Author: inkad

STRIPE TEASE

Far and wide spreads the plain

in scorching sun, no drop o’rain

On his back rests her head,

he does too in good stead

Neck to Neck they hug

The world’s heart, they willingly tug.

Synchronized to the stripe

In harmony with no gripe

“Romantic embrace,” pronounce the gawkers

“Eternal love,” concur the stalkers.

“Look, how they got the other’s back,

enmeshed in their white and black!”

What an endearing thing,

it does make the heart sing!

“If only they knew..,” he mumbles

″…this is our only way,” she grumbles.

“To avoid being eaten to the bone,

our togetherness is more a millstone.”

On each back they rest each neck

360 degree view they check.

Lions, cheetahs, and leopards prowl,

forever on alert is that hyena’s howl.

Nobody wants to be that easy prey.

Working together seems the only way.

If only rubberneckers knew,

they’d stop the coo and ooh.

Often it’s not what one thinks,

danger lurks in 40 small winks

The thought of cutting some slack

is invitation to violent attack.

Put simply in sapiens verse,

“You scratch my back, and I will yours,”

©IK 2019

A Thank-You Note

Dear Human Friend,


Your thoughtful gift gives me much happiness.
You see, I lost my companion a few weeks ago. I don’t know what caused her affliction. We used to hold tails together and swim with abandon.
There’s frequent talk about inhabitants in my world losing partners and family members. They too, like my love, choked up and left us alone. I was in a deep funk, much like Picasso in his blue, blue days.
You understood our plight. You send us gifts galore just to alleviate our sorrow. You try to make our world better. These gifts last forever, leaving a legacy for future generations. But the rate at which we lose partners, perhaps these gifts will last past extinction.
Last week, my friend got huge kicks going in and out of a six circle transparent exercise machine. It brought him so much happiness, he almost stopped being crabby.
Your incessant gifts make us forget losses. Is it a bit much to ask for instruction manuals? You see, some folks here just don’t get it right. The sea turtle wanted to imitate the little crab, but it got all wrapped up in that very same six-pack. I mean, there are age and weight restrictions, right? I gotta say, you humans think wisely before testing out equipment. One silly animal did not even know how to suck out of the colorful straw. He put it up his nose!

Flicker Image Courtesy Stefan Leijon


Your generous gift material endures long after you leave. Atop the food chain you may stand, but with your humble degradability, we see you’re really one of us. Human benevolence in spreading the “forever” wealth around is peerless.

The nest had bright blue plastic material, keeping the bird family safe.The other day, the mamma lost her spouse. Apparently, for reason unbeknownst to us all, his abdomen exploded. The devastated bird stopped foraging food. But your wondrous material saved the day, and the hungry family gobbled it greedily. The next time she visits, I will let her know I included her in the thank-you note. I thought she would get here by now, but something must have held her up.

Photo Credit John Cancalosi National Geographic


My friend the hermit crab found a new belly protector. He uses a plastic bottle cap. It’s harder than the scattered shells he once was used to. I happily align myself to your thinking; technology does mean evolution. He says you like to take those lowly shells for yourself and replace them with invincible bottle caps. Such stewardship is a human trait. Those incessant presents come thoughtfully included with plastic wraps and gift bags. Humans indeed are wise; they think of everything.

Photo Courtesy Shawn Miller supplied to news.com.au

We would like to invite you to our own Thanksgiving. While you have your cornucopia, we have a version too.

Photo Courtesy India Times, Representative Image


I love the pink, shiny stuff you put out for me. She comes as a crutch to replace the love I lost. She had promised to be by my side, but left me way too premature. I was lonely, looking for comfort. Your gift came just in time. Now I feel like Picasso in rosy days. Swimming together, I sing La Vie en Rose with accordion playing in my mind. I feel like that giddy teenager in love for the first time. The world is so much nicer through rose-tinted glasses. I grip her with my tail, and we cavort along the once clear waters. Long after I’m gone, she will serve another, until to serve there’s no other. Such is her eternal promise, all thanks to you.

Gratefully yours,

The Once-Lonely-Sea Horse

Photo by Justin Hofman / Wildlife Photographer of the Year

©IK 2019

House Guests

I’m considered quite hospitable, but sometimes, no matter how loving, guests can be destructive

Picture 1

I agree, the world is my family, but you have not met my ravaging guests. They strip bare my plants and shrubberies with a vengeance.

