Lucknow Has Its Own Metro, It Is Not UP – Bihar

Lucknow Has Its Own Metro, It Is Not UP – Bihar

March 24, 2019
I live in Lucknow, the capital of Uttar Pradesh.
I know the image of a ‘ cow worshipper, with saffron tilak on the forehead, wearing bhagwa(orange) clothes and chewing tobacco-type ’ of a person appeared on your mind when you read Uttar Pradesh, or even Lucknow itself.
Being their female counterpart, probably something like this flashed before your eyes.
I absolutely hate the fact that a ‘UP-Bihar type‘ image is hyphenated with Lucknow.
Don’t get me wrong, but don’t you hate it when people from other countries just assume that India is kuccha houses with no toilets, especially when you live in metropolitan cities like Delhi, Mumbai or Bangalore because you know there are big cities, not just kuccha houses?
Similarly, I don’t like it when people think that Lucknow, being a part of UP, is just a village, filled with illiterate people.
In reality, Lucknow – the City of Nawabs, is an amazing city with a syncreatic culture of Hindu-Muslim unity. And yes, it is a city, not a village.
Figures Talk
Human Development Index or HDI – a combined numeric mean of life expectancy, education, and per capita income- is one such indicator. The higher the HDI out of which 1 is the highest and 0 is the lowest. Such economic indices are legitimate are fair grounds to check development level.
In 2011, HDI of Lucknow was 0.717 while that of India as a whole was 0.547. Similarly, Lucknow people are not just labours, like portrayed by state ministers to blame lack of jobs, literacy rate of Lucknow in 2011 was 79%, while the national average was 70%.
You see, these indices, like many other were well above the national average.
A little History
People say its name has some relation with Lord Ram’s brother, Lakshman (of Ramayana).
Mythologies apart, under, – Lucknow was its capital of Oudh(Awadh) and flourished the reign of Mughal Emperor Akbar.
At this point in history, the reign of the Nawabs over Oudh started in the 19 th century when the Mughal Emperor Muhammad Shah appointed Nawab Sadat Khan Burhan-ul-Mulk as the Governor of Oudh. The present day Lucknawi culture (read aadab, tehzeeb, kathak, chicken and kebabs), is a reminiscent of their times.
Being the capital of Oudh (Awadh), Lucknow was the royal seat of the Nawabs. The Lucknawi culture flourished under their imperial patronage.
For instance, they patronized: Art and architecture which led to the development of a unique architecture style of domes and arches like seen in Mughal architecture. Bara Imambara Dance – Kathak was performed in courts. Food – Lucknow is a heaven for food lovers because the Nawab’s chefs developed delicious Awadhi cuisine like biryani, kebab, nahari-kulche, roomali roti, etc Craftsmanship, because of which Chickenkari, Zardozi work developed and are still world famous.
The Nawabs invested a great deal in polishing their language and mannerisms, which led to the development of a distinct language and culture, filled with aadab and tehzeeb. Also, they were of Persian origin so Persian words creped in the regular discourse. Hence the saying, ‘Lucknavi boli me tehzeeb aur nazakat hoti hai’.
But Lucknow is not stuck in its past, modern day Lucknow is a blend of a fair degree of modernization with a touch of those Nawabi days. For instance, you will find high rise apartments or shopping malls with older architecture styles like ‘jali’ work. Jali Work on wooden windows
Modern Day Infrastructure and Facilities
Like any other city, Lucknow has: Good schools – public schools, private schools, missionary schools or international schools, you name it. Lucknow is actually considered to be good for schooling. La Martiniere College Roads! People still think there aren’t any roads in Lucknow, but I hate to break it to them, Lucknow has well connected roadways and some of these roads are very beautiful. METRO High rise apartments, beautiful and modern buildings and parks, good hospitals, nightlife, big companies, and everything else you’d expect a city to have.
Also Read: This Village In Lucknow Completed Big B’s Promised College After It Was Left Abandoned…
Why this image?
Uttar Pradesh is a huge state with a population of 200 million people while that of Lucknow is barely 2.8 million, i.e. 1% of the state. Being a drop in the ocean, averaging weighs down the numeric value of indicators of the state as a whole because the indicators of UP stand well below the.
This is nothing new. For instance, Kerala’s literacy rate was already 93% back in 2011, which was much above the national average of 70%. Yet, whenever people think Kerala, an Indian state, they will assume the national average, not the enviable 93% of Kerala.
Why are capitals better?
Capital cities, being the capital, are political centres. This gives the political parties an incentive to develop and allocate more funds at the place of their lodging.
Secondly, capitals are usually geographically ideal for economic development as they are located at key places like beside rivers or port or at geographic centres.
Then because of political will, available infrastructure and geographical setting, more economic development and investment takes place which leads to better development.
The paradox of capitals is very common. For instance, Delhi, Mumbai is better than rest of India and not every place in the USA is New York.
Solution
Perception management is not the answer. There are many Tier 2 cities that have better living standard but are under the shadow of their respective States. But I believe perception management is not the solution. This is not a rat race. It is better to develop the entire country, district by district, than by calling people of certain states by names.
Image Credits: Google Images

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Explosion of culinary flavours | Events Movie

When it comes to Goa, there is so much to look for — from traditional music to tasty and yummy food. Last week, Agnel Institute of Food Crafts and Culinary Sciences, Verna, hosted its second edition of Miguel Arcanjo Culinary Awards 2019 for the student who excels in Goan Cuisine. A total of 11 hospitality Institutes participated- out of which the best three were awarded with training/job offer letter at various starred hotels around Goa.
Principal Alphonso Pereira tells us, “We need to encourage students and popularise Goan cuisine because most of the local students want to learn continental cuisine and go abroad. However they need to consider that being from Goa, a lot of customers want to try out local or regional cuisines. Not many restaurants serve traditional food and this can be a great scope for our kids.” Some unique Goan preparations by participating student chefs were Beef Roulade, Goan Sausage Pulao, Bebinca , Balchao Bhakri, Chicken Assade with Veg Fried Potato, Alle Belle , Three Way Rissois, Bolo San Rival, Stuffed Squids Rechado with Prawns, Crab Xec Xec, Seradura. Tissreo Danghar, Prawn Rechado, Goan Spiced Kingfish, Molotov, Toddy Fermented Goan Bread, Pinapple Udha Methi and many more.
Jason Fernandes, of VM Salgaocar Institute of International Hospitality Education, who won the first place for the display of Goan cuisine, says, “I tried to bring out the true flavours in my cooking. There were a lot of alterations I had made — for instance, in the beef roulade, instead of potato, I used sweet potato and maddi chips, and breadfruit mash. For dessert, I made an almost forgotten sweet — Bolo Sans Rival — which is the Goan Portuguese sweet cake made with cashews and butter cream.
Jonathan Pinto , who received the overall winner’s prize, says , “Our food is very rich and and has great flavours, what I tried to do with my cuisine is present it in a way that will appeal to the Indian and foreign clientele. For starters I prepared Prawn Balchao and served it with flat bread and cauliflower puree garnished with coriander. The main course had a Chicken Asado, which is usually made with pork and beef — but I used the same marination. For dessert, it was Alle Belle served with cream sauces.”

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Nepalese chef R.B. serves up delectable fare at Ni Hao

The News Scroll 24 March 2019 Last Updated at 11:40 am | Source: IANS Nepalese chef R.B. serves up delectable fare at Ni Hao Outlook March 24, 2019 11:40 IST Nepalese chef R.B. serves up delectable fare at Ni Hao outlookindia.com 1970-01-01T05:30:00+0530
Noida, March 24 If proof were required of an Indian homily that translates into “there’s magic in his hands” it is to be found in Nepalese master chef R.B., who weaves magic with his pan-Asian creations at the Ni Hao fine diner at the Radisson here.
“I believe in always carrying a positive attitude,” the largely self-taught R.B, who graduated from Nepal’s Shri Chandra Jyoti Pokhara University, explained.
“You’ve got to have a feeling for food and convey that to your guests,” R.B., who has 19 years under his belt and has worked at a variety of five-stars across India, and also as head chef of a fine diner in Singapore, told as he served up a lightly-spiced pan fried slit chilly chicken that was done just right.
“The trick lies in the marination,” R.B. beamed.
While I contemplatively chewed on the starter, with a red wine on the side, it gave me a chance to take in the authentic Chinese decor in a mix of light bloomy colours like pink, beige, white and lavender.
The chairs and sofas are handcrafted out of special bamboos and a huge Chinese chandelier hanging from the centre of the 50-cover restaurant, with smaller ones along the walls, made for an incredibly cosy ambience while soft Chinese music played in the background.
In the midst of my reverie, caused partly by the open kitchen, two appetisers – Peking duck with pancake and a combination of prawn, duck, lamb, chicken, pork and fish dimsums quitely arrived at the table.
All of this quickly disappeared and it was only then that one realised that given the variety of meats, there was absolutely no clash of flavours.
“This is what I meant by saying that you’ve got to conveny to your guests your feeling for food,” R.B. explained.
“What also helps is the fact that the Peking duck is our signature dish,” Taslim Khan, the restaurant manager, added.
As is the wont with such cuisine, a chimney pot chicken soup was up next with tasters’ helpings of the main course: steamed fish with black bean sauce; stir-fried prawn with scallop in X.O. sauce and stir-fried pork with Oriental greens with soya garlic sauce.
In all this, what really stood out was the soft, chewy and crunchy prawns. Once again, the condiments blended seamlessly, aided of course by the red wine.
I threw up my hands after this repast but R.B. would have none of it and insisted I try his signature desert – fried ice-cream.
“We set the ice-cream balls rock hard, harder than is usually done. Then, just before serving we dip the ball in a batter and fry it in shallow heat.”
And what an adventure it turned out to be – slicing through the covering and devouring it with the ice cream. Suddenly, a second helping appeared.
“Your face said ‘yeh dil mange more’ so here it is,” R.B. beamed.
One couldn’t have asked for a better end to a sumptious meal.
FAQs:
Where: Radisson Hotel, Sector 55 Noida.
Cost for two: Rs 5,000 (without alcohol)
Timings:- 12 noon to 3 p.m. for lunch; 7 p.m. to 11:30 p.m. for dinner.
Vishnu Makhijani visited NiHao at its invitation. He can be reached at vishnu.makhijani@ians.in)

