Montage – Circus Lane, Dean village and some Edinburgh sunshine

DSC_0012“A queer compromise between a fairytale and a battleground is the very quintessence of Edinburgh”
– Devon Morton

There are certain places in this world we fall in love with the moment we set our eyes on it. Sometimes we are so mesmerized that it takes time to form into words what makes us feel the way we do. And not everything that is beautiful can cast the kind of spell that Edinburgh could.

The first time I learnt about this medieval city was three years ago, while I sipped away a tall glass of cranberry juice stacked with ice cubes at a riverside pub in Kingston. “It’s pronounced edin-bruh, not edin-burg. Try getting there one of these weekends. It’s a beautiful place”, Marc said. Ignoring the embarrassment of having mispronounced it, I fell in love with the Scottish ring in the name, my affair started that autumn evening. I have had many fantasies of visiting Scotland since, none close to the magical first impressions when we we finally made it there in October last year. Sriram and I arrived just after Edinburgh’s festival fringe, the world’s biggest art festival, on a beautiful Tuesday afternoon.

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Edinburgh greeted us with an enchanting canvas of medieval architecture, castles and hills overlooking an uncountable bunch of hidden lanes and ruins. So when we whisked ourselves away to a breathtaking airbnb in Leith, we were thrilled in anticipation to experience it all. There is never enough time to consume all the rich history and magic in this city.  Nevertheless, we decided that the best way to do it is on foot.

Edinburgh-6DSC_0021It’s hard to not lose your way in certain parts of Edinburgh, there are way too many lanes meandering through the heart of the city that some of them could occasionally muddle up google maps. And whilst we were hilariously lost most of the time, we walked into some gorgeous cobblestone alleys, stone houses and lush rose gardens (the kind of life I love). Our favorites were the Circus Lane and Dean village, both quiet and far away from hustle and bustle of tourist spots. The Dean village adjoins the Damside, also a quaint little residential area dotted by arched bridges over veins of the water of Leigh. Sriram and I try not to be the typical tourists when we travel and are looking for offbeat places that give us as much an authentic experience as possible of being a local. We had fun and a lot of good memories to keep.



Strangers on Valentine’s day


To be or not to be, that is the question – Shakespeare

Winter post December, I feel, is often bittersweet, slow and quiet. The dreamy christmas windows, mulled wine, pop up eateries all fade away. We timidly wake up from the picture-perfect postcard life with a fresh serving of new resolutions and a blob of good old procrastination on the side. Busy weeks pass by like a fast-forwarded dream and then we stop a little; it’s February 14th – a day to celebrate love. 

I stand in a queue with a bottle of roasted peanuts in hand and a dismal five dollar bill. “Next customer please”. I walk up to the cash counter, to a tall brunette. “How are you today? Happy Valentine’s day, if you are celebrating.”

To you as well, I said. She had a thick layer of sparkles on her eyelids, glittering in silver and blue.

“I’m not celebrating.” I could tell. Beneath the dramatic makeup, it was an easy give away. She handed the receipt. “I love what you have done to your eyes.”, I said. She lit up a bit. “It’s NYC, if you would like to try”.

Waiting at the train station earlier that morning, I caught a whiff of romance and passion in the air. After-all, tonight is the night. Crisp red roses, fancy hairdo’s to go with crimson red gowns, last minute scurry for pretty gift wrappers, lots of scented candles – lavender, cinnamon or just anything labelled love with a cupid and a heart and surprise dinner reservations. Oh yes. The evenings are beautiful. The tables are decked with special candles tonight and a complimentary tall vase with roses, carefully placed in the centre.

“Well, it was nice, different from the usual bottle of wine and red roses, you know..” There was a trace of doubt in her voice. She walked past me, phone on one ear, her slender form enhanced in her pencil skirt and suede pumps. Here is a day reminding us about love (or the lack of one). I look at happy faces inside cars at a traffic point. With blow dried hair and red lipstick, she buries her nose into a velvety bundle of red roses. It’s a day of plentiful reflections; reflections of love, happiness, life.

