Happy Birthday Anna

Happy birthday to my dearest father.

On my bookshelf

Both Rohit and I love reading and we'll pretty much devour anything! So I thought I'd start a section on books that we have read, are reading, own and want to own!

via Arts Journal

Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger
One of my favorite books, I thought Catcher in the Rye was brilliant, original, unpretentious and the characters so real. Allie's baseball mitt, Jane Gallagher's game of checkers, Holden's red hunting hat, the ducks at Central Park and Phoebe's notebook have stayed on with me long after I put the book down. I read this book first when I was nearly fourteen and to me it remains as poignant and relevant today as it did nearly fifteen years ago.

Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
One of the books I think all young pre teen girls should read is, Gone with the Wind.
Even if they haven't read the book most people know what its about - Love. Life. War. Loss. Society. Race. Money. Politics. Endurance. and so much more. The characters are so perfectly written and some of the moments in the book are heartbreakingly beautiful.
I think, however, that you should read it understanding who the author is and the time it was written in. 

Atonement by Ian McEwan
I know Atonement isn't like your typical McEwan novel, but I loved it. The slow pace to begin with, the beautiful imagery, and the distinct vivid scenes in the book - from the hazy, warm, almost claustrophobic English summer to the acrid graphic scenes at Dunkirk. Absorbing, intriguing and always tender, I couldn't put this book down.

Portobello Mushroom Burger

A simple, quick, relatively healthy, vegetarian burger? Count me in!
I saw this recipe on the Food Network and couldn't wait to try it out.

Pic via Food Network

Ingredients
Salt
Freshly ground pepper
6 Portobello Caps
2 tbps Mashed Garlic
2 cups Spring Mix Greens
3 tbps Olive Oil
6 Mini burger buns

For the Salsa:
Crumbled Feta Cheese
1 Red Onion
8 Plum Tomatoes
Red vine vinegar
2 Grilled red peppers
Fresh Oregano

Directions:
1) Remove gills and stem from mushroom gently with a spoon (The gills are an inky black and could stain your clothes, so be careful. Also, the mushrooms are delicate and can break easily - which you want to avoid). In a bowl mix the mushrooms with 2 tbps garlic, 1 tbps salt and 1 tbps pepper and 3 tbps olive oil. Grill for about 8 minutