Mutterings*

I'm reading all the wonderful things people have to say about Robbin Williams. He sounds like he was a very good man.  I wonder.  It reminds me of a book I read a while ago. The sense of an ending. There was a very good note left by a character that chose to end his own life. The book dealt with philosophical suicide, which has been something that has fascinated me, ever since reading excerpts from Albert Camus in Myths of Sisyphus which argued against suicide as a way of rejecting freedom and life.  With all the sadness in the world,  I feel like I am leaning more towards the thoughts shared in sense of an ending...wonder how any of us choose to go on sometimes. We are all touched by it, this sadness that goes around all the time, the pain - some way or the other. At one point or another. I remind myself the trick is to really focus on a Pollyanna sort of theory, looking past the negativity. Beyond it. In spite of all the bad things in the world. Despite the horrors

I was reading a blog post I came across, about discrimination against Tamils at the Omanthai check point . It reminded me of my own experience travelling to Jaffna on the bus. I was asleep. Woken up as the bus slowed down. I have an NIC card. I don't know what I look like. Or sound like. Especially around 2am, groggy and tired. I get down from the bus and people are asked to go through the check point.  A farce of a check really, just carry your stuff and go through the line up. Like a military ruling state, which is, I remind myself, what we are. How sheltered we live in our little bubbles. How it must feel like to actually be a Tamil speaking person, and be looked upon suspiciously. I was sleepy. I am walking through the line. Three women, huddled together. In Army uniform. I hand over my id. They open my hand bag and start looking inside. They look over my id. Ask me a question. I forget what it was. I believe, something to the effect of "ah oya sinhalada" an

I really am thankful to the internet. How easy it is to find any recipe at a whim,  no matter what ingredients one is stuck with at home and play around with wondrous creations.  To learn from strangers in different places, sharing their own experiences and tweaks to recipes.  A wonderful collection of human beings connected together.  Here I am,  moving it forward. Thanking the kind souls that share their own adventures in the kitchen and inspire us to create our own.  A kitchen aid is by the way, a wonder gift to receive. Perhaps a bit over the top for a novice in the kitchen.  But still. Much appreciated. Heartfelt love. xoxox I found the Ciabatta Bread recipe here.  Basically, cut and pasted from the site above:  1 1/2 cups   water 1 1/2 teaspoons   salt 1 teaspoon   white sugar 1 tablespoon   olive oil 3 1/4 cups   bread flour 1 1/2 teaspoons   bread machine yeast Kitchenaid in the shadows Place ingredients into the pan of

From: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jem_(TV_series) If you ever lived in Sri Lanka and was born in the 1980's, you may remember Jem & The Holograms . In my mind, it falls in to the category of Thundercats, Ninja Turtles, Silver Hawks and a whole host of other cartoons that belong to our childhood. Out generation. Jem was special for reasons unknown to me, many many years later. Mybe it was that very first episode, where their parents had died, foster kids all alone, an empire of a music industry, an evil legal guardian and a mysterious magical gift in the form of Synergy. How could it not be a hit?  Perhaps it was the magic behind it, the romance, the music, the glamour and fashion. Maybe it was the sense of family and love, community and good even in those who were evil, all portrayed through something as simple as a cartoon at that age. For me, I know it was also the first taste of anything soap opera-like. I mean, it was drama. It was crazy story lines and a lot of ad

I met a lady who has a snow globe collection and I marveled how pretty and colourful they are. Such a sight of pleasantness that brings a smile.  With just a touch of wistfulness... Who would've ever thought snow globes would make me sad. The thought itself makes me even sadder. Is it the memories? Of innocence lost? I wonder.. I remind myself snow globes were more to me before everything and should remain whatever they were,  after too. My happy place of sparkling snow flakes and little people in magical worlds. Colourful memories. What ever they meant once,  still mean to me. And if I must share them with some unpleasant memories,  so be it. Bitter sweet is still sweet.