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Rebelicious

Arts and Culture The Social Order
I t’s September, the sky is blue over the Communist suburbs of Paris, and revolutionary music is pumping from every speaker in Georges Valbon Park in La Courneuve. Someone was making a killing on Che Rebel Spirit energy drink, for which I developed a taste. It packed a big caffeine punch.
The French Communist Party (Parti Communiste Français, or PCF) was holding its annual Fête de l’Humanité, a three-day bash to raise money for its daily newspaper. The PCF was a powerful force in France well into the 1970s—sometimes the largest party on the left in national elections. In 1977, at the height of its influence, it controlled 147 municipalities in the Paris urban area. After the Berlin Wall fell, its electoral support collapsed.
Originally, the fete was just for party members and sympathizers. In the 1960s, they flung open the gates to show that Communists were just normal folk. The strategy paid off: it was the music, not the Marxism, that got the crowd hopping. The organizers waved good-bye to the poncho-wearing panpipe player and created a major music festival—one attended, this year, by 600,000 people, many of whom camped outside the park. This year’s attractions included the Molotov Brothers and Skunks’n’Noses.
It’s a culinary festival, too: all of the Party’s 95 departmental federations and local cells have stands offering regional gastronomy. In the Village du Monde , Marxist groupuscules show off Marxist international cuisine, which is just like international cuisine, beneath posters of political prisoners.
I stopped at a booth where they were selling hand-blown Palestinian glassware and asked the revolutionary manning the till what Communism meant to him. He looked unsure, and then said that it was about being different. “You can be a bourgeois, or you can think differently,” he said.
“But I don’t have a choice,” I said. “Marx says I am a bourgeoise.”
“Well, you choose to be. That’s your choice.”
The fete also featured exhibitions, lectures, and debates, including “May 68: The Inexpressible Hope,” “Paris Against Uberization,” and the debut of a cartoon book called The Rich on Trial , about “the naked oligarchy unleashed by Macron’s presidency.” In the children’s section, kids learned to program robots and “crayon cooperatively.” There was a book village; a forum where one could struggle against sexist, homophobic, and transphobic comportment; a booth where one could learn to have an eco-orgasm; and a sports village where, “under the banner of solidarity,” the games—from chess to Zumba—had been “diversified and made accessible to all.”
Leftist luminaries like economist Yanis Varoufakis were expected to attend. Benoît Hamon, the Socialist Party’s 2017 presidential candidate, had already shown up. France’s most prominent leftist, Jean-Luc Mélenchon of La France Insoumise, was boycotting the festival, owing to LFI’s feud with the PCF.
I had come with my Franco-American friend Arun, who’d been to the fete a few times in his salad years. We brought our young Turkish-American friend, Esin, who is cynical about revolution, after years working on the Syrian border with an NGO that tries to “strengthen efforts in Syria to build a peaceful and inclusive future.”
La Courneuve is part of the Red Belt, a ring of Parisian suburbs traditionally run by the PCF. When Baron Haussmann renovated Paris in the nineteenth century, he sought to expel from the city center “ les classes dangereuses .” Factories later grew outside Paris, and the state erected behemoth public-housing complexes for their workers. This completed the segregation of les classes dangereuses , increasingly made up of immigrants, trapping them in poverty for generations. These decisions were made at the highest levels of government, so the PCF cannot entirely be blamed for La Courneuve’s miserable condition. Nonetheless, it is miserable. According to ville-ideale.fr , its “positive points” are its vast park (ideal for running), its diplomatic-affairs archive, and its proximity to public transportation. Its negative points include incessant crime and vandalism, the stench of the sewers, the ugliness of the project housing, and infernal noise from the scooters and motorcycles.
N one of this was notable, though, as we joined the crowds approaching the fete. Clearly, no one from La Courneuve was invited: a ticket at the gate cost 45 euros. Esin and I hadn’t realized that it would be so expensive. Arun was embarrassed. He had banked on finding scalpers. “Usually, there are militants here who sell cheap tickets,” he grumbled. A few approached us, but their prices were too high. A ticket gave you access to all three days, but we were there only for one afternoon, so it seemed ridiculous to pay full price.
“I don’t understand their business model,” Esin said. “Why wouldn’t they have access to cheaper tickets?” She was worried about being scammed.
“Don’t ask questions,” the scalper said.
“If I don’t understand the business model, I’m not buying them.”
We figured it out after watching. The scalpers found other people who just wanted to go for a day as they were on their way out of the festival, bought their tickets, and then sold them to people like us.
“Why don’t the organizers just sell day passes?” Esin said. “You’d think they’d make more money that way.” The place was mobbed.
“Why would they?” I said. “They’re clearly not having any trouble selling them at full price.” Arun was vexed. “Don’t worry about me,” I said at last. “I can expense it.” I figured my ticket would become a cherished collectors’ item at City Journal .
As I waited for Arun and Esin to get their wristbands, I began my research. “Are you a Communist?” I asked a French Territorial Army soldier standing watch on the interior of the fairgrounds. There were two of them, with a few more outside, and they were the only sign I saw that the state took any interest in the event. A harried, roly-poly man with a few wisps of blond hair and ruddy cheeks stood at the gate, wearing a yellow vest that said “ Sécurité ,” but he’d been privately contracted by the festival. Maybe there were plainclothes cops inside, but I didn’t spot them. The ticket price provided the security, really. If you could afford it—plus the 40-odd euros you’d inevitably spend on Rebel Spirit energy drinks, Humanity Candles hand-poured by marginalized Guatemalan women; ResistⒶnce! and Nous sommes les 99%! T-shirts, hoodies, and tank tops (sweatshop-free, ethically sourced); videos, books, and a lobster with fries for whom the Revolution came too late—you’re not a serious threat to public order.
The soldier’s face creased into a droll smile. “What does Communism mean?”
“Well, that’s what I want to know.”
“I’m neutral. I’m neither for nor against it,” he said, keeping an eye on the crowd.
“Well, what do you think about the French Revolution?”
This question interested him more. “It was necessary. Without it, we wouldn’t be where we are. It got rid of the ancien régime. But they had a revolution and then they colonized Africa, non ?” His accent suggested that he had grown up in or near Paris. I didn’t ask where his parents or grandparents were from. I don’t ask rude questions of men who are clearly there to remind me that the state has a monopoly on violence. The two soldiers carried the French territorial army’s standard-issue rifle, the FAMAS. They were friendly, but they, alone, among that vast crowd, looked as if they’d given the idea of killing—efficiently, in large numbers—some thought.
Arun and Esin finally got through the lines and to the Agora of Humanity, where we agreed to meet if we were separated. Next to the Agora stood a massive Che Rebel Spirit energy drink stand. I was thirsty. “Consumed iced, or mixed in revolutionary cocktails, Che Rebel Spirit perfectly combines that ‘Rebel’ feeling with a unique and ‘Delicious’ taste,” said the brochure. “Be the first to discover a new REBELICIOUS energy drink!”
