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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Preserving the Good Times


Looking back at the year behind us, there is a galore of moments preserved in our memory. Though not necessarily eventful, we realized that it’s the most simplest of happenings we tend to retain lifelong. There is a lot to feel happy about and a lot to look forward to. We are nearing our first anniversary and the end of winter, the weather has been surprisingly marvelous. Sriram and I started walking the 3 mile stretch from his lab every evening, like we used to during the summer and fall.  I never got around to writing as much as I planned to last year, but recollecting the best of all the love and laughter we shared is amusing.

The lake is my happy place

In the last week of October we were half way into the fall season gathering our boots and bags for a road-trip to Craryville. We were driving on a misty Friday afternoon, anticipating the clouds to pop in a little while. The drive felt like a beginning of a classic melody with the enchanting backdrop of sugar maple trees and fogginess lingering over the hilltops and slender roads. Sometime after dark we reached the semblance of a magical, mysterious manor. A deep breath of fresh air almost had a rural flavor to it and the two cheerful mule deers by the doorstep reassured that characteristic, visiting politely from the woods to greet us. The house was a vintage classic in its own way, and everything in its rightful place looked odd, beautiful, unique and old all at once. They must have survived through some historic years, unwritten tales and superstitions.

The weekend was all about unwinding in the comfort of a vintage home by the lake, cooking some delicious meals and soaking in the beauty of the fall colors. Nothing seemed more satisfying than sharing these moments with a group of close friends. There was a predicted downpour on Saturday as well, we gathered together for a relaxed breakfast of pancakes with maple syrup, buttered toast and coffee. The showers added a zest of organic character to the experience overall. A slow weekend is great, a rustic den with bursts of floral patterns is a perk(for me at-least) but the cherry on the cake was the discovery of an unusual book barn hidden amidst the groves of burgundy and butterscotch, a few miles away. It was treasure in the midst of wilderness, a good savor of what my dreams were made of ( the likes of living in the outskirts of the city with a swelling book barn in the neighborhood). All it took was looking in the right nooks, we found an interesting lot of old prints and collectables. I brought home a big leather bound book full of vintage postcards and an old Frank Leslies’s illustrated newspaper.






The Hungarian Pastry Shop

Is it possible to love something before you were even acquainted with it? In December last year, during the last few weeks before Christmas I frequented the Hungarian Pastry shop excessively. The place was amply packed because of the holiday season, but I continued to find the subtle cafe sounds quite charming . It is a rare finding, located across the street from the Cathedral of Saint John. The small shop is filled with closely arranged furniture, walls embellished with the original works of a greek artist and delicious servings of authentic Hungarian and greek pastries. There is also a writer’s wall with annotations from authors/poets who found solace in the cafe or penned their first books for publication there. I remember the first time I stepped into the coffee shop, it wasn’t contemporary or commercial, nevertheless the ambience held something special. It was great to sit among artists and writers for as long as I pleased. It was ideal for the creative minds. The perfect theme for a novel. I even got around to bonding with the baristas and learnt to make a traditional Hungarian coffee and cappuccino.

December was a month of indulgence. If our kitchen was a fruit market then it had way too many pears in it. I decided to bake a Pear Flaugnarde from one of my favorite french cookbooks and it was indeed an indulgence. It was quite delicious, the caramelized pears were marvelous and I also felt convinced that it was healthier than most of my other bakes. A lot of my fond memories have been associated with baking, the most recent was a chocolate birthday cake topped with a generous spread of cocoa butter frosting and fresh berries for the lovely husband. While on the subject of desserts, Sriram and I had discovered another favorite bakery last summer and we went out of control by Christmas, finding an excuse to celebrate every other weekend with our favorite Chocolate & Walnut Levain cookies. I have surrendered to a guilt-free privilege for anything sweet. As I tell Sriram, relish it while you can.


Potting plants and a Recipe


When I was a little girl, I used to spend huge parts of my summer vacation with my grandparents. It used to be a visual treat being home. Conveniently anchored a few feet away from our favorite temple, we were eternally embraced with lots of love and an outpouring melange of greenery. Days were slower and quieter back then. Most of the days we feasted on a sumptuous potpourri of the family’s favorites including sweets, pickles, curries and salads, for lunch. My grandmother was a passionate cook with an equally brimming appetite to grow her own vegetables and herbs. I still remember how every afternoon, after a post-lunch nap, she steps into her garden contemplating the ripeness of the jackfruit cluster or inspecting jasmine shrubs under the pepper tree, while I tagged along for a stroll.Years have passed, and her garden has now grown into an unruly thicket.

My family has had a green thumb for as long as I can remember, and it has lingered on for generations. Back in Madras, the first flush of mornings are always spent in the garden, the fresh scent of moist soil coiling around us while we water the vines and ferns. Until recently I always wondered if I would ever be able to continue the tradition; if I have inherited the “green thumb”. I am in a phase of my life where I am venturing deep into that uncertainty. The last few months have been dominated by indoor gardening. A couple of weeks back, on the morning of our 6 month anniversary Sriram and I were still nestled in our bed, talking about ideas to embellish our special day. By the end of the evening, we were sitting with a bag of dirt, earthen pots and baby plants to repot.




I was never a fan of smoothies or milkshakes till I discovered almond milk. This recipe takes about 5 minutes and yields for two.



Cut the bananas into pieces of about an inch thick, and freeze them overnight. Soak the almonds for 5 hours in water. Remove the skin.

Blend the frozen bananas, almonds and cold almond milk till smooth.