It’s that time of the year again when most of us are in romantic harmony. We dress. We groom. Dine. Drink. Walk under moonlight. Exchange expensive gifts. Get surprised. Act surprised. Kiss each other goodnight and snuggle up in love. It’s a beautiful life. If only we could stop for a while and think – maybe love needn’t be just a one day celebration. It’s sunrise again. Until next year, it’s time to instagram #aboutlastnight and get back to work.

A little note to my readers

Thank youWhen I started writing Happily Muffined last year, I imagined this space on the internet to be a little cozy corner, an imaginary warm and quiet nook to cuddle up into in a room full of tall shelves of old books, a cup of lady grey with a spot of cold milk, a french window overlooking the hills through the seasons and indoor creepers growing wild and happy. I am overjoyed that today people want to connect to this space and read about it. I want to thank you all for helping HM grow and for being a part of it all. While the tea brews, welcome to this little abode. In the days to come, I am working towards bringing together collections of photographic stories from off beaten parts of the world, while continuing to learn and grow in the process.

I am now back from a little vacation with many adventures and stories to write about. New post coming soon :  Edinburgh series.

Postcards from Pocono Mountains

DSC_1342Bushkill Falls : Along a little creek 

In the last weeks of May the remnant days of a very short lived spring vanished into summer. I gathered all the packed boxes and neatly lined them up against the wall behind the front room. Sriram and I have been slowly packing away our life in the little Manhattan apartment. We felt like a gypsy by the end of last week, we really were ready to leave any day if need be. I stared at my bare feet, the faded nail paint barely visible against the dusty wooden floor and took another sip of the ginger tea. This whole act of packing was playing games with my reminiscence, recalling all the memorable times we spent together this year. In the last weekend of Spring we joined our cousins and family, a little group of 12 packed in a van and headed off to the quiet sounds of a waterfall in the distant canopy of woods. The two hour drive to the eastern boundary of Pennsylvania comprised of a collective pretzel craving, our favorite cousin was entrusted to execute a solution for it. Long drives are meant to justify food cravings. Besides, it is the land of pretzels after all. The drive lasted till we reached Blakeslee, to a beautiful Airbnb house tucked away amidst a lush thicket of pine trees. After a good comforting lunch of Athai’s homemade puliyodharai sadam and curd rice our enthusiastic appetites were fed and  we were all set for a remarkable afternoon. For the brief drive post lunch, we were dazed by the peaceful surroundings and the thought of waterfalls.

DSC_1364Everything is magical around a waterfall. Bushkill falls was fascinating in so many levels, it was hard to shake off the wonderment. We followed a little creek along bamboo bridges and rocky trails. The red-trail, a small uphill trek around the falls was as leafy and green as one could possibly imagine. It is a beautiful world to escape into. Bound by the mist softly descending on my face and delicate sounds of the milky waterfall oozing through wet mossy stones.


Camelback mountain adventures

The spring getaway this year was the time when Sriram and I were at the intersection of two exciting future choices. It was going to be a huge leap. A dream of castles, red buses and tea or the land of museums and national parks. So to echo the nervousness and excitement in our hearts, this trip we both (equally petrified) stood on the edge of the hill at camelback mountains ready to jump off the cliff. We were zip-lining for the first time and the leap was worth it. It was a rip-roaring experience to glide over tall trees. A newly found reassurance that no matter how terrifying life might get, it is a wonderful feeling to have crossed it. Two favorites from the mountain adventures this year –

4000 feet zip-line – This is apparently North America’s longest zip-liner. CBK mountain adventures offers two types of zip-lines, 1000 feet and 4000 feet. With much encouragement from the lovely cousins we braved the 4000 ft twin zip-line that gives a beautiful all-embracing view of the mountains. For someone terrified of heights and speed, this is a good first step.

