chutney

“This is every cook's opinion -
no savoury dish without an onion, but lest your kissing should be spoiled, your onions must be fully boiled.” - Jonathan Swift

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in the kitchen all alone and got the urge to cook. We had a tea-towel hanging up to dry and on it was a recipe which I had always noted but we had never ever tried. On impulse, after reading through the ingredient list, I decided there and then to try it as we had all the requisites:

Apple & Pear Chutney

Ingredients
    • 1.5 kg chopped cooking apples
    • 1.5 kg chopped firm pears
    • 500 g chopped onions
    • 600 g brown sugar
    • 1.5 litres vinegar
    • 2 tbsp chopped mint
    • 5 tsp salt
    • 2 tsp ground allspice
    • 1 tsp mixed spice
    • 1 tsp curry powder
    • 1 tsp turmeric powder
    • 1 tsp mustard powder
    • 15 g coriander seeds ground
    • 20 g grated fresh ginger

Method
Combine all ingredients and simmer until thick. Put in sterilised glass jars and seal.

The result was quite delicious and was easy enough to make. Although chutney is considered as typically Indian (its name from the Hindustani chatni) is in fact a British specialty dating from the colonial era, just like pickles. Chutneys are put in glass jars and kept in the pantry like jams. They enliven slightly insipid dishes, mainly cold ones (chicken, fish, ham, leftovers) the sweet/sour/spicy/fruity taste may not be suitable for everyone’s palate and be warned if you’ve never tasted it before, this dish may be an acquired taste.

absence

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder,
But ever since you left, my heart is smaller, colder.
Now by myself, all of my time is mine to squander;
But so much time is worthless and I feel inert and older.

They say that absence from our love is worse than death
And feeling all that distance separating us, I sympathise;
My life is empty, cold, each gulp of air a dying breath,
A heart that’s stopped, a silent mouth and closing eyes.

They say that absence lessens small loves, increases great ones;
How true that seems, as my love for you grows evermore;
With absence watered, my rushing river of love, swells, runs
And takes all with it, till it reaches welcoming far shore.

They say the joy of meeting pays the pangs of absence,
But all I feel is pain and torture; no thought of future bliss
Will now console me, and your lack is my quintessence;
I abide your deficit, only to live again when we shall kiss.

leave-taking

Once the decision’s made,
You should leave.
No dilly-dallying,
No second chances,
No qualms,
No discussions.

It’s hard, I know, to pack;
A suitcase full of loneliness
Is a heavy burden to lift.
A note of goodbye,
Best left unwritten
Bitter words best left unspoken.

The memories, both good and bad,
Will hound you anyway;
So don’t bother to burn letters,
Tear up photographs,
Erase phone numbers,
Or give up on common friends.

When you leave,
The air will still bear traces
Of your perfume long after your departure.
On the mattress an indelible trace
Of your body shape will remain;
The dog will keep on expecting you home from work.

Once you’re gone,
The space you leave behind
Suddenly more substantial
Than your physical presence of years,
Your absence, suddenly, a stronger reminder
Of your existence.

And in the empty house,
I’ll mourn your leave-taking,
Inviting to the wake, your lack.

solutions in the end

Early morning, wan light creeping in through half-shut window,
Remembrance of the full-moonlight last night; your indifference;
The phone that refused to ring, refused to ring, refused to ring…
And above all the smell of bitter almonds, cyanide.

Your smile, how I read into it so much, so many hidden meanings…
But it’s really silent, inarticulate, mute – I imagined it all,
While a false hope stops me solving everything neatly, quickly, finally.
And the bitter taste, that pungent acridity of strychnine.

My thoughts, the rain, the tyranny of your relentless presence;
Even when absent, you’re by my side, with me.
My fantasy, a secret mythology - how endless, inexhaustible my patience…
And there, now, I feel the keen caress of sharp razor on my wrist.

