Of pickles...and prosaic matters

Between Rushdie and Kiran Desai, I have been busy. I haven't written or blogged much lately. But Mr Ashok Banker says he reads, writes and researches for 18 hours every day. I hide behind the cupboard in shame, I admittedly haven't been that diligent. But then, I haven't been totally useless either. So, what have I done? Ah, I have been writing my own book and pickling stuffs.



Pickling mangoes

Well, my book is drafted. The pickles are half-done. What pickles you ask? You see, there are things I prefer buying from the market and then there are things I wouldn't have anyone else make for me. So, I gifted myself the art of making pickles. Long years ago, I pickled the Indian olive and gooseberries. I tried them on various unsuspecting victims - aunts and cousin. The result was lip-smacking. So, off I went and made a marmalade of lemons. But later I lost myself in the labyrinth of life and the art was forgotten. During a shopping trip two weeks back, I noticed a woman picking up 3 kgs of mangoes. My curiosity notwithstanding, I asked her what they were for. She said, "pickling". I said, "Wow, you are making pickles while the sun shines." With the Bangalore sun beating down like crazy, I decided its time I too revived my skills. So I have a bottle of mangoes, limes, chillies and tomatoes basking in the sun during day time. While they get ready, I decided to pickle my brains; no sunshine needed.

I bought myself a book by Deepak Chopra and found myself trying to get clinically spiritual. If you are not familiar with the man, he is a renowned physician and a spirtual guru. His book - "Ageless body, timeless mind" has made a human pickle of me. And no, I'm not waiting to be salvaged from the bottle. You can label the bottle "Life's vagaries unlimited".