I closed off their egress, but kept the driveway open. But now they feel safer, and visit me even more.

Oh,  they’re sneaky! Sometimes from the distance, I see something moving strangely. Those rapacious chomping mouths are back!

Roses and nasturtiums are like candy, and full bloomed hydrangea like lollipops. A curry leaf plant I nurtured through years was left outside briefly. I returned to see twigs stripped of leaves.  Fruit trees stand no chance.

They’re this family of mom, dad, and kids. They look so loveable, but they are destructive little monsters. Of late, I chase them out every time I see their presence. They know the drill.

I see them on this misty spring morn. I quickly wear garden clogs, and start tracking them. The earth is wet, and it provides clues. The fresh hoof prints betray  them like the turned on location app.

There they are, munching on the tenderest, youngest spring greens. Poor plants do not even have a chance with these avid chompers.

Video 1

Shoo-shoo!

I make my presence felt, and I begin to witness my patient training. Obediently, they gather immediately to climb down the steps, go past the fence, skirt cross the meadow, and in a single file leave the driveway behind the safety of oleander bushes. This is how I have routinely trained them.

One last time before they disappear in line behind the bushes, they pause to look at me with plaintive doe eyes, hoping I will relent. Sadly for them, I do not. With my stentorian voice, I think I’ve convinced them who’s the boss.

Video 2

The Challenger

But the  pesky little rebel always challenges me. He likes to peel off the family fold, and go back. The others do not leave, they patiently wait till he gets back. In the past, he had made me go in circles, but now, I am well aware of his tricks. I successfully manage to make him toe the line, and off he goes with the family.

Video 3

I stand to make sure they leave, and I even say a loving goodbye to them. Upon seeing them leave, I can at least offer an “olive branch,” by dropping my gruff exterior.

Video 4

I go back, satisfied at my alpha femaleness. With my cup of tea, I survey the view from my windows like a colonial conquerer.

There’s no breeze, but something’s moving. I peer closely, and see the monster masticators are at it again. They look at me, and their noses twitch, betraying a smirk perhaps. But the little one has a look that screams, “Sucker!”

Memory

The plains are verdant after the rains, and the adventurous foraging is on.

The weekend is here! So is the family picnic with parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and the grand folks of this close-knit extended family. The little boy Pachy, he stays close to the mother listening to adult conversation. Great Uncle teases him much to his dismay and everybody’s amusement with a new moniker, Mamma’s Boy. Pachy does not like this, but his eyes grow wider upon hearing about those big moving things; circles make them move to different places. Pachy thinks his circles only keep him in one place, and that is close to his Mamma.

“Those moving things often come in files,” continues Great Uncle, “I would be careful to stay out of their way. They have creatures hanging on them. Most seem benign, and they just want to know our way of life, while the others….” he trails off.

“What about the others?” Pachy asks. But everyone’s mulling over the inquisitive folks, and they voice their opinions..

Mamma is used to curiosity, and she likes living and letting live despite the intrusion. After all, close to home Aunt Ellie is the most curious one, and Mamma does not mind. She knows how to guard her privacy. A few other family members mind the invasion of privacy very much. But the benign creatures in the moving things like to watch their ways, and they harmlessly get excited just looking at this group of picnickers. Some family members feel flattered to watch the creatures falling over themselves in adulation.

Then, it is time for the jumbo salad of the rarest greens.

Pachy repeats his question, but gets no answers. Today, this family of vegetarians has gathered to feast. Pachy grumbles silently that food has taken precedence now for all except him. He only wants to know about the others.

Mamma reaches closer to lunch. Pachy, somewhat bruised with his recent title, decides not to follow.

In the near distance, he sees the slow roll of the things approaching. The day is here, and he is no longer going to be Mamma’s boy. If no one’s going to tell him about the others, he will find out for himself. He slowly inches away from the group. Mamma is oblivious, because she does not think Pachy will ever leave her.

A plume of smoke and a hint of dust suddenly obscure Pachy’s vision. He feels something whizz past him, and it nearly clips his ears. That’s when he hears Great Uncle warning voice like a loud trumpet, “Get away Pachy! These are the malevolent ones, Move!”

On his fours, Pachy hurries to his mother, as she rushes to protect him. Together, they all get deeper and behind the green to continue lunch as though nothing happened.