“What does Communism mean to you?” I asked the guy restocking their coolers. He gave me a big shrug, a wide smile, and said what most people did: aucune idée —absolutely no idea. So I asked the kid who sold me an icy Rebel Spirit. “It’s being against capitalism,” he told me. He also told me that the Perrier would be a euro, or I could have Evian for 50 centimes. Or guarana juice: 1.50 euros. Three kinds of beer were on tap, but I wasn’t sure about the toilet situation, so I decided to pass.
C he’s face was on posters, drinks, T-shirts, and tattoos, but Castro was invisible. So was Stalin. So, for that matter, was Lenin. Che was the man. The real Che would have executed everyone at the festival.
We wandered past the Lutte Ouvrière stand. Arun told me that I should make a point of speaking to them. They were a hardcore Trotskyist sect, he said, whose members need the Party’s authorization to marry and have children. Permission was rarely granted, for fear that it would detract from activism.
The two young guys manning the Lutte Ouvrière stand were earnest, warm, and starved for female companionship. The music was so loud that we had to get very close to hear each other. “There’s a crisis of capitalism,” said the first one, as well-fed people walked by, taking selfies to post to Instagram.
I asked the obvious questions: Stalin, Mao, North Korea, gulags, famines, slavery.
“No—for us, Communism has nothing to do, nothing, with those regimes. They were bloody caricatures of a Communist regime.”
“So what does it mean to you to be a Communist?”
“To be a Communist means to defend the idea of a revolutionary overthrow of capitalist society by the proletariat, to build a world led by the population itself.”
“Isn’t that what they said?”
“Yes, but they didn’t do it.”
“Why do you think you’d do better?”
“It wasn’t the right time—they didn’t have the right kind of society for it yet.”
“Is there any successful model for the kind of Communism you have in mind?”
He shook his head—not yet. “But we can’t keep going this way. Unemployment, economic crises, famine, wars, the exhaustion of resources . . . how can this be?” He was sensitive to suffering.
I made the points I make to everyone, including myself, when I think about the world’s pain. Absolute poverty has massively declined, not risen. Life expectancies have risen. We’ve mastered many epidemic diseases, and we will cure more. All this was because of, not despite, capitalism. Capitalism was the natural human state, I said to him. It was what people did, normally. The only way to stop people from behaving that way was through massive repression—this is why the revolutions were “hijacked.”
“No, it can’t be our natural state. Everyone knows this is wrong.”
“What about the terrible disrespect for the dead, though, when you use all this Communist stuff?” I asked, pointing to the books at his stand with their hammer-and-sickle logos. “Why not stop calling yourself a Communist, and call yourself something else? No one is going to want to hear your ideas for improving the world if you call yourself a Communist. No one wants gulags.”
“Because, no, the idea was right. Marx was right about class conflict, about capitalism’s internal contradictions. You can’t improve capitalism. All you can do is maybe make it bearable enough that the Revolution doesn’t come right away. But you can’t fix it.” Marx was too compelling to abandon. History was unfolding just as he predicted.
“What did Marx say about the Internet?”
“Good question, yeah? Yeah, he didn’t predict that. Right.”
T he music was so loud that I could communicate only by getting close and shouting. Otherwise, I would have asked the Trot to come with me to the China booth to see if he could help me figure out why the Chinese believed so firmly that they had had a Communist revolution.
The China booth had mega-screen televisions showing scenes of Chinese parks. They sold panda trinkets and key chains. No one seemed interested in them. I asked a woman selling panda trinkets whether she’d like to teach me about the philosophy of the Chinese Communist Party. “No, no,” she said apologetically. “I don’t know anything about it. I work for the festival.”
North Korea had no booth.
There were quiet areas for lectures and discussions, but the energy didn’t seem to be there; it was in the open field, where the massive crowd was rocking out to the sound of Manu Le Malin. Soon to come, according to the program, was Soviet Suprem: “Soviet Suprem and their dancing revolution are ready to Party! Get ready for a Molotov cocktail of rock, electro, and punk that will leave you with no choice but to salute the stage!”
Almost everyone at the festival seemed to grasp that this was all absurd—that it was impossible to tell where parody began and ended. A glowing-eyed Trotskyist sold me a glass of guarana juice. “But what about the collective farms?” I asked him, beneath a blaring speaker. He had a beautiful smile with perfect white teeth, spiky black hair, and a paunch. “Yes, they will be magnifiques !” he beamed, bouncing to the electro-beats.
Yet some were true believers. “Don’t you see any irony in this?” I asked a young Communist—literally, his T-shirt identified him as a member of the Young Communist Party—working the concessions stand near the concert area.
He gave me a whaddya-gonna-do shrug. “I know. The system is everywhere. We can’t escape it.”
“But why are you trying to? It looks like everyone’s enjoying it.”
“Yes, yes, this is fun, but outside, there are millions of people living in précarité —it can’t go on like this.”
“What’s the alternative to the system?”
“Revolution, of course!”
“When will the Revolution come?”
His eyes grew slightly moist. “It could happen any day. “All of a sudden”—he snapped his fingers, thwap , to show how fast—“people will wake up. They say that before it happens, no one understands how a revolution is possible. But after it happens, no one will understand why it took so long!”
There was no confusion, among anyone I spoke with, about what had happened in Russia, China, and everywhere else that’s had a Communist revolution. The Believers were of one mind: those weren’t real Communist revolutions. The people weren’t ready. They weren’t educated. It was supposed to happen in Germany, not Russia. Wrong place, wrong time. China? “China didn’t even have a revolution,” another Communist told me. “It had a civil war, and the warlord who won called himself a Communist. But China didn’t even have a bourgeoisie.”
They reminded me of the Christian sect members who bet the farm on April 23, packed the kids and the dogs in the car, and drove the family from Maryland to California for the Rapture—only to wake up and discover that the world was just like it was on April 22. The text is inerrant, but the people who read it make mistakes.
S ince the Wall fell, the PCF’s platform has changed in almost every aspect. It was once structured as a Leninist revolutionary party. It rejected all criticism of the Soviet Union. After 1994, though, led by Robert Hue, the PCF’s internal organization and ideology were overhauled. Hue rejected the Soviet Union as a “perversion” of the Communist model and unambiguously rejected Stalinism.
In the 1970s, the PCF had vilified homosexuality and feminism as “the rubbish of capitalism.” Now, it stands for gender parity and same-sex marriage. In 1981, the PCF mayor of Vitry-sur-Seine destroyed a refuge for Malian migrant workers because cheap imported labor, he said, was a scam to shaft the working classes. Today, the PCF supports regularizing illegal immigrants.
The one consistency in the PCF’s ideology is its staunch opposition to capitalism, which must be “overcome,” because the “exhausted” system is “on the verge of collapse.” The Party interprets globalization as confirmation of Marx and Engels’s predictions about the inevitable evolution of capitalism, and sees evidence for this in the financial crisis and the Great Recession. It is vague about how capitalism will be overcome and what will replace it, but it fiercely denounces capitalism as leading to “barbarism, domination and hatred,” “savage competition,” and “the devastation of the planet.”