Pleasure so dear, of its precious draught I tasted only a single drop,
Like a drop of water on parched lips of desert traveller lost in the sands;
Your oasis a cruel mirage, a simple illusion by physics explained.
And next to my ear, the deafening sound of a discharging pistol.

The endless night, the dawn that comes, comes, comes,
And never arrives; while in futility, I wait and wait and wait…
You never arrive, never beside me, never with me.
Yet death comes in a thousand guises,
He hurries, running to keep our appointment
Bringing with him, the end, solutions and redemption…

running after the past

A walk in well worn paths
Shaded by the fragrant roses
Of the passage of time.
Familiar faces, accustomed places
Sunlight and laughter
Remembered embraces.

Your eyes are sadder, maybe wiser
By memories of old mistakes,
Ageing misunderstandings
Finally understood;
But your hand reluctant
To stop history repeating itself.

You yearn for the past,
Your remembrances precious:
Of friends, sweet wine, good times.
You yearn for a past
When I was writhing in agonies
Impaled like a butterfly by the pin of your love.
Each passing second a tear
Each of your smiles a dagger
Each of your nostalgic moments one of my hells.

pages from the past

A notebook by pure chance discovered,
Brings back old pages from the past;
As my experiences lie bare, uncovered
My feelings backwards are cast.

The even script, my younger self belies
My thoughts of yore, there are manifest.
Old tears, laughter, truths and even lies
Appear in pages, like flowers pressed.

My heart’s first stirrings faithfully recorded
The bitter disappointments, and the sheer joy;
I read, and on the train of the past boarded,
Travel to foreign parts of me, when a boy.

My inner being revels and perfectly resonates
With my younger self, my innocence engaged;
I look at my lined face, surprised that the fates
Have willed a youth, in body so much aged.

My pages from the past, the yellowed paper,
The mind’s awakening and the soul’s flight
Captured forever, and their evanescent vapour
Wafts in, a sweet aroma, a bright light…

gerndercide

“If women didn’t exist, all the money in the world would have no meaning.” - Aristotle Onassis

What are little girls made of, made of?
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice, and everything nice,
That's what little girls are made of.

What are little boys made of, made of?
What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails, and puppy dog tails,
That's what little boys are made of.

I read once again with horror about the major problem of female infanticide and feticide (“gendercide”) that remains rampant in China and India. Female infanticide has been a feature in many cultures through the ages, and has probably been responsible for many millions of female fetus and infant deaths. The problem is most acute in China and India, the most populous countries in the world. These countries have a strict population control policy coupled with a strong culture of male supremacy, and gendercide is continuing to occur with alarming regularity there. In all cases, female infanticide is an indication of the low status accorded to women in many parts of the world.

In January 2010 the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences demonstrated what can happen to China if girl babies are killed. Within ten years, the Academy reported, 1 in 5 young men would be unable to find a bride because of the reduced numbers of young women (this is a figure unprecedented in a country at peace – compare the shortage of marriageable young men after the first world war in Europe!). In China, a specific word “guanggun” (meaning bare branches) describes this shortage of bachelors. The shortage of females seems to have become more acute between 1990 and 2005, amongst other factors, linked to the one-child policy, (introduced in 1979).

Unfortunately, China is not the only country affected by gendercide. Parts of India have sex ratios as skewed as anything in China. In other East Asian countries, like South Korea, Singapore and Taiwan there are also high numbers of male births compared to female. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, former communist countries in the Caucasus and the western Balkans show a strong preponderance of male births. The traditional patriarchal values of these societies seemingly have been revived as soon as the communist regime was overthrown.

Social scientists are predicting all sorts of consequences that will arise in these societies once the shortage of females becomes widespread. Women may become a commodity, especially in terms of their social and reproductive functions. Prostitution is likely to rise, warn the experts, as will rape and homosexuality amongst the males. A trade in stolen children and nubile women may also be an observed effect.

Once again, the inhumanity of humankind astounds me.