Despite the warm sun, Pachy remembers the creatures with a shiver. Some hung out of windows, while others popped through a roof. Their appendages held something long that made loud staccato sounds. He admits to himself that these creatures scare him a bit with cold and cruel expressions.

Pachy and family continue to socialize, although they stay cautiously hidden. The big things with the hostile creatures slowly roll away, He recalls the sounds he heard and can imitate them perfectly. After all, it is genetic. His whole clan is well renowned for their mnemonic skills.

Then Pachy goes to the wise Great Uncle for understanding and perfectly mimics the sounds, ” Bang, Bang!” He continues after a brief pause,”Terrible marksmanship! You missed a baby elephant!”

©IK 2019

 

The Bride

Photo Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

One by one she collected her trousseau items, as she lay waiting for the day that never came. It disappeared under the sun, the falling leaves, and somehow got buried under.

The blanket, it suffocates and squashes her every thought. He left without a word but took away her everything. Daggers hang on eaves, and she’s in a deep freeze mode. She no longer responds to the slightest rustle. There are no more footsteps, and the callbacks are frozen in her throat. She is tired and worn.

Stark, cold, and spartan..that’s her world now. The Glory Box has morphed into the blanket chest with fuzzy, pristine white blankets. The desert-like hoariness hurts the gaze. Her skin feels cold as alabaster, and the bones ache.

A sanguine youth feels locked away from her reach, and there’s no memory of how it once felt. No creature visits her, neither a butterfly nor a bee. The road yesterday is no longer familiar, and there are no comforting spaces. She has buried everything. Where is that park bench they sat together as one? Where is that park? The old landmarks are gone, along with their angles and familiar paths. Is her memory fuzzy, or is it a temporary squall? It covers and stifles everything she sees, and the fog in her mind rises like a shroud.

There is no glow in the embers, and it mirrors how she feels. Dull, ashen and cold, she is like her desire within. The fight made way to temperance, followed by restraint, and now it is securely locked in abstinence.

The rebellion first rolls in like a silent cat. While she sleeps, golden mustard flowers bask in the gentlest sun. She remains unmoved, but a slow thaw has begun.

Something hurtles down in full force, nearly knocking her down. It blasts the icy shell with a wrecking ball. Confused, she is forced to stir out of an imposed immobility. The glacial heart betrays a vulnerability in front of Life’s virile force. Armor shattered, she lets the twitter, buzz, and sights take her captive! This much profusion after much parsimony, it feels unbearable! That candy floss of pink stages and orchestrates a prolific rebellion against everything she long denied herself. Puffs of mini roses pop like fireworks. They climb chaotically everywhere. Unsteady, she tries to hold ground, but an inebriation takes over, ending that long abstinence.

The invasion of brides in their white wedding cake gowns make her yearn again. Dizzy blossoms like confection and candy, in riotous colors with their fresh fragrance, and buzzing honeybees unsteady her gait. The scents, the sights remind her about something, but she’s not going to reason. Frenzied and feverish, she does not notice new stirrings within. Renewed, she rushes to act without remembering. What could it be? WHAT IS IT? It does not come back fully, but she knows she must throw something out to dig something up.

She opens the blanket chest. The white snows have all melted away, leaving behind bunches and bunches of jocund daffodils that gloriously toast, “Here’s to Hope!”

A Tale of Two Immigrants

Comparing  trajectories of two accomplished women in cinema yields some surprising revelations and preconceived notions.

A little over two and half decades ago, a British Immigrant from Wales moved to the United States. Catherine Zeta Jones had a relatively successful career in Britain. Her repertoire included music, theater, and a meaty role in a popular television series. She had a large fan following, but they were limited mostly to her home country and a few Anglophiles around the globe. 

Flash forward, and a top movie star from the Indian cine firmament comes to try her luck in the US. She has acted in over 55 films in India.She snags a lead role in the television series, Quantico. It’s a risk she takes, as she leaves the Indian film industry in a peak position to try something completely new. Her name is Priyanka Chopra.

Catherine Zeta Jones’ initial popularity was confined to British audiences, but Priyanka Chopra strength lay in numbers. She left a huge fan following in country of over a billion, and its neighbors: Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and many others from the Middle East have Priyanka fans. To the uninitiated, Indian movies are popular in other countries. They are subtitled or sometimes dubbed in the local languages. Several Latin American and Eastern Bloc countries are familiar with Indian cinema.