I stare deeply in to the premonition like reflection in my Thursday morning coffee/chocolate mocha and pretend it is really tea. I am aware, almost guiltily how impatiently I anticipate Fridays. Too eager to welcome the weekend. Probably why I am always disappointed when the weekend ends, and it was full of chores and empty nothingness. Oh well, need to have a talk with myself about low expectations.  Sri Lanka is winning the match - lots of rathinchchnya tonight. Coffee creamer,  between you and me tastes like crap. Nothing like some good old kiri piti. Maybe it's healthier. Who knows, inevitable old age and time will eventually be the judge. I hope either way,  70 year old me doesn't feel too bad when I'm taking all those pills. My black and white stray cat is happily feeding away. He seems to enjoy tuna the most. I call him he but he could very well be a she for all I care. Maybe I should call him/her IT instead. A smart one, that. I forget what this

The Mister has been sick.  It started with a text message lamenting the fact he was slowly dying. Then as the day increased his lamentations of impending doom grew and I ended up going home early just to spend a few hours more attending to him. It is curious how the common cold affects us all in different ways. Dare I say,  it is a well known fact the common cold affects each particular gender even differently. Our male counterparts feel the wrath of the angry cold,  debilitating any normal functions and leaving them helpless and almost childlike. However the female individual,  struck by the same bug will be able to withstand the worst and continue along their daily routine simply because if they do not cook,  no one will. I had firmly resolved to ensure this phenomenon truly ended with the generation of our parents. And yet,  I find my stone cold heat melting at the sight of the individual with a fever pitifully lying on the bed after requesting very spicy chips (claimin

Well it's been a pretty good month,  folks. The second month of 2014 already gone by. Eyes and arms wide open for March. Need to prioritise and be more productive next month. Time is too short. Let's do it!

This is a customized version of a recipe originally discovered in a kids cook book in my childhood. Since then, I've been able to experiment with various ingredients and this is one variation of the home made meatballs and really is quite yummy. I urge you to give it a shot, really it's so very easy.  For the meatballs, you will need - Minced chicken or beef (meat of your choice, i've used sausages minced as a kid) Slices of bread cut in to tiny pieces Milk (1/4 cup) or as needed Olive oil as needed (vegetable is fine too) A bit of curry powder Chillie powder Salt Pepper Onions chopped Mix in a bowl and roll in to a dozen or so small balls,  similar to when we make cutlets. Fry them in low heat till they seem crispy and well cooked. Pasta sauce and spaghetti Mix with tomatoe puree/ tomatoes blended/ pasta sauce if you have it - in a seperate pan,  add necessary spices and let it simmer until the sauce gets thick. I added mushrooms, curry

It's been a while since I last made kottu. It only takes a few ingredients. Quite messy though.  You can even make elawalu rotti, if you're in the mood by following the instructions here . Basically, you start with making the godamba rotti, and then cutting it in to pieces Stir fry ingredients as you please - I used chicken, eggs,carrot, onion leaves and onions and chopped carrots Mix everything together. Voila!  Just like that, you have your own home made kottu rotti. Find a p revious kottu post here as well . 

She doesn't care for appearances, having just woken up from her sleep. Dazed. Confused by reality when it sunk in, different from her emotions a few seconds ago in her dream. She switches the computer on, trembling. Dialing a number she had been told not to call anymore. "Hello." Cold, nothing there.  "Are we done?" .."yes."  "But we kissed in my dream and it was real" (Tell me you don't love me to my face, you coward.) Silence. So that's it. Months of anguish and naivety, years of friendship and trust.   She plays the same hindi song over and over and over again, letting the tears, finally flow freely down her face. She hates hindi movies, especially the one this one is from, after she finds out the plot. She has no clue what those words are saying. Not that she cares, for someone who is big on lyrics and meaning. Over and over and over again, on a loop.  Years later, she still can't listen to tha

A simple Google search yields: "Sri Lanka's population has a literacy rate of  92% , higher than that expected for a third world country; it has the highest literacy rate in South Asia and overall, one of the highest literacy rates in Asia." Sri Lankans have been proud of this statistic for as long as I can remember. I was reading this article that quotes James Baldwin as having said: “You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me the most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive.” How true. Reading, to me as opened up a link to an outside world I would not have otherwise known or seen. But most importantly felt. It has given me an avenue to feel empathy, learn about human emotion and character. I dare even hope, helped build my own character. Ultimately helped face my own torments in l