Taste of London

Yesterday evening S and I headed of for a Taste of London at Regent's park. This annual exhibition of food houses stalls from some of the top London restaurants, cooking classes by master chefs, local produce, live music and good wine and champagne. Some of the restaurants on show were Cinnamon Club, Tamarind, Benares, Kai Mayfair, Toms Kitchen, Le Gavroche, L'Atelier du Joel Robuchon, China Tang and Café Anglais. I had a fabulous time, tasted some great and not so great food. Loved the wasabi prawns- Kai Mayfair, chicken tikka - Benares, lamb chops and grilled shrimp- Toms kitchen, bengali mince meat cutlets with beetroot- Cinnamon club, Shrimp with curry leaves and soft naan bread- Cinnamon club, Soft chocolate cake with mascarpone - Le Gavroche. The food at the Tamarind stall was a let down. Bought a few goodies, books and some fresh cheese- Black peppercorn, garlic and chives and Sweet chilli from the Isle of Man stall. The icing on the cake was meeting Atul Kochhar at the Benares stall, it just about rounded up a near perfect day.

Nintendo DS- Cooking for Dummies

Ray's Jazz cafe- Foyles

This Saturday after our culturally enriched afternoon at the British library we were both a tad peckish and needed our daily caffeine hit. S needed to find a book on multivariate blah blah and I wanted a good restorative dentistry book so we headed of to Foyles at Charing cross. I love book stores, I am not a voracious reader, I don't have the time for it but I do enjoy a good read when time permits. I love the musty smell of paper and the silence you step into in a book store. We parted ways, S went to explore his multivariate blah blah section and I got comfortable in the basement in a small dental section.

As hunger set in again, we headed towards the in house coffe shop. S had heard nice things about the cafe at Foyles . Now most book stores have nondescript Starbucks/Costas with elevator music playing and are generally speaking quite generic in nature. I was not expecting a tiny room squashed to the brim with every possible jazz Cd with a small corner that could barely seat 20 people housing the cafe. Ray's Jazz cafe at Foyles was a revelation, you enter a little jazz box with soul and coffee wafting through the room. Seating consists of small log boxes cozily placed to maximise the space. There was a small queue for seating unsurprisingly and we managed to find a spot by the window sill which served as our table. We sat listening to ella, drinking coffee, indulging in a decadent chocolate truffle and carrot cake while watching the world go buy along Charing Cross road.

NHS rant

As I work in the nhs, you will be reading a lot of this. Sigh read and despair.... This comes from the nhs blog doctor.

Happy Anniversary

For my S.

I met my permanent roommate 7 years ago. We met for the first time at Mondy's my favourite hole in the wall joint in Bombay. He was tall lanky, had horrendous floaters and a general swagger about him. We sat from 6 in the evening till closing time, sipping draught and listening to Floyd on the jukebox. Once they kicked us out we drove through the streets of Bombay endlessly not wishing to part. I had never met this man before and there I was talking non stop about life, love, my hopes and fears.

Since that day our relationship has grown many folds, he has now become my permanent roommate. Over 6 years we have changed continents and taken gambles with our lives and careers loving every minute of it. He taught me to be patient, to look beyond my four walls, to dream and achieve, to cook ( i think i got conned into that), to love the Beatles, to give football a chance, to place an apostrophe correctly ( they don't give punctuation weightage in dental school).

We both have changed, he is not lanky anymore thanks to his wholesome cooking( and too much takeaway), he has lost the floaters( honest it wasn't me), but the swagger remains. I don't know what gets two people together, fate, karma, parents, friends, small hole in the wall cafes? Whatever our reasons I thank them all, because I found my best friend at Mondy's that evening.

Ramayana at the British Library

As the weekend rolled in, S wanted to see the Ramayana exhibition at the British Library. Now this sort of thing is not usually my cup of tea, I like museums in small doses and I tolerate exhibitions when there is something visually pleasing. The clincher for me was this was an exhibition of Rajasthani miniature painting depicting the Ramayana. Also having lived in London for nearly 4 years, I finally had a good excuse to visit the mother of all libraries.
Some facts about the BL which tickled the grey cells.
-they have 150 million items in their collection
-If you read 5 items a day it would take you 80,000 years to see the entire collection.