Fame visited Priyanka early. She won the Miss World crown in her teens. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kk-Yf-UliGwF 

Ironically, Catherine in her most recent role essays Vicki Ellis, a ruthless pageant coach. 

In the United States, Catherine found Hollywood royalty in Michael Douglas, and she married him. Starstruck at being addressed as Mrs.Michael Douglas, she got a fairy tale wedding she always imagined. Post marriage however, she stayed with her maiden name. (Chopra has added on the Jonas to her name)

The age difference between Catherine and Michael is only 25 years. The wedding was held at the Plaza in NYC, and it was largely paid for with the publicity generated. Guests were requested to donate to their then-baby Dylan’s trust fund in lieu of gifts.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BbpIVpGAEZt/?utm_source=ig_embed.

“Pundits said the celebs shrewdly sold their exclusive photo rights to Brit magazine OK! for a supposed $1.4 million; OK!, in turn, allegedly received $800,000 from People for the rights to republish the images.”  -ABC News.

The Chopra-Jonas wedding is believed to have generated enough money from publicity to cover most or all of their wedding celebrations. Despite the interest in the wedding, Priyanka’s accused of being greedy, ambitious, and a ” global scam-artist,” to name a few. Of course, she is older than the husband by nearly a decade. 

In terms of net worth, both Jonas and Chopra are equals. However, to the uninformed, Chopra has also attained the “gold digger” moniker. No one called Ashton Kutcher this, when he married the heavy-weight Demi Moore. Instead, the misogynistic world constantly judged Demi Moore harsher than Michael Douglas whose wife is 25 years younger.

Chopra channels the ethnically ambiguous archetype. Unfortunately, Hollywood chooses not to discern where it must. She played the part Indian Alex Parrish in Quantico.  On the other hand, Catherine Zeta Jones played roles of varied ethnicities. The Welsh actress plays the Oklahoman Vicki Ellis despite a giveaway Welsh lilt in Queen America. It’s difficult to explain Hollywood’s ease in dispensing roles without scrutiny. How does one explain the role of Catherine essaying Griselda Blanco? This is not to put down Zeta Jones, but the casting demonstrates that authenticity in Hollywood rings hollow.  

Chopra has shown mettle in trying to break the mold. She may not be the preferred face for all girls. It’s undeniable she has given a chance for several brown girls everywhere to dream. Many others have tried before and failed. This is a lonely path fraught with challenges. After all this time, Vogue put the first global Indian actress on the cover for the January 2019 issue. No prizes for guessing the identity of this actress.

People have all kinds of opinions. Regarding the Zeta-Douglas marriage, reactions range from mild criticism, acceptance, and even approval.  It’s a successful yet unusual union.  Reactions to the Chopra-Jonas union however is vociferously in stark contrast. Chopra’s skewered in several platforms for being the older one. Surprisingly, females are sometimes the ones to judge their kind in the harshest manner possible.

An article in a web platform called The Cut referred to Priyanka as a “global scam-artist.” It will do well for the writer to brush up on popular world culture. Priyanka has a 32.4 million followers on the ‘Gram. The Indian cinema is a large market, and those who criticize Chopra would do well to be informed in this regard. Sometimes a lack of curiosity about other cultures also plays a part. Yet, it boggles the mind how certain outlets allow personal insults to pass as journalism.

The above mentioned unions are personal choices. It’s almost impossible to avoid judging celebrities in this internet age. The article by Mariah Smith in The Cut is taken down now. The author and the platform have apologized, but the scathing opinion piece should not have come to light in the first place. It’s disrespectful and a fake piece of opinion peddling.

The Chopra-Jonas coupling may be unconventional.  Here’s wishing them a successful union, just because schadenfreude should not fuel the web.

Photograph courtesy Priyanka Chopra and Catherine Zeta Jones’ Instagram

Video Courtesy Youtube posted by Vkblogs


All that Glitters is not Gold

Can one interaction between a maker dad and a reluctant daughter shape an outlook?

My cousin and I  took great interest in dressing up the family Ganesha idol for the festival of Chaturthi. She had decorated her idol ahead of time with a cheery yellow umbrella-canopy, interspersed with tinsel, sequins, and tassels. Necklaces of shiny beads and fake gemstones, spiral mobiles of colorful foil, winked and twinkled away. How I loved that yellow, sparkly umbrella sold by the dozens in the stores all over the city that festive season!

