. I’m going to be here for 3 more days. And instead of feeling happy over my new place, I feel guilty. I feel sad. I am reminded of the various important moments in my life this house has witnessed. My graduation. My first day at job. Unnecessary tension with my advisor. My home has always welcomed me and rejuvenated me.

I am leaving for a better place. And I refuse to admit that a house is merely a structure of bricks and mortar. I feel I am betraying a friend and leaving her for a better friend. I didn’t cry, but I have felt an extraordinary amount of sadness. I have been packing half heartedly. I don’t know why I even got into this whole house changing business in the very first place. On several occasions have I seen things I loved go away from me. This time, it was self-inflicted. I hope 6 months down the line I feel as attached to that place as I am to this one now. But right now, I suddenly don’t want to leave.

I feel miserable, and I just don’t know what to write more.

sunshine.

The Birthday Planner

2 weeks back, when I realized that one of my better friends here is about to celebrate his birthday, I jumped at the opportunity of organizing it for him. I have never organized a party, and social networking and sugar talking isn’t one of my better skills. My memory of mom organizing my birthday is she sweating in the kitchen all day while dad would decorate the house. I have been brought up strictly discouraging birthdays celebrated in restaurants or ordering food from outside. For quite some time till we discovered Monginis, even the cake would be made by mom. Be it friends, neighbors, office colleagues, everyone I wanted was invited, and never did anyone baulk at the number of invitees or the amount of food to be cooked.

Coming from this background and seeing people around you organizing parties, I realized that I didn’t want to die all old and shriveled up realizing that I have never once organized a party from the scratch. So what if event management isn’t one of my better skills?

So I asked my friend, the guest of honor, to send me a list of people he would like to invite. I didn’t know what he thought when I said I wanted to organize, but it seemed I was scrolling down the list forever. 45 people were a pretty big project for a person who has never before organized a party. Now you know why I have been reported missing from the blog world for so long.

Over the next few days, I had to rake my brains in a couple hundred directions. Usually, a birthday party means your friends take you out for dinner at a nice little restaurant, and pay for what you eat and drink jointly. If the birthday person is closer, you gift him a packet wrapped with something I have a lot of difficulty feigning excitement once I have opened it. But that is just me. And this nice little restaurant thing works for a party of 5, 10, maybe 15 people. When there are 45 people on this list, you can’t be crossing swords with people at every step, making reservations and ensuring that everyone arrives on time, ensuring that the veggie guy next to you who barely ate his paneer all evening doesn’t have to pay for the tandoori chickens and the handi kebabs ordered, and that a person like me who won’t order anything more than an iced tea doesn’t have to share the bills for the margaritas and beer bottles you emptied.

If you have guessed where this is going, you would have known that I finally gave up hoping for miracles to happen so that everyone is accommodated for the party. I decided to take matters into my own hands, no, literally, and decided to cook. Organize. Decorate. Invite. Entertain. All by myself.

These are my thoughts after I have organized my first ever birthday party, and that too for a party of 45 people.

The event went for 3 evenings. Evening 1 was the day prior to his birthday, which is the cake cutting ceremony that thankfully doesn’t last for long. People are on time, wait for the cake to be cut, eat some, smear some on the birthday boy’s (BB) face, carelessly throw some on the carpet, smear some on the sofa, and leave. Cake, soda, and munchies are all that you need to organize. The second and the third events are consecutive evenings over the weekend when I split the group. At the end of all this, I told the BB that his birthday felt like celebrating Durga Puja, an occasion that went on for 5 days.

No one can thank the inventor of MS word document enough. Make tables. Highlight. Make bullet lists. People coming. People not coming. People who might be coming. Things to buy from Costco. Groceries to be done. Make any kind of list. I maintained a word document 5 pages long for this event.