Appalachian express coaster ride – A ride down the slopes of the hills is yet another source of a beautiful view of camelback mountains. It is a slightly rocky yet magnificent ride with twists and turns, they even let us control the speed (a well tamed rollercoaster so to speak). There is often a long queue for this much anticipated ride but the scene at the top is worth the wait.


Hot chocolate and other stories at Flatiron district

DSC_0114.jpg“Manhattan has been compelled to expand skyward because of the absence of any other direction in which to grow. This, more than any other thing, is responsible for its physical majesty. It is to the nation what the white church spire is to the village – the visible symbol of aspiration and faith, the white plume saying that the way is up.”

If Fuller building were a person, this would be his story. More than a hundred summers ago in America, it was around the time when public smoking was declared illegal for women. A dapper young man (the flatiron building) stood at the intersection of broadway, 23rd street and 5th avenue tracing glances across the city skyline. It was a triangular piece of land where frequent waves of turbulent winds tossed up skirts while passersby fell in love with his tall charming stance and sleek tricorne (a look alike in this case). He stood there day and night welcoming scores of visitors to the heart of the city. The streets that were hardly frequented now attracted the young and old, some pulled out of hansom cabs for a courteous hat tip while kids craned their heads to the mightiest sight of him. Days grew heavy with obvious stares and hushed whispers that he pretended to ignore. Slenderest, most aquiline structure, one said. He was the talk of the neighborhood, the substance of the city’s most reported love affair albeit a curious three sided story. It was the birth of a historic moment for the identity of 5th avenue. He lived to be more than a hundred, through evolution into the 21st century.

Many weeks ago, on a Friday in June, the sun decided to bring more light into our days. It felt wonderful, the city looked magical. The tulips loved it, shooting out of its bulbs in reds and yellows. Two months later, it continues to be generous. New York streets are now like an overly baked piece of cake. The goodness is in there but it is way too over-baked to enjoy. So while the summer played games with my mind to coil up in a cozy little air-conditioned corner what happened instead were numerous ambles in the lower Manhattan neighborhood. On one such afternoon, I took my seat under the cozy shades of a large street umbrella along the edge of Madison square park. The main course on the menu was a beautiful view of the Flatiron building, a right triangle limestone and terra-cotta grande relished with a delicious sip of hot chocolate. The city bakery (from a couple of streets south of Flatiron district) serves undeniably the best hot chocolate in New York. It’s a thick and creamy delight with a velvety chunk of  homemade marshmallow. The ritual – always get a hot chocolate takeaway to savor the landmark. Bon appetit.


The beginning of this post is a quote by E.B White from Here is New York.

Tales from a journey – Fortune in a cup

Beyond the ancient trees and wild deers at Richmond park, a pack of pastel houses lined a thin and twisted uphill road. One of them, the faded venetian pink corner house belonged to Madeleine’s neighbor and dear friend Simi. I have vivid memories of that home, particularly the striking life size portrait painting of a much younger Simi.

One afternoon after work I reached home to find her sitting by the kitchen window while Madeleine put a kettle on the stove. A small tea party, I gathered. They were both over eighty with a charming sense of humor. A relaxed afternoon tea at Madeleine’s was a regular if Simi and Sarah were home. We all took our places around the big old teapot, the tea leaves infusing a bold shade of chestnut brown. I took a sip and a bite of the smooth Belgium chocolate. Having a cup of tea with some fine women who loved living life and spoke more Farsi than english seemed a perfect way to spend that afternoon. My association with Madeleine progressed from more than just a landlord. For some reason, it was an emotional afternoon for me. I sat there realizing this to be a true blessing. For the next three months I was going to be a part of this little family. Simi spoke at length, there were times when I couldn’t make much sense of it. I could sense a thousand emotions hidden behind those sharp brown eyes. In spite of that they still looked young and beautiful. In the thick of all the drinking and talking, the tea party turned into a Turkish coffee reading scene that evening. “Drink it all, my dear”, Madeleine gestured. “Lets read your fortune”. I quietly drained the last bit into my mouth, then placed the saucer over the rim of the cup and quickly turned it upside down. Another Parsi thing, I assumed.