A day or two later, we got out our foot-high clay idol stored in the sliding teak cabinet. It had been in our family for years. Our Ganesha had seen better days. He deserved something shinier . So, I proposed on buying that glittering yellow umbrella.

 “Store bought?” he bellowed upon hearing my proposition. He could get a bit dramatic, my maker/engineer Dad. “We will plan and make our own.”  I groaned with displeasure. I wanted the store bought shiny. But he was not going to do it any other way.

“Watch me,” he said, as he got out thick chart paper and traced an umbrella shape.I colored it with several designs and patterns after cutting it out. We turned the thing over. Together we built up the skeletal spokes of the inner umbrella. Then we made a handle with metal wire and rolled it with electrical wire of some sort. We even fashioned a U-shaped handle. I liked it, but visions of the store-bought crepe paper canopy with sequins and tinsel made this look a little, how do I say it, hmmm, homemade. This wasn’t the gossamery yellow canopy the stores sold in dozens.

We found some colorful beaded necklaces at home. Then, we propped up the idol and garlanded it with flowers, leaves, and blades of grass. I threaded white packing peanuts to make another necklace. We covered spaces with a variety of fruits. My talented older sister created colorful floor patterns. I admit I loved all of that. Yet, I wanted the shiny yellow canopy sold in stores all over the city.

Still convinced the cousin’s decoration looked spectacular, I kept asking him for a store- bought decoration, while he went about with the merits of effort over store-bought convenience. “This would be a joint dedication of our family effort,” he continued, as we worked together on that item. He would have no more of my peevishness, and abundantly made that clear with a familiar warning look.  This time I quietly muttered to myself, “Family effort?  Where is the rest of the family, anyway?”

We finished our handiwork, but the umbrella I still wanted was the shiny, yellow one sold all over the place. I got the honor of putting it above the elephantine face before our prayers. I wanted to add some glitter, but I forgot.

We celebrated with offerings of sweets and savories cooked lovingly by my mother, aided by my helpful siblings. Our entire family added decorations of fresh flowers, fruits, and colored rice. We lit the camphor together to dispel ignorance. In that glow of the oil lamps, with that sound of the bell, positive thoughts crept into my mind and all disgruntlement slipped away.

Finally,  it was time to eat. My parents concluded that the happy festivity  was the result of “family involvement,” as we all enjoyed the meal. I still think they loved to overuse these two words. As I bit into the sweet modak, loaded with coconut and jaggery., I looked at our umbrella. Could that whimsical little thing actually have a personality? My cold heart slowly began to thaw.

Soon after, that umbrella was put back with the Ganesha idol for next year in a sliding teak cabinet which also housed some books.

The next year I got a shiny yellow, store-bought umbrella  sold in dozens all over the city without consulting him. As soon as I tried to put it up, it developed a rip on its crepe-like paper. “Store-bought!” I caught myself exclaiming with a degree of disdain. I thought I sounded like someone I knew. Suddenly, the back-up got the respect it deserved. Our trusty home-made umbrella waiting patiently in the wings got to bask in the well-won limelight.

Time rolled by, and I went on to other things from teenage, college to marriage and motherhood. One day while rustling through the teak sliding door cabinet in my parents’ home filled with books and photo albums, I came across the umbrella near the clay idol of Ganesha.  I played with the handle, twirled it, and showed my kids what granddad and their mom had worked together. They loved it, and wanted to make something like that with me.

 That virtually indestructible umbrella even survived inquisitive hands playing with it.  I began to smile, and the memory of the flimsy, shiny, store purchased yellow umbrella sold in dozens all over the city set like the sun.

 Through the years we have seen many yellow umbrellas trimmed with tinsel and sequins come and go. I never asked for one again. I’ll probably never know the exact reason for his insistence in making that lovable, tough umbrella together. It would have been a lot easier to buy a generic umbrella and call it a day.

The maker dad checked out after a fulfilled run to meet the Maker.

Decades later, I revisit that teak cabinet with the hope I might find it. The photo albums of the expanded, extended family have now taken over all empty spaces. Sadly, the umbrella’s nowhere to be seen near the idol. With my heart’s eye it is still there. I mentally flex and unflex that cute little handle lovingly wrapped up with electrical wire, while a sensory memory remains colorful as that umbrella.