The Ramayana is one of the most famous epic stories from Hindu mythology that has been repeated over centuries. It is a classic old mythological fable about a super hero, his love, his dysfunctional family, his struggle, his war, his strange sidekicks, and his victory.

The British library has acquired the Ramayana manuscripts commissioned by Rana Jagat Singh of Mewar (1628-52). These manuscripts were acquired by the British Museum in 1884 and from there made their way to the British Library. The entire story has been illustrated in three different styles of Mewar painting. These beautifully crafted miniature paintings are bursting with colour and emotion, each page has a myriad number of characters packed in. The precision and detail with which each character was painted was a pleasure to watch. All the paintings were accompanied by little synopsis explaining each portion of the story.

Apart from the paintings, the exhibition also has evidence of this epic's influence on other regions of South east asia. I saw the Ramayana epic depicted in puppet form, on a 300 year old tapestry made in Sri Lanka, carved into stone walls of the temples of Angkor Wat, performed by ballet artisans in Java. It was amusing to see how strangely the characters were depicted in different regions, the Indonesian puppets seemed to favour long noses with a hunched posture and long limbs. Not the ideal superhero build but then who am I to judge.


In the foyer of the library they had a little video display of the Ramayana series that did the rounds on national telly in India during the late 80's. I remember those Sunday morning sessions when life came to a standstill in every Indian household as we watched the fine art of overacting with cheesy special effects. They even had a little DVD pack of the entire series at the BL shop, S was having none of it.

This rich old fable has now been brought into the 21'st century in a very stylish Virgin comic called Ramayan Reborn. As the years pass I see this story keeping up with times and lasting another 2000 years.

Tennis diaries

Tennis season in London has begun. We were lucky this year as we got centre court tickets for the Artois championship at the Queen's Club. This annual all male tennis championship takes place as the precursor to Wimbledon.

So this Wednesday the two of us took the day off and headed off for a fun day of live tennis washed down with some pimms and beer.

The Queen's club is much smaller than Wimbledon but very charming. The old Club house built in 1886 reminded me of Bombay Gymkhana and is probably similar to many of the old clubhouses built during the Raj days in India. Like the Bombay Gymkhana, membership is by introduction only making it very exclusive.



We started the day with Roddick, who woke up after dropping the first set and then sailed through the remaining two. The next game was the lovable Spaniard, Rafael Nadal. He came, he conquered and he left. He owned the court for his straight two set win. In a way it was disappointing not to watch someone give him a run for his money. He has the most gorgeous biceps and unfortunately seemed to have a perpetual wedgie that needed constant adjustment during the match. S was not pleased I noticed, but apparently I was not the only one.
What amazed me apart from the exceptional quality of tennis was the ball girls at work. These little girls in bright red skirts and white bikers scurried about the court collecting and throwing tennis balls at a frenetic pace. There seemed to be a method to all this madness, I just couldn't figure it out. We ended our tennis session watching Djokovic and Nalbandian at work, both of whom were equally amazing players.


Apart from the tennis, it was the people I enjoyed watching. Women were dressed in beautiful jimmy choos and summer dresses, men in smart blazers and straw hats.This was a social event where competitive tennis also happened to be on display. There seemed to be a large number of private school types, toffs, corporate types, and a few brown souls like us. I heard a lot of jeeves and wooster lingo bandied about, it felt unreal. The Queen's club felt like a little upper class oasis where time stood still. As the day ended, everyone dispersed for a spot of tea and Victoria sponge. All in all it was a jolly good day of tennis old chap!

Turning 30

Yes dahlings, it has finally happened. I crossed over into nether nether land. I turned 30. When you are 10 you can't wait to be 16. You want no deadlines on your nights out, you want to grow taller, grow breasts, wear a bra, wear short skirts. You can't wait to have your arms waxed, get a boyfriend, get rid of the glasses and be popular.

Then you're racing towards 20 because you want to get older, you need your independence, you curse the day you discovered waxing, you decide you can never be thin enough, you have your heart broken and mended, you want a driving licence, you want to earn some moolah, experiment, travel, get more boyfriends, discover alcohol, get drunk and find your place in this world.

Now that I am 30 I enter a new chapter in my life wiser (and wider) knowing I enjoyed the last 20 years. I had a great birthday, thanks to S, with a lot of bubbly at a French pub , a dash of jazz, a little bit of love, and a lovely picnic feast from Fortnum and Mason at Green Park.

Here's to turning 30.