Despite the Communist kitsch, the PCF is essentially conservative—so much so that its members won’t even stop calling themselves Communists. Its members feel sympathy, to be sure, for brotherly movements in foreign lands, but little more than that. Its raison d’être now is to protect established social benefits and traditions in France and to insulate French workers from globalization and technological change. At some level, the Party understands that the real revolution—the one that historians will be debating for millennia—has happened already, in Silicon Valley. The Internet and the smartphone have put all the information in the world in everyone’s hands. The significance of the revolution? Too soon to say. But clearly, it frightens the PCF.
Whenever I asked about the gulags, the reeducation camps, the killing fields, they emphatically denied that their ideology had any connection to that. “We’re not murderers like them—French Communism has never been about murdering people,” said one. He’s right: French Communists have been a moderate force in France, even counterrevolutionary. In May 1968, the Party supported the workers but denounced the revolutionary student movements. Communist-controlled municipalities, according to one 1975 study, spent about 35 percent less than those the other parties controlled.
Communists from abroad who joined the Party here are quite another story. Among them were Pol Pot, Ho Chi Minh, Deng Xiaoping, Zhou Enlai, Laurent-Désiré Kabila, and Enver Hoxha, none of whom entered the annals of history as political herbivores. They stole the revolutions, apparently.
T he fete’s biggest attraction really was the food—it all looked so good, it was hard to choose. The Perigord Communists were promoting their terroir with duck breasts, porcini mushrooms, and 1,300 varieties of confit, all 38 tons of it transported from the Dordogne on refrigerated trucks. On Woody Guthrie Avenue, the Communists from Loire-Atlantique were selling oysters by the dozen, accompanied by a glass of Muscadet, and bringing out trays of seafood—lobster, crab, and shrimp—for 60 euros a plate. On Rosa Parks Avenue, the Jura Communists were serving fondue, competing with the Savoie Communists on Karl Marx Avenue, who made their fondue with Savoie tomme . For 30 euros, you could get a Communist entrecôte bordelaise with a foie gras appetizer and cannelés for dessert; the wine, from the nearby stand dedicated to the wines of the region, was separate. It’s a shame that the Venezuelans couldn’t send a representative this year; one would have liked to know more about what they eat.
I listened to part of a panel debate. An Algerian writer, Yahia Belaskri, described his research into the demographic collapse of the colonized Algerian population under the Fourth Republic. I was moved by his description of the cruelty, which is no more a matter of serious historical debate than the cruelty of Communism. Midway through, a young man from the audience walked haltingly to the stage and asked for the microphone. His grandfather, he said, had fought in Algeria—he was a normal man, an ordinary guy, not a monster at all. And “they suffered too, they were machine-gunned,” the young man added. His speech was slightly slurred. He was warmly received. There was an unspoken understanding that the working classes had been pitted against the working classes; there were no heroes or villains in the story. I could see the utility of viewing history this way.
He stumbled off the stage. Esin, who had just sat down beside me, hadn’t heard the speech. “Is he drunk?” she asked.
“No, I think he’s handicapped.”
“Oh.” She rearranged her face to look less judgmental.
It was a warm Indian-summer afternoon. I stopped for a plastic glassful of Liberation Ginger Punch, made, said the man who sold it to me, with hand-grated ginger from Mali. It was too loud for me to ask how flying ginger from Mali to La Courneuve reduced the festival’s carbon footprint.
The PKK (Partiya Karkerên Kurdistanê, or Kurdistan Workers’ Party, deemed a terrorist group by the Turkish government and our own) had at least two booths. The PKK is illegal in France, but we agreed that the French state’s approach—let everyone have their booth, they’re doing no harm—was the right one. There was lots of solidarity with Palestine, Mali, and Algeria. The Turkish and Kurdish Communists got along fine. So did the Moroccan and Algerian Communists. Israelis and Palestinians would have made peace there, had there been an Israeli booth.
I made myself remember the bombs that the PKK had detonated in my neighborhood in Istanbul, and how I hated them for it.
No one at the fete remotely resembled a party to any of the conflicts in question. Everyone looked well nourished, healthy, and French. There was no hint of the blood that had been shed in the name of the revolutionaries whose books adorned the stands and banners. Even the hammers and sickles looked like retro cartoons.
T he crowd settled into its cups. One tent, representing the longtime Communist stronghold of Limousin, was playing the Village People: “ It’s fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A! ” Everyone was jumping and dancing.
The sun began dipping on the horizon. A Communist pizzeria was playing “Benalla Ciao”: “ Mi son alzato, O Benalla ciao, Benalla ciao, Benalla ciao, ciao, ciao .” A group of happy teenagers came by, belting out the Internationale, a young woman riding piggyback on her comrade’s shoulders. “ C’est la lutte finale ” . . . . I expected Esin to join me in the chorus. I thought it was an international reflex, like jumping and dancing when you hear “YMCA.” But I realized that she didn’t know the words. “ Groupons-nous et demain . . . .”
I told Esin and Arun that they should stay and enjoy the party, but I was getting tired. A little bit of the fete goes a long way. Arun and Esin agreed. They decided to come back with me. The crowds were so thick that it was hard to find the exit. I suddenly realized that Arun was marching determinedly past the Agora of Humanity. “Arun!” I shouted, worried I’d lose him in the crowd. “Come back! We made the revolution.” As I waited for Arun to make the counterrevolution, I thought of V. S. Naipaul’s lines about Universal Civilization: “It cannot generate fanaticism. But it is known to exist; and because of that, other more rigid systems in the end blow away.”
This was the Universal Civilization. But there was something else. The culture—the equality between men and women, the flirtation, the irony, the sense that it was all an inside joke, the complicity—was unmistakably French. France had taken 600,000 men and women of all ages, sexes, ethnic origins, nationalisms, and murderous political views, thrown them into a park in a suburb everyone knows to be a sewer, and safely policed them with a few men of (probably) West African origin. People had come from every corner of the Empire, and France had turned them all into Frenchmen. Elsewhere, they’d be killing each other briskly, but here they were dancing and reminiscing and eating well, with good local wines. How much more powerful and compelling France was, I thought, as an idea— liberté, égalité, fraternité, gastronomie, ironie —than Communism, which, for all the blood spilled, now means nothing.
On our way out, I saw the same beleaguered security guard in the yellow vest. “You’re still here!” I said with surprise. It seemed a long shift.
“Still here.” He looked exhausted.
“No break? All day? When does the Revolution come for you?”
“Ask the cocos ,” he said ruefully, pointing at the tipsy crowd. But they were busy flirting and dancing and singing revolutionary songs. They had forgotten him. Claire Berlinski , editor, is a freelance writer who lives in Paris.
Top Photo: Visitors to the festival’s booths can buy everything from hand-blown Palestinian glassware to Che Rebel Spirit energy drink. (NICOLAS MESSYASZ/SIPA/NEWSCOM)