Autumnal Gifts

I use varied squash for decor in fall. They look good, last long, and when the pantry’s lean, they save me a green grocer run.

Spaghetti squash is not intimidating. Oven roasted squash is easy and tasty.

Wash and cut the squash lengthwise or breadthwise. Deseed and rub the cut side with salt and olive oil. Roast in the oven at 400 degrees depending on oven for 35-40 minutes. When cool, use a spoon or fork to scoop out the squash…the result is noodle-like roasted squash.  

Alternately, you could simplify life and microwave the halves. One half of squash thus prepared can be ready in 13 minutes depending on your zapping power.

At this point, simply tossing in a bit of butter, salt, and pepper with some herbs can yield something tasty. 

There are several recipes to work with this “noodle.”  I’ll start with a nostalgic comfort in southern Indian style.

Curried Spaghetti Squash (Southern India style)

Ingredients

A tsp mustard seeds

A tbsp cooking oil of choice

A tsp cumin seeds

A tsp split bengal gram or split chickpea  (very similar)

A pinch of asafoetida

A pinch turmeric

A few curry leaves, ginger gratings, and chopped green chillies, a whole red one 

Salt and Pepper according to taste

Fresh frozen coconut 2 tablespoons or dry coconut flakes

2 cups spaghetti squash noodles

Roasted cashews or peanuts ground coarse or fine.

Cilantro for final garnish.

A squeeze of lemon is optional.

In a skillet, heat oil. Start tempering with mustard seeds and listen for it to snap, crackle, and pop. Add Bengal gram, chillies green and red, ginger,  cumin seeds, curry leaves, turmeric, and asafoetida.

Toss the spaghetti squash. Sauté for a couple of minutes , as it already is oven-roasted. Add salt and pepper.  Toss the nut powder and roll it with it. Add thawed fresh coconut or dry coconut gratings. For a final flourish, add chopped cilantro and a squeeze of lemon. 

This is one half of the squash. I have another bunch in the freezer. I’ll consider a pesto spaghetti. If I crave something else, I’ll squash that thought to do a  noodle bowl with toppings instead.

Turn off stove to enjoy spaghetti with fiber, beta carotene, and taste with low to no carbs. Hankering comfort carbs? A side of brown rice or quinoa complements the curry well.

Incorporating a minimal waste life does not have to be onerous or messy.  Sometimes it can even cut out some work. I don’t even have to wash the dish, because one half of the squash skin is going to be the serving bowl.

Uh-oh! Spoke too soon! The enthusiastic scraping has perforated my organic serving bowl. The compost bin happily needs this to balance out the brown leaves.

Outside, the fall garden’s in a glorious disarray. I take a few branches and stick it into the other half of the squash skin, now my eco-friendly vase. Hope you dear reader, get the same joy I do each time I see it.

Zanzibar Spice Tour

The visit to a local spice farm in Zanzibar turned out to be sugar, spice, and everything nice.

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Lipstick Annatto

It’s a sun-bleached Zanzibar island kind of day in summer, as we take a tour of Mganga Spice Farm. From our hotel in Stone Town, it’s approximately a 23-mile drive interspersed with ocean views, local houses, resorts, and lush foliage. As we reach the entrance to the shaded spice farm, our taxi driver introduces us to our tour guide. His name is Babu, and he’s a jolly islander.

“Mganga,” he starts with a poker face, “sounds like a witch doctor, but it means a traditional herbalist.” Although the twinkle in his eye betrays what’s to come, we have no idea of the laughs and irreverent humor ahead of us.

Meandering through the farm, he introduces and sometimes personifies several varieties of plants with a somber look.

In the beginning, he shows us vines with bunches of pepper hanging on them. They cling to other plants and trees. “You get green, red, or black pepper depending on the stage of ripeness.” Pepper today sits innocuously on the dining table. Who can say it’s one major cause for great voyages, explorations, expeditions, and discoveries?

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Pepper vines

The breadfruit is a cross between mulberry and jackfruit.  Our tour guide warns us about indulgence. “If you like it too much, then make sure you are close to a toilet.” He takes one look at our quizzical faces and drops these words in a calculatedly casual manner.  “Oh,  I think I must explain to you that breadfruit’s used to relieve constipation.” He reiterates this important aspect of overindulgence when we brush past the allspice plant. “This spice,” he informs, “helps digestion and to relieve pain.”