More conversations. Sarah discussed her university projects, Madeleine asked her to stop wearing black all the time.  More chocolates, while we waited for the remains of the beverage seep onto the saucer. A little while later Madeleine read our fortune from the patterns in the cup. I met Sriram a month after, I am indeed married to a ‘very handsome’ young man.

Travelogue – The fragrance of Williamsburg


The Sketchbook Project

I stood before all the journals and sketchbooks lined up against the walls, deeply inhaling the fragrance of old books. An image of a young jewish boy came to my mind. I still remember, the subway stopped at a midtown station, mildly crowded for a workday evening. He slipped inside through the closing doors just in time and occupied an empty seat across mine. A little while later I noticed an olive green envelope perched on his lap. He removed the card and wrote carefully in small cursive motions. For a moment my mind wandered off. I wondered what his story might be when he leaves the train. Someone waiting to be loved, I was certain, for his dreamy eyes gleamed with love under the yellow lights. The train passed through tunnels with dirty walls of withered paint and grease. I looked out the window, permitting the scene of the boy and his envelope lodge in my mind. Two stations after I noticed him carefully retracing the words on the flap, to make it bolder I assumed. Many years later this would probably be someone else’s keepsake, a letter that contained a piece of his story.

I have always been fond of handwritten notes and love letters. They are a wonderful medium to connect with loved ones. On Saturday I decided to visit the sketchbook project at Williamsburg, a library of journals from people around the world. Nested between old-world cafes and art scenes, it is the world’s largest public art project with a collection of real narratives. Every handmade journal is a creative expression of a personal story. I spent the afternoon leisurely flipping through journals from Portland, Milan and Israel. The “coffee stains” sketchbook contained paintings with real tea and hot cocoa mix, the atlas of eating was a book of recipes and thoughts about food I liked as well. Each book I opened smelled different form the other, it contained fabric, beach sand, pressed flowers, ribbons, quilt. They all seemed to carry a fragrance from the place they came from. There are thousands of books, it is a good place to connect and an outlet to share something real.

Happily Muffined was born this day last year and I couldn’t think of a better place to celebrate today.

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I found a forgotten summer top hidden in the wardrobe. A pale citrus yellow, it was a gift from Madeleine, my lovely landlord back in London. Two years later I wore it this Saturday.


Sriram and I spent a lunch date at Williamsburg that weekend. He insisted we go on a Saturday so as to not miss Smorgasburg, the weekly food festival. Perched on the waterfront at East Riverstate park, the stalls overlooked Manhattan skyline serving everything from lemonade to spaghetti donuts. The afternoon air held a smoky blend of meat, potato fries and vanilla. It was a crowded but perfect setting for all kinds of food adventures. We walked around a mecca of choices with a lot of food ideas brewing in my head. It was a late lunch but first a local special to resist the summer heat – cream soda! Virgil’s orange cream soda was a better version of Fanta, delicious and refreshing with a strong vanilla flavor.

The neighborhood is known for high energy hipster streets, vintage boutiques and graffiti covered warehouses. There is a lot going on, it is beautiful to walk around and drink in the essence of Brooklyn or grab a snack by the riverside. The restaurants and cafe’ are a good mix of contemporary and old-style. From the outside they all look beautiful, like a perfect prescription for the soul.


The quaint Italian coffee shops in Manhattan


As slick as a whistle here we are, at the heart of summer. The sun is beaming in full force dissolving every memory of snow and rain we carried over from last year. Despite that, New York city is rich and lively. Gelato and rainbow milkshakes are hastily relished on the go before the scorching heat bleeds them out. New York is a bit of every part of the world, it has something to give for everyone. This summer commenced with a predominant Italian vibe. The one thing consistent in Italian food is the amount of passion instituted in cooking.  I would never have learnt the story of gianduja had I not explored the Italian pockets of the city.