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포항포장이사 저렴한곳

포항포장이사 저렴한곳 안녕하세요 여러분! 즐거운 수요일 보내고 계시나요? 다들 이사할 때 어떤 포항포장이사 이사를 하시나요!? 그냥 일반이사가 있고 반포장이사, 포장이사 등 종류가 다양하게 있는데요. 이러한 포장이사를 하려고 할 때! 업체를 선정할 때 유의할점에는 포항포장이사 어떤 것들이 있을까요? 오늘은 그 점에 대해서 알아보는 시간을 가지려고 합니다.
Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified An easy chicken biryani recipe that needs only 10 ingredients and 1 pot Among our small group of friends, Steph and I are known as that couple that foolishly spends every penny on travels just to eat, so we always get asked for restaurant recommendations on any random city someone is visiting, even if there’s no way we’ve ever been there or plan on ever going there. For London, we’re actually able to answer, and we always have a laundry list of restaurants we give. Usually we’ll get a response back that goes along the lines of “are you crazy? I’m only there for 2 days” and then we’ll reluctantly pull out our A-list of top 3 restaurants you have to visit when you come to London: Harwood Arms, The Bar at Clove Club, and Dishoom. Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com If you know Indian food, or you know London, you’re probably thinking “Two of these restaurants are fantastic and well regarded, but one is rubbish, why is it on this list?” It’s true, Dishoom is not the greatest Indian restaurant in London. It’s got fake lineups, its food is watered down, and there are probably hundreds of hole-in-the-walls that are better than Dishoom for less money. But Dishoom is an experience – look at that menu, there’s Chicken Tikka Rolls and Gunpowder Potatoes. They’ve got drinks, interesting food, and a great story. If there is one thing (food-wise) London does incredibly well, it’s their well-run fantastically designed tiny chains like Hawksmoor for steaks or Ottolenghi for Middle Eastern. These tiny chains carve out a niche and fill it incredibly well in a way that everyone feels welcome. Dishoom is Ottolenghi for Indian food, and it’s wonderful. One of my favorite things on Dishoom’s menu is their Biryani. Like all great dishes of great cuisines, Biryani has multitudes of regional variations and recipes, and there is really no correct method. This version is like if chicken and rice decided to get together and try to make a lasagna. It’s got layers of rice and soft perfectly cooked chicken. It’s got bits of crispy rice/soccarat where the rice was slightly scorched from touching the cast iron dutch oven. It’s spicy if you like spiciness, and it’s just generally the greatest thing. If you’re excited, click here to skip to the recipe, otherwise, read on for some food geekiness. Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com Dishoom is releasing a cookbook next year, and you can be sure Steph and I will be cooking from it, but meanwhile, I found this recipe online and heavily edited it. I’ve made it twice now, once for an Indian food party and again just because it was so good (and I’m going to make it a third time after this post goes up, because writing it made me want more). Unlike the original version, this one only has 10 ingredients and is really simple to make. I’ve made the original as well, I’m pretty sure that besides being easier and much much faster, most people will agree this version tastes better. Some notes: •Sometimes the commercial product is better than homemade, and fried onions and shallots are one of those things. Very few home cooks can match the quality of commercially fried onions. They’re available everywhere (we actually got ours from Ikea of all places), but if you can’t find them, replace with onions or shallots fried until crispy and golden brown. •The yogurt we used was Greek yogurt. Indians would use dahi, which is basically a yogurt by another name, and Greek yogurt gives the best consistency for this marinade. •Properly, cumin should be toasted in a dry pan and crushed with a mortar and pestle. If you have time for that, you should do so, but I made this once that way and once with ground cumin, and there was not that much difference. •Flat Leaf Parsley vs Cilantro: I made this with both because some people hate cilantro and I wanted to know if it made much of a difference if you sub. The answer is, no, both versions were delicious and you should use the one you like. •I did it once with boneless, skinless chicken thighs and once with bone-in, skin-on. The bone-in skin-on version was way better (surprise) but the boneless skinless version was much easier to eat. If you go bone-in skin-on, you should cut the thighs into thirds, or something resembling bite sized pieces. •The saffron is only for color and isn’t necessary. We always have saffron in our house, but saffron is expensive and it’s not totally necessary. If you skip it, but have turmeric sitting around, I’d add a 1/4 teaspoon turmeric to the cream. •The 1/4 cup of diced onions are definitely an optional ingredient. The second time around, I had the onions sitting around from something I made earlier that day and added it so it wouldn’t take up room in our tiny fridge. It was amazing and added a lot, so it’s here, but I don’t think anyone should go out and buy an onion. It’s not in Dishoom’s version. It’s just really good. •Finally, the red pepper and jalepeno. The first time, I skipped both and it tasted ok. The second time, I used two teapsoons of something called Red Chili Powder Extra Hot from an Indian spice company and a fresh jalepeno and it was amazing. To be completely honest, it was also really spicy for both of us (and we eat spicy foods) until the next day when it somehow mellowed out, but both are optional ingredients for a reason. This recipe calls for a blender, but if you don’t have a blender or a food processor, just roughly chop the parsley or cilantro and slice the rest. I cooked this in a dutch oven and truly, it’s the best cooking vessel to use. You get this amazing soccarat on the sides, and the heavy lid keeps the steam inside. I probably should have also tested a conventional stainless steel pan, but I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. If you follow the recipe without scaling, you’ll need something that can hold at least 2.5 quarts. Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com Being December, I can honestly say this is one of the best things I’ve made this year, and I really hope you try this and bring a little taste of London and inauthentic Indian food home for the holidays (and the rest of the year too). -Mike Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified | www.iamafoodblog.com Dishoom’s Chicken Biryani Recipe, Simplified Serves 4Prep Time: 15 minutesCooking Time: 1 hour 15 minutesTotal Time: 1 hour 30 minutes Ingredients •1 tablespoon fried onions •1 cup yogurt •1/2 head of garlic, peeled (about 6 cloves) •1” ginger, peeled & sliced •1 tablespoon ground cumin •1 cup cilantro or flat leaf parsley •1.5-2 lbs chicken thighs •2 cups basmati rice •1/4 cup heavy cream •1-2 teaspoons red chili powder (optional) •1 jalapeno (optional) •1 pinch of saffron (optional) •1/4 cup diced onions (optional) 1. Preheat your oven to 450ºF 2. Optional Step: If you’re using saffron (or turmeric), combine with the cream and set aside. 3. In a blender, make a marinade by adding the fried onions, yogurt, garlic, ginger, cumin, cilantro/parsley, and 2 teaspoons of salt. If you’re using a jalapeno or the red chili powder, add it now too. Puree until smooth, then combine with the chicken in a bowl, mix well and set aside. 4. In a 2 quart or larger dutch oven (or similar oven-proof pot with a tight fitting lid), bring 4 cups of water and a good pinch of salt to a boil. When the water is at a boil, add the basmati rice and cook for 5 minutes, than drain into a fine mesh sieve. If you don’t have a sieve, try to carefully drain as well as you can and transfer to a bowl. 5. In your now empty dutch oven, put down 1 layer of chicken, then cover with half the rice, then half the cream, half the onions if using, then repeat with the remaining chicken, rice, cream, and onions again. 6. Cover and bake for 1 hour, then remove from the oven and allow to sit for 15 minutes before opening. Mix well and serve with extra fried onions, yogurt, and chopped flat leaf parsley or cilantro. See More dishoom indian 10 Comments Gal says: December 6, 2018 at 6:51 am Sounds so yummy. Would it work well with chicken breasts? Thanks Reply Mike says: December 8, 2018 at 10:22 am Yes it would! Reply Stephanie says: December 6, 2018 at 10:05 am make it again xoxo steph Reply mfw says: December 6, 2018 at 10:10 am Looks delicious. Do you use whole bone in, skin on chicken thighs? Thanks in advance! Reply Mike says: December 8, 2018 at 10:22 am I used both whole bone-in skin on chicken thighs as well as boneless. the bone-in were way better. Reply Avani says: December 6, 2018 at 10:24 am looks yum! mentally trying to think if I can put this in my instant pot Reply Mike says: December 8, 2018 at 10:22 am you totally can, and you can probably skip parboiling the rice too Reply Bob says: December 8, 2018 at 3:37 pm Do you cook the rice with lid on or off? Reply Mike says: December 8, 2018 at 4:35 pm The first 5 minute parboil, lid off. Before it goes in the oven, lid on. Reply Allison says: January 7, 2019 at 9:06 am

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Qatar- Action-packed week at QIFF