We walk by the cardamom plant, often used as a mouth freshener. “I call cardamom the chewing gum designed for drunk drivers,”  chuckles our guide. Green cardamom costs more than black cardamom. It’s widely used in Indian desserts due to its unique aroma.

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Cardamom

Smiling, we walk through the spices, while a sweet-natured young man about thirteen years quietly joins us. His name is Mohammed,  and he’s shy in contrast to Babu’s loquacious humor.

We pass the turmeric plant, and our guide extols its virtue as an antiseptic. “Want to know why we call the turmeric root Michael Jackson?” he asks us. We nod, and he cackles, “because you can change color when you use it” We do not know where to look. But he’s not finished. “Look, there are the red bananas.”  We look up to see bunches of fruit hanging from the banana trees. “We call it Mzungu banana, because it looks like a white person has stayed a little too long in the sun.”

I temporarily look away from Babu, not knowing how to react. I see young Mohammed collecting leaves and flowers. However our guide reclaims our attention by pointing to the jackfruit tree. The fruits hang on the trunks with their spiky outsides. “I call this Jack Daniels,” he says in his characteristic way. We cannot repress our smiles. Jackfruit is sweet, flavorful. Rich in vitamins, flavonoids, and fiber, it can also be a meat substitute for vegetarians before it ripens too much.

“Let me introduce you to the King and Queen,” pronounces Babu with a flourish. The clove is the king of spices. The reasons are many. The fragrant clove is one of the chief exports of Tanzania. It’s a preservative, flavor enhancer, has anti-inflammatory qualities, and it provides relief, especially for dental pain. “Clove is king because it cannot be attacked….” He briefly pauses and continues, “yes, our king clove cannot be attacked by ants.” He goes further to tout its ant repelling properties. Eugenol is the aromatic oil in clove. Insects stay away from it, and several commercial insecticides contain this oil.

King Clove
Queen Cardamom
“Now I shall introduce you to the Queen of Spices,” he says while pointing to the Cinnamon tree. The inner bark of this tree provides the sweet cinnamon. “She’s married to King Clove, and she makes cakes and bakes taste better. She also gives more of herself than anyone I know.” The root of the cinnamon tree is the source for Vicks Vaporub. In addition, the cinnamon leaves flavor tea and porridge, informs our able tour guide. Chewing a piece of cinnamon bark is said to lower blood sugar.

He’s not done with royalty. “I will soon make you the king and queen,” this anointer cryptically declares. I wonder what he means, but I don’t ask.

We pass curry leaves used extensively in Indian cooking, valued for its anti-diabetic properties as well as its unique flavor. Ginger tubers pop out of the ground in their abundance. Ginger can be used to combat nausea and settle digestion.

We brush against the fragrant lemongrass. Mohammed pulls a stalk out, and we inhale the fresh scent. Lemongrass complements tea well, and it also is a good essential oil. Babu mentions they often burn lemongrass to repel mosquitoes.

He soon points to a tree and calls it the lipstick plant, His young assistant picks a bright fruit-like pod out of it, and stains his lips with crushed seeds. It is the annatto plant, and the seeds are used to color food and add flavor. It’s a substitute for the more expensive saffron.

“Look, there’s the Bob Marley cigarette plant,” chortles Babu. The leaves resemble the marijuana plant. But it is the iodine plant. The leaves have antiseptic properties. “If you do not have a Band-Aid when you cut yourself, make sure you cover it with the iodine leaf.”  Quietly Mohammed moistens his forearm and lays a leaf on shiny skin to demonstrate.

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Natural Band-Aid

Long, green pods hang on a shrub nearby. “Vanilla can be a fussy plant,” informs our guide. It comes from the orchid family. The flowers bloom only once, and it must be quickly pollinated, otherwise it withers away with no seed pods. Bees unlike Netflix are most often not available on demand. Thus, vanilla flowers must carefully be hand pollinated. The guide also shows us nutmeg and mace. Nutmeg is the seed and mace is the seed covering. Nutmeg has a sweetish, warm taste. It’s used in baking desserts, puddings, and eggnog. Mace is the spice derived from the reddish aril or seed covering. Its delicate spice is used to flavor meats and used in pickling.