Max Caffe’ 

It’s a laid back Sunday morning. We rise up after much contemplation, pour some spiced Indian chai to the brim of our stout coffee mugs. We carelessly dip a social tea biscuit in the steaming hot tea and force our half open eyes to wake up to the nostalgic aroma of mornings in Madras. We then decide to do brunch outside today, instead of the wonted upma or oatmeal. It is a perfectly toasty afternoon. We slip into our summer clothes and head out to the cafe across the street, a couple of blocks uptown. We pick a favorite corner spot by the window, overlooking the streets on Amsterdam avenue. It is a lush Italian cafe with an airy homestyle flair. The comfy coaches with bold floral prints are a visual treat. We order a plate of nutella crepes for him and french toast for me. We savor the food and the intricate decor alike, take a moment to commend the first class maple syrup, then get back to admiring the wall mounted lanterns and other antiques. Hours pass by a cuppa and we are still smitten by the ambience, the sweet little corners calling out to us for tête-à-têtes with our loved ones. It feels good because for a very short while, as long as we are here sipping a latte, life is slow.. the way it should be.

It was a chapter that transported us back in time. A lazy brunch on Sundays is mandatory for the soul. Sometimes it’s all the therapy you will need to tackle monday blues. It is amusing to explore coffee shops unassumingly tucked away in street corners like these. I have an unparalleled weakness for everything vintage and this was a perfect setting to feed my liking. I will remember this day for the best french toast I have ever eaten in a very artsy and vibrant cafe. I will also remember this to be the day when, in New York city, I was finally served just the sufficient quantity of food a person can eat. On a side note, fresh sourdough breads are perfetto for french toasts.

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A day like an Italian

To eat every existing delicacy in this city, one lifetime isn’t enough. One of the most heartwarming attractions in lower Manhattan is a bustling Italian marketplace called Eataly. It stands alongside the Flatiron building across Madison Park. I have been sinfully stealing myself to Eataly at least twice a week the past month. There is a genuine piece of Italy life here, fondling an irresistible invitation to breathe in the fragrance of freshly baked pastries and sourdough breads. It has been an enlightening discovery, the choices of food and wine are endless. The doors at 5th avenue open to a crisp aroma of freshly ground coffee. The magic unfolds the instant we walk in, one wouldn’t expect so much of a truly authentic Italian world on this side of the block. The quiet mumblings over coffee tables and counters are thick and french accented, the air is distinctly scented with regional twists of flavored espresso. It accommodates rooftop beer gardens, restaurants and wine bar. It is a mecca of Italian jams and compote, hand pulled mozzarella, wine and breads. It is a high-end supermarket, the downside is that it is very expensive. Nevertheless it was an incredible experience touring the marketplace and eyeballing the jumbo cheese counters and absynth chocolates. There are occasional shout outs from the fishmonger, the spirits are high at the wine bar and all through the day, the bakery at the north west pocket oozes out delicious aroma of well risen, warm and crusty breads.My south Indian curiosity was promptly tingled, drawing me to create a little bucket-list (a summer fling list) of some offbeat favorites. The Italians here take food very seriously. They strongly believe people bond well when there is good food.


The summer-fling list:

Violet jamViola/violet jam is made out of wild violet flowers and is popular in France. Some of these have a more perfumed taste.
Gobino’s gianduja spread – Predating Napoleon times, the continental system lead to declining supply of cocoa. To stretch the quantity the chocolate was mixed with hazelnut paste occasioning the invention of gianduja.
Italian coriander honey – Any monofloral honey will have it’s own unique taste of season. Manufactured when coriander flowers are in full bloom, this has an aroma of citrus and coriander spice.
Sambuco –  Sambuco is Italian for elderberry jam.
Sabadi’s Quality of life series : health – Cold processed organic chocolate with bee pollen, pomegranate extract and acerola.
Sabadi’s Quality of life series : beauty – Cold pressed organic chocolate with chia seeds, linseeds, hemp seeds, extracts of carrots and bilberries
Chestnut cream – A common ingredient in many Italian cuisines.
Redcurrant compote – Red currants are uncommon berries, when had as a whole they are believed to have a seeded caviar like texture. 
– All the bite sized pastries look beautiful, but I found Alba to be particularly interesting. It is a passion fruit mousse & dark chocolate over buckwheat and almond flour sponge cake