Some people reply promptly on time. Others are like those school kids I used to teach a lifetime ago who would never do their homework on time. Some social butterflies never want to commit till the last moment, never knowing if some better alternative party comes up at the last moment. Some people want to know the menu and the guest list first. Some people never reply till you nag them on the phone. Some people are too shy or scared to reply back. Like the BB told me, “Don’t be after these people. Some are too hesitant to reply to a girl”. Dear person-who-never-replies, I don’t care two hoots about whether you came to the party, not just because I don’t know you, but also because it is courtesy to reply to emails. All I need to know if whether it is a negative or an affirmative, so that I can plan and cook accordingly. And frankly, I’d be more than happy if you confirmed that you’ll be unable to make it. He who cannot RSVP for a party doesn't deserve to attend one.

No matter how many people you invite, there is always a flat 35-45% dropout rate.

A good manager identifies resources and delegates them tasks. G loves to shop and would know if store A sells tomatoes 10 cents cheaper than store B. I simply gave her the list of things I needed- vegetables, grocery, cake, soda, decorations, and she knew which thing would be the cheapest in which store. We spent an entire evening going everywhere- Costco, Target, Indian stores, Safeway, and Cash n Carry. Contrary to what I was dreading, shop-till-you-drop is actually a very fun experience.

It’s very important to remember who had cooked what on that potluck party you attended 6 months ago. It’s very important to learn some quick fixes, some super timesaving recipes. When cooking for a big group, the best policy is: mix-marinate-bake. Mix-cool-serve. It took me a lot of cogent thinking to isolate the recipes that are easy to make. I admit I didn’t make everything on my own. I identified a friend who loves to cook and wasn’t very busy that day. We drove the BB out of his house and took control over his kitchen the entire morning, having so much fun with the pots and pans. Barring minor emergencies like dropping cheese on his oven that charred and smoked so much that we were scared the fire alarm would go off, things went great.

Nothing substitutes like chips and soda. Most stupid people fill half their appetites and stomachs hogging on these, not waiting for the actual food to arrive.

Talking to guests is equally important as cooking for them. That was why I decided to split it into 2 evenings. Small groups, especially the one where people know each other, are much easier to handle.

Dear egomaniacal attention seeking female, I know you organized your boyfriend’s party and 35 people showed up at the bar and you spent the next few months basking in the glory of your social networking skills till you saw the email list I sent with 45 people on the list. But be assured that I had no wish to break any records you made, that I did not lie to you when I told you that the BB is not my boyfriend, and more than anything, I was awash with scare and skepticism about what if the party did not go well. I had responsibility on my shoulders, I wasn’t sitting on my ass devising ways of breaking your record. The least you could have done is showed up on time and taken that grumpy and high handed look off your face.

No matter how childish it sounds, it is still fun to spend an evening blowing balloons and singing the happy birth day song.


I wish I had more pictures of what I cooked, and I wish I had pictures of all that I cooked, but I had too many things on my mind. 15 people showed up on day 1 and 10 people showed up on day 2. Truly, it seemed like a never ending examination that spanned a never ending preparation. The sheer fatigue of attending to everyone, making sure that the 3 year old wouldn’t sip that glass of alcohol when no one was looking or wouldn’t smear cake on the sofa, and the arduous process of cleaning up was a tad too much. I have promised not to touch the ladle for the next few days. But it was fun. It felt great when people loved the food. It felt great when the BB was all happiness and smiles. And that brought me to a realization I should confess.

Dear BB, I organized this for your happiness. But more than that, I organized it for my happiness. I really wanted to cook and invite people and have control over things. Your birthday was just an occasion. It was more about me wanting it.

The next few pictures are not a comprehensive list of all that was cooked, but definitely a fair and substantial representation. Too bad, the cake and the bhapa doi (a Bengali dessert of baked yoghurt served with dry nuts) is missing.

The marinade for grilled tandoori chicken.

The actual tandoori chicken all hidden beneath the tomato garnishing.

Salad. A great accompaniment to any meal.

Spinach raita

Potato gratin (basically something cooked in too many potatoes and too much cheese)

Marshmallow pineapple dessert.

It was great organizing this, but I think I am done for this year. I only wish, my mom and grandma, who never once saw me chop an onion in their life, saw me organizing this.

sunshine.