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Nutmeg

We come to a spice stand with these several herbs and spices all packaged. On the table the heady scents of fresh ylang ylang and vanilla pods waft over. Handmade soaps and essential oils look tempting. Babu suddenly asks us, “Do you want to buy Chanel No.5?”  He looks at the ylang ylang when he says this. We breathe the perfumed oil to realize that this indeed is the primary ingredient of Coco’s Five.

The spice tour has made me giddy, and I buy a small amount of the aromatic wares. Let me warn you these are cheaper at the market.

It’s time to savor some of the fruits of the farm. Our young companion sources coconut palm leaves, flowers, and leaves, while Babu joins us at an outdoor table. We savor sweet pineapple, sweet mango, and watermelon.

As we drink in our surroundings, we notice a  young man adeptly scrambling up the coconut tree. He has an amazing voice, as he soulfully sings in Swahili, “Zanzibar Hakuna Matata.” He drops young coconuts for us to enjoy.

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Meanwhile Mohammed has finished his handiwork. Wordlessly he hands the many jewels made from the found flora. He has fashioned crowns, bracelets, rings, a hat, a basket, and even a tie fit for the newly minted “king.”  They’re beautiful!

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Author standing with the humorous tour guide Babu

After coronation, we officially title our tour guide “The Royal Maker.” Without a decree, he obliges to become the royal photographer of the moment.

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The King and I

The freshly crowned king summons his carriage. The taxi driver arrives with a huge smile to take us back to Stone Town in a right royal manner.

Her Regalia
His Crown and Cravat
Several Spice Farms hold tours for Zanzibar visitors. The hotel concierge can arrange for Taxis and recommend tours. For about 100 USD, you can rent a cab for the day.

The Digital Reach

The cart turns wheels all seasons. These are the darling buds and blooms I beheld in May.

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The Flower Seller

He goes to the market early in the morning to buy fresh, loose flowers in bulk. He sorts, arranges them neatly on the cart. Street by street he pushes his darling buds and blooms, vocally announcing their names loud and proud. He knows there’s demand for loose flowers in ways more than one.

People buy these to adorn deities, or to string them into garlands, or just use them for decorations around the home.  My personal favorite is floral patterns on the floor. Here’s an elaborate one with flowers, fruit, leaves, glass bangles, and food.

Creative Floor Art

Floor pattern

Image Courtesy https://www.flickr.com/photos/49694447@N00/11169875093

Hair-Dos and Don’ts

Sometimes women punctuate their formal updos with select flowers in specific colors to match and contrast their attire. From the rarest orchid to the native jasmine, the possibilities are endless. Here’s a picture of Deepika Padukone, an Indian film actress, courtesy Bollywoodlife.com

Deepika Padukone Flowers

Memories of Another Time

A senior neighbor I once knew always used a fresh stemmed rose as a boutonnière to refresh his well-worn wool Nehru jacket. He unfailingly went about the morning walk with his trusted walking stick or umbrella. Chivalrously he would hand over the rose to a neighbor in the form of a courteous lady or child while sharing his favorite authors, local or international. His favorite topic was to impart the merits of the playwright Bernard Shaw while he met people on the street. Time stood still for him, while the neighborhood ladies let their minds circle back to their domestic duties on hold. However, to the courteous person who lent an ear to him or to a curious child, time transportation from Pygmalion’s Ancient Greece via Late Victorian/Early Edwardian London, to Twentieth Century Fox seemed more than welcome.  The senior gentleman has passed on since, leaving behind fond memories. Along with him went the remnants of the Raj. Yet good literature and courteous manners can never go out of style.

The Day’s Haul

I hear the flower vendor around 8:30 am, open the outside gate, and gesture for him to come over.

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Today the haul includes mini roses and marigolds. With his permission I take pictures of the glorious floral feast, all from several angles for my personal album.

When I am finished, he requests with utmost sincerity, “Madam, could you also take a picture of me to post in Your Facebook?”  Mildly amused, I agree to take the picture and to post on “my facebook.” Now these flowers have another use. They have a “profile” to share.

He rakes his unruly hair with fingers, postures straight, and poses for the click.

As a parting note, with equal mixture of confidence and humility he adds, “Madam, please don’t forget to add my name. It’s Vijay!”

I thought it was all about the flowers for my bouquet of memories. But with his intervening pose, it’s about being in someone’s tiny digital yet somewhat social world where happily everyone’s a celebrity.

 

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