Seasonal memories – A photo album

34679133693_6a724c976e_oThree weekends ago, on a warm evening we marked the beginning of summer with a classical music concert at Central Park. It was a beautiful day for outdoor concerts. We accompanied a lovely couple, lounged on picnic blankets and snacked on some delicious chocolate cookies and pretzels. If I were to collect all my first time experiences from the past year in a big trunk, it would snap open and pour out. As I write this, I am sitting at home by the front room window glazed by a mild sun shower, reflecting on the experiences living in one of the biggest cities in the world. I remember my first day in our Morningside home, as I walked through the front door I instantly fell in love with the spring sunshine oozing through the windows. Nothing makes a home feel reassuring than the warmth of natural light. Our love affair with the little den has continued to multiply while we step into our second summer anniversary together. She has seen us through a good spread of emotions, food and songs (of course it’s a she!). In turn, what reflects on us is very beautiful and personal.

When I moved to this city, I was certain that it was going to be overwhelming in more ways than one. The very first attributes I admired about it was the unfathomable diversity of cuisines to choose from. They say New York is the city that dreams are made of. So in a way, I have come to realize that this qualifies as a snippet of my dream as well. Many levain cookies, bubble teas and Hungarian pastries later, today like the rest of America, I am nibbling onto my new found favorite – hard pretzels. I have forgiven the overplay of coarse salt sprinkles on them, faithfully picking out the granules on every pretzel before consumption. Meanwhile, I am on an inconclusive debate with myself about (fluffy) soft vs.(crispy) hard pretzels. Oh, and what a world of difference a creamy mustard dip can make.



The past season has been a lot about photography. Photo walks have never failed to replenish my mind and the city is a paradise for that between late spring and early summer. The neighborhoods are bright and full of life. Streets are lined with plump flower pots, colorful tulips and other wobbling surprises. I often steal myself to the Riverside park when the sky opens up for a surprise summer shower. Over the years, I have been on a relentless pursuit to discover beauty in its most pristine forms. I am hopelessly drawn towards nature, my humble abode, to attain inspiration and happiness. From tall, green and mossy cobblestone walls with curtains of dense creepers adorning a medieval staircase to the shy posy of snowdrops blooming beneath the lavender blue sky. On the course of the journey, I am learning to capture what I see.

Along the way, we decide the memories we want to keep, the moments we want to forget, a few that we try very hard to remember. We meet a lot of interesting people almost everyday and a few tend to stay in our memories for a lifetime. I remember the story of a taxi driver dropping us home one day. We noticed the colorful prayer flags hanging diagonally in the boot of his car and that led to some very interesting conversations. His ancestral family moved to southern India from Nepal years ago as refugees and started a new life in Mysore long before he was born. He yearned to visit Nepal someday. “I want to visit my homeland, and touch the sand in my hands.”. His words were filled with passion. He spoke at length about Nepal, his visits to the beautiful Mysore Palace, Manali and Kashmir and almost made an itinerary for our next trip to north India. It’s fascinating how passionate we grow of our roots. His struggle to set foot in his homeland might someday become an inspiring story for generations to come.

It was a short ride home.

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Old fashioned delights


Tales from the city 

On a cloudy afternoon in late April I had just finished a job interview in the quiet neighborhoods of Blossom street in Hoboken. Strangely the weather seemed confused and quite cold for a spring day. I was beginning to think we might get by stretching out spring for longer this time. The cherry blossoms were all springing to life. Perched on the Hudson waterfront, the city is a good blend of everything beautiful – cobbled streets, brick walls, vintage lamp posts and pretty corner shops with pastel windows. It brought back fantasies of stepping into a countryside village. Snuggled up in an old fashioned corner cafe, the afternoon began by devouring a freshly baked croissant and a piping hot earl grey tea. Funnily enough earl grey tea is not my kind, rather a favorite for Sriram. I guess I drink it to substitute his absence and enjoy it only in such times; it’s just how it is. What I really love about coffee shops is its ambient sounds – the involuntary clinks and murmurs comfort me. It was a perfect stage to lose myself in a good book. Later that afternoon I was out exploring the neighborhood.