Gulf Times) Following the dazzling opening ceremony on March 20 and a fun-packed weekend, the 10th edition of Qatar International Food Festival (QIFF) continues until March 30, attracting food lovers and fun seekers residing in and visiting Qatar. Festival-goers have the chance throughout this week to ‘enjoy food, festivities and tantalising experiences with celebrity chefs from 3pm to midnight, Saturday-Wednesday, and from 3pm to 1am on Thursday and Friday, according to a press statement. Kicking off this week, visitors will see seven celebrity chefs in the Cooking Theatre today, including Fatafeat’s Salma Soliman, Kuwaiti chef Jameela Allenqawi and famous Indian chef Saranch Goila. Tomorrow, Zarmig Haldjian, chef Hasan and Jason Atherton will also join the live cooking theatre. On Tuesday, festival-goers can watch the best of Arabic cuisines from Noora al-Kuwari, Tasneem al-Nasrallah and chef Belkhams with Rusly Ahmad introducing Sri Lankan cuisine to the platform. On Wednesday, Stephane Bucholzer of W Hotel will demonstrate his exclusive recipes and, to wrap up the week, Food Network’s popular celebrity chefs from South Africa Jenny Morris and Siba Mtongana will join the cooking theatre on Thursday. Culinary aspirants can also join their favourite celebrity chefs from Fatafeat and Food Network for cooking masterclasses taking place at Education City’s Chef’s Garden restaurant. Registration is free and can be made by contacting Chef’s Garden restaurant directly. Mtongana’s masterclasses take place on Wednesday (March 27) at 1pm and Friday (March 29) at 10am; the Morris masterclasses take place on Tuesday (March 26) at 12noon and Friday (March 29) at 1pm; Soliman’s masterclasses take place on Tuesday (March 26) and Wednesday (March 27) at 10am. People can also take advantage of the weather and the outdoor Qatar International Food Festival 2019 and work on their photography skills with advanced photography workshops led by professional food stylist and photographer Mohamed al-Ansari on March 28, 29 and 30 from 5.30pm until 8.30pm at Education City’s Oxygen Park. Those interested can register now at https://www.eventbrite.com/e/59262152694 Festival-goers can skip the parking and get to Oxygen Park by using Uber. The ridesharing service is offering 50% off on four rides to users using the promocode QIFF2019.
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6 Hidden Restaurant Gems in Phoenix

Irma’s Kitchen 906 North 15th Avenue At Irma’s Kitchen, a nook on 15th Avenue, you can get a sizable Mexican meal for a good price. Things start with chips and salsa. They progress to the main event: chilaquiles, burros, huevos rancheros, taquitos, and so on. Menudo is offered daily. The soup has mellow flavors and a thin, restorative broth that, together with steaming tortillas, will launch you feeling good into your day. Huevos rancheros provide a hearty start to your day. Two eggs smothered in red or green salsa and draped with avocado slices steam on corn tortillas. A mudslide of refried beans slops in one corner of the plate, warm and silky. When you’re hankering for a simple meal, want to pop in and get out, and have zero trendy ambiance requirements, look to Irma’s. One of the great barbecue sandwiches in town. Chris Malloy
JL Smokehouse 1712 East Broadway Road “I got the best pulled pork in the country,” says James Lewis. Lewis runs JL Smokehouse, a year-old barbecue joint in south Phoenix. Meats include pulled pork, brisket, ribs, rib tips, links, chicken, and smoked bologna. The pulled pork is succulent and well-flavored. Lewis’ brisket, too, is very good. It has an endearing abrasiveness, the punch of mesquite and ample black pepper, aggressive flavors where less brash joints might try to pull back and showcase the complexity of the meat. Ribs are another of Lewis’s standouts. His rib tips are delicious, and by far the most rustic menu item. The workmanlike past of American barbecue is present in Lewis’s style – the bold flavors, the robust smoke, the style oozing from a man happy to be cooking good food. A spinach bourek cut. Jasenko Osmic likes to dip them in the Balkan Bakery’s tart yogurt. Chris Malloy
Balkan Bakery 1107 East Bell Road Balkan Bakery, a family spot in north Phoenix, bakes dark rye bread, crescent-shaped pretzels, baklava, and, best of all, a hypnotically comforting bourek — a filled pastry shaped like a butterfly’s tongue. Jasenko Osmic, co-owner of the bakery, grew up eating bourek in his native Bosnia. He has run the bakery with his father, Bakir, and sister Aldijana for 10 years. Balkan Bakery offers three kinds of bourek: cheese, beef, and spinach. The pale bottom is soft and moist where its cheese has leaked during baking. The burnished brown of a soft pretzel colors the top. As you eat toward the middle, each bite varies in texture. Soft. Hard. Bits in between. A simple but rich filling bursts from flaky, coiled tubes of phyllo dough. “This is one of the staple foods of Bosnia,” Jasenko says. “You eat it breakfast, lunch. It’s an all-day food.” Stewed chicken, house-made cheese, cabbage, and greens on injera. Chris Malloy
Authentic Ethio African 1740 East McDowell Road Despite an awning striped with the green, yellow, and red of Ethiopia’s flag, Authentic Ethio African, a really tasty Ethiopian restaurant, is hiding in plain sight on 18th and McDowell streets. The restaurant is virtually a “ghost restaurant,” an eatery that does strictly takeout and delivery. Many of the to-go orders are for clear bags stacked with thin, chestnut-colored pancakes. These are the ubiquitous Ethiopian flatbread known as injera, and they are the heartbeat of Ethiopian cuisine. Authentic Ethio offers numerous combo platters that feature preparations served atop injera. Vegetable options include split peas, lentils, collards, and cabbage and carrots yellow with turmeric. Animal options include chicken, beef, and fish (the chicken is dynamite). Authentic Ethio also sells uncooked Ethiopian specialties to go, coffee beans, lentils, flax seeds, turmeric, and other spices. You shouldn’t expect full-service comforts, but there is great food to be found under the striped awning. Fry bread with honey and powdered sugar at Indian Village. Susana Orozco 6746 East Cave Creek Road, Cave Creek If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters. SHOW ME HOW

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My Bumpy Journey – Seventh Month (April)