Escapade – The West coast


I stepped out of India for the first time when I was 13. My parents and I travelled twice to Europe that year – stayed in a beautiful studio apartment in Germany on both occasions and set out across the neighboring states to do all the sight seeing we could, during our brief time there. I used to wonder, if it is possible to fall in love with a place so much. Years later, I met Sriram in London for the first time last summer. It was a perfect stage packed with character, cobbled streets, erratic weather and love in the air. I felt it was romantic that we both shared an enduring dream of living in London.

This summer, though we both wanted another serving of our London experience (almost all our travel plans point to Europe these days), we had to opt for a Plan B, after much thought, California. I did not know what to expect of the west coast – Sriram promised me it is an amazing place – “You will love it. I am sure!”, he said. So I decided to let it surprise me, resisted researching about it just so I could go with an open mind; I will see it when I reach it, I thought. And thus began our trip, on an evening flight; we landed a little after 9. A fine retired couple and a chirpy cabdriver contributed to an interesting taxi drive from the airport. We talked about San Francisco, Indian matrimony, palo alto and suggestions to visit muir woods. They were thrilled to hear we were recently married, curious to know if we had elephants at our wedding. It was a perfect start to our weekend getaway. Minutes later, we dropped them home, a beautiful mansion by the way, exchanged contacts and drove to our hotel.

Stanford and Palo Alto

Palo Alto is an elegant city and has a subtle vibe of tranquil in all its visual goodness. We had a pleasant first morning, walking along the  cobblestone sidewalks with antiquated street lamps and flourishing greenery . It does not exhibit the pace or lifestyle of a traditional city life, reminding me of the little town where I spent my early childhood. We breakfasted at Crepevine, a  handsome brightly lit place with colorful wall menu and beautiful spots by the window, overlooking downtown. After relishing some delicious food (a Santorini crepe topped with walnuts, pistachios and mascarpone filling, served with vanilla ice-cream on the side for him and a Swedish oatmeal pancake with strawberry sauce and maple syrup for me), we headed towards Stanford University, just a mile and a half away from the city. We spent the afternoon wandering around the main quad, the Hoover Tower and memorial church. It was exciting to catch a glimpse of the carillon and the beckoning far away view of San Francisco from the tower. Spreading across acres of land, we enjoyed walking in the open passages of the university, the off white walls with intricate frieze work columns, were a classic.





The bridge, The island and the Woods

I woke up to a beautiful morning, with a huge smile on my face. Everything seemed right and romantic about the city. A little after brunch, we headed to the station and in about a couple of hours, we arrived to the city – The Paris of the West, and checked in the hotel before heading towards the bay. San Francisco is known for it’s inconsistent weather, but we decided to walk anyway, a long evening walk to Fisherman’s wharf and then across the Golden Gate bridge. By the time we reached Pier39, I already had a dreamy feeling about this. It was like a scene out of a vintage novel – The noisy dynamic streets with seafood markets, the colorful trams bustling up the hill and the pastel houses stacked along the hilly roads. We walked across the orange bridge, the horizon outlining SF bay and the Pacific and thick clouds of fog crowning the bridge. Over a couple of hours later, after an uphill climb to Battery Spencer, we made it. The fog had cleared just in time for us to drink in the breathtaking view of the bridge, and SF city beyond it. So mesmerizing, that Sriram agreed to let me take pictures of him, for the first time, without reluctance. After about 12 miles of walk and a long wait for reservations, we dined in Gracias Madre. The city boasts a myriad of options for herbivores like us. It turned out to be a wonderful place; a very delicious vegan Mexican dinner was served for the night.





We spent the next two days trekking in Muir woods and Angel island. My first real experience that qualified as a trek was in the woods – underneath the canopy of the redwood trees rooted since a hundred civilizations before and bounding silent whispers of fresh water springs. The next day followed with more trekking, this time all the way up the Angel Island.  Every-time I wondered aloud if a snake might pop out of a bush, Sriram, with an air of confidence said, “They don’t loiter around here. Not at this altitude.” We saw so many beautiful views of SF and the bridge from the island. But the reward waited atop the hill. When we reached at the top, we were standing above the city and the ocean. And we could see it all. It was hard to resist camping on the island. We almost started making our next getaway plans on our way down the hill, when we met a 3 foot yellow crawling visitor. I forgave Sriram’s enthusiastic confidence about snakes. California is now my second happy place to vacation.








It was my first time in New York this April ; the wind swelled with left over goodness of spring. I knew gathering a likeness for this city is an acquired feeling. It wasn’t one of those places that swept me off my feet at first sight. On our way home from the airport, my husband (who has bathed himself with this acquired feeling) and I took a mini tour through a few landmarks and along the Hudson, in our yellow taxi cab. My jet-lagged mind registered the essence of the city. I felt like my cats back home – distracted with every tall shiny building with fancy names. It was a pleasant morning drive, heading towards a whole new life ahead.

In the midst of the excitement of moving in and setting up our cozy apartment, we created a lot of memories, ate some never-tasted-before food, watched a Spanish drama series for the first time and travelled to a few neighboring cities. Each tour would last one weekend and that meant we wouldn’t have time for everything there is to see; we have let it trick ourselves into trusting the comfortable possibility of going back again.


It is always exciting to know there is something out there you never knew about. That is what makes travel such an overwhelming experience. It is often a choice between feelings of open mindedness and uncertainty. The impact is intense if it is the former.





A pleasant Saturday morning in Madras, palms curled over the warmth of a tea cup and three furry little kittens – two tangling up between my ankles and the third over my lap, peeping into my tea. A few wet brown whiskers and tea no longer edible.

Happily Muffined was born at a happy place and time. A new direction forth.