One of my favorite memories from that afternoon are walks amidst the vibrant Kanzan cherry trees and magnolias, gracefully swaying at the corners of every street. For someone who has lived in south Asia for the greater part of her life, cherry trees are a rarity, so memories like these are a feast to take home. I stopped by at Coldstone later that evening for our favorite banana caramel crunch before heading back home. A small guilty pleasure for dessert that night. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city across the Hudson, the afternoon was a welcoming change.

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A Map of the world

The closer I am placed to a book, the more content I am. Every other fortnight I visit the library in the city and bring home books that will last for a month. This has been happening for almost a year now. I came to realize recently that there is a lot I have to catch up on, it was as if I didn’t live the beginning of my adult life the way I should have. So many classics to cover, so little time. There is a world of books to read out there and next to travel, that would be my preferred way to celebrate life. I am reminded of  a new favorite I recently read called Map of the world by Jane Hamilton. The story is narrated from the perspective of a husband and a wife when life takes a turn with the death of a neighbor’s child, charges of child molestation, marital differences and isolation from society. This isn’t a light read but what makes it laudable is how expressive and real the sentiments are. In addition, this time I also brought home a couple of classics by RK Narayan and W M Thackeray. Books like these are a motivation to read more. It felt wonderful to get back to the habit of reading, something my dear mother inspired me into at an early age. I remember my younger days when I was first introduced to Enid Blyton’s Famous Five, it was an old book that belonged to Amma when she was 9 or 10. My affair with reading and musty vintage books started then. It feels good because it is one of the attributes I most associate with my childhood and family.


No cook oats with blueberries and banana

I just finished eating my favorite breakfast this morning after seeing Sriram off to work. When I started this blog I wanted it to be a bit of everything. I realized recently that an easy way to make your day work is to kick-start it with something you love. Be it reading or making art, it feels great to create a day you want to wake up to. Food makes me happy. So sometimes for me the easiest answer to that is a healthy and tasty breakfast. Something I could relish and yet not worry about gaining pounds from it. We have been eating oatmeal almost every morning and were looking for ways to make it more interesting than just the garnish of raisins and almonds. This is Sriram’s take on a healthy no cook overnight oats recipe. I have a deep relationship with this new discovery because it is a very comforting start for a workday. The chewy texture of the oats with a tangy sweetness from the yogurt and fresh fruits make it a longing relish. This recipe serves 3.


  • 1 cup uncooked oats
  • 1 cup home-made yogurt (or greek yogurt)
  • 2 tbsp honey
  • 1 large banana
  • 1/4 cup fresh blueberries
  • 1 cup milk
  • 2 tbsp cinnamon
  • 1/4 cup roasted almonds (optional)

For the roasted almonds, mildly crush the almonds using a mortar and pestle. Heat a pan and dry roast it for 3 minutes. Remove from heat when the edges turn golden brown. Transfer to a bowl and set it aside to cool.

In a mason jar or any airtight container, bring together the oats and milk. Mix well. To this pour in a cup of thick yogurt and combine. (Alternatively replace with greek yogurt if you prefer thicker consistency) Add 1 sliced banana, blueberries, cinnamon and honey. Slowly mix everything until well combined. If using frozen blueberries, let it thaw at room temperature for 30 minutes before mixing. Leave it to rest in the fridge overnight. Garnish with roasted almonds before serving.

If you prefer to reduce the quantity of milk, replace 1/2 cup of milk with equal amount of water. Also, you can go upto 5 tablespoons of honey if you have a serious sweet craving to satisfy.