Before I start speaking about this month, I am gonna post a warning here. If you are a foodie, please refrain from reading this post. This post is sure to give you foodgasm, as I have named it as Swiggying Away Month. So, what are you waiting for? Delve into this delicious post if you wanna read about tons of food.
On April 1st, my mom and I packed all the necessary things needed for our one-month stay at the hotel. We then took off in a cab in the evening. I was really nervous, because I was about to have outside food for a month and also I was returning to work after a three-month sabbatical. While the former dealt with my physical health, the latter dealt with my mental health. I wanted both the food and the work to keep me healthy throughout the month. It was a one-hour journey to the hotel. During the journey, I had reminisces of December 30th, 2017. It was the same way I had traversed from my office to the hospital, when I was bleeding profusely. I associated that way with that bad memory and it would always stay like that. We (my mom, my husband and me) reached the hotel and met the receptionist. He was the one who managed the entire hotel and he was the one who came to our branch for all the bank transactions pertaining to the hotel. So, he knew me well and he flashed me a warm smile. I returned the smile and spoke with him regarding my medical condition. We were given a room on the first floor so that it would be convenient for us, in case we chose to use the staircase.
Room no. 105 it was. It was a small room with a cozy bed, an old-fashioned TV set, a table, two chairs and window AC set. As soon as I entered the room, I checked the closet for its cleanliness. I was particular about hygiene and I always checked that the toilet was neat and clean. We placed our belongings in the room and went down to have dinner in the restaurant. We ordered fish fingers, veg fried rice, chicken fried rice and chicken manchurian gravy. After our sumptuous meal, my husband took leave. At first, my mom and I felt strange to dwell in an unknown area, but the familiar hotel staff served as a reassurance for us. That night, we found that the remote control for our TV was not working properly. One of the staffs changed the batteries for us. We watched some Hindi serials amd whiled away our time.
The next day was Annual Closing Day for the banking sector. So it was a holiday and a lunch was arranged for our branch staff by our Branch Manager at Abu Sarovar Portico Hotel in Kilpauk. My mom and I woke up around 7.45 in the morning and readied ourselves. We then went down to have breakfast which was complimentary during our entire stay. The breakfast consisted of idlis, piping hot sambar, coconut chutney, tomato chutney, vegetable upma, white bread, butter, jam, grape juice and cornflakes with milk. I opted for the idlis with some sambar. Mom too did the same. One of the staffs said that there were freshly-prepared dosas available. We got a few dosas too and dipped them in the sambar and ate to our stomach’s content. After the breakfast, we walked to my office. It was quite a refreshing walk. I met all my colleagues and it was a happy reunion.
Soon, it was lunch time and we headed to the hotel which was situated just opposite our branch. Since my mom was along with me, my Branch Manager invited her for lunch, too. The lunch was an exotic spread consisting of mouth-watering dishes. I gorged on everything in limited amounts, so that I could taste everything. It started with Egg Drop Soup. For the starters, I had one spoonfuls of each of these dishes: Egg Chat, Mexican Chicken, Pasta Salad, Panneer Dry, Lovely Fish (don’t ask me what that means, coz, the board above the dish displayed that name), Chilli Gobi, Sundal Chat and Kimchi Salad. I moved on to the mains with Chicken Kabab, Mutton Biryani, Pepper Chicken, Portuguese Fish (best of the lot), Jeera Rice, Baked Vegetables, Caninal Florentine (I have no idea what this is. Don’t Google it. It leads to Cannibalism), and Panneer Gravy. My favourite part of the lunch – the desserts – consisted of Bread Halwa (I am forever in love with this), Malai Musk Melon, Coconut Pudding, Caramel Custard Pudding, Chocolate Cake and Mixed Fruit Cake. I washed all these off with a glass of Buttermilk. It was quite a heavy lunch and it had been a long time since I had tasted such a sumptuous spread. My mom and I reached our room and had a good siesta.
That week, my workload was rather heavy, as it was the beginning of a new financial year. But my colleague and Branch Manager were kind enough to share it. My relationship with food improved, as I tried out various dishes that were rich gastronomical delights. Food delivery app Swiggy helped me a lot in my food journey. Usually, my dinners consisted of 14 Idlis with Sambar from Hotel Saravana Bhavan or Chole Poori with Channa Gravy from Namma Veedu Vasantha Bhavan. I also had Chicken Fried Rice with Garlic Chicken after a long time. We also had our evening tea and snacks in the hotel where we stayed. The Chicken Cutlet served there was the best ever I had tasted. Once, I ordered a different kind of Maggi from Maggevala for my lunch. My colleague also joined with me on that day. We had Chilli Garlic Maggi and Exotic Veg Maggi. They weren’t that much good, as I felt that they had spoilt the original taste of Maggi. Sometimes, I got my lunch from my grandparents’ home, as my grandfather visited my bank on a few days.
During the first weekend, I visited Express Avenue mall along with my husband. Actually we had planned to go to the beach and just gaze at the sea from a distance (since I was not supposed to walk on sand). However, there were roadblocks going on, which made us traverse and go to the mall instead. I had a nice time at the mall. There was a singing show going on in which singers from a popular reality show participated. In the following weeks, my mom and I visited a pregnancy-specialty temple named Karukathamman Kovil in Chetpet. We also visited the Chetpet Eco Park and spent an hour by the lakeside. Amidst all this, we shared a good rapport with our hotel staff and gained their kindness. I enjoyed work too, since many customers, whom I had not seen for three months, enquired about my well-being and talked to me like old acquaintances.
Above all these things, I enjoyed the ninja warrior kicks of my little one inside. I played melodious songs through a bluetooth speaker, so that my baby would be musically-inclined. I also played some fast-paced numbers, to which my LO kicked enthusiastically. Since I had lots of time in the evening, I read the book The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows, which turned into one of my favourite reads of 2018. I also watched a reality show named Enga Veetu Mappillai on Colors Tamil, hosted by Kollywood actor Arya. It was a show in which he searched for a potential bride for him. I wouldn’t comment anything more about the show, in case you are interested. I also continued with my content writing, posting music reviews on a weekly basis.
The last week of April was the most enjoyable week of my seventh month. On account of World Book Day, I visited Chennai Puthaga Sangamam, which was held at a one kilometer distance from the hotel. My mom and I visited the book fair on two consecutive days. It was quite commendable book hauls. Here’s a couple of photos:
It was in this book fair that I took a photo of myself flashing my baby bump, with background filled with bookshelves. During the last five days, I had traditional South Indian cuisine for my lunch. It would either be Quick Lunch from H otel Saravana Bhavan or Limited Meals from Hot Chips. I applied for Maternity Leave from May 1st to October 31st. Though my Branch Manager insisted that I stay for one more month and continue to work, I wanted my last two months of my pregnancy to be stress-free. My departure from the hotel was an emotional one, as I got attached to those surroundings in my month-long stay. Even though I returned to my home during the consecutive weekends after the first weekend, I still felt at home in the hotel environment. Speaking about the cost of my stay, it cost me 40k for the accomadation and food. Travel expenses included just the fares of my Uber rides to home on weekends.
No matter what, April was arguably the happiest month of my pregnancy and I will never forget it in my lifetime. The next month, May 2018, was also another happy month. Wanna know what happened? Stay tuned till my next post.
Loads of love,
Kavya Janani. U

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Every state in India has its own cuisine. Travel t

Every state in India has its own cuisine. Travel to India with your mouth – Try these 7 popular Indian dishes and learn what authentic Indian food can be like. Hint: It’s not all spicy. #authentic #india #food #popular #streetfood #travel #cuisine #aswesawit

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Old charm

Cecil Shimla is a old world charm. The interiors of the hotel is done with rich wood and the feel is too good. Room sizes are good and location is superb. Mall Road is 15 minutes walk from the hotel. Service and food is good. They have a multi cuisine restaurant. In my opinion it is one of the best properties on Indian hills which is closest to Mall Road. Oberoi group has two more properties in Shimla. One is Clarke’s on other end of Mall Road and the other one is wildflower hall at mashobra which is around 30 minutes from Shimla. Overall good stay at Cecil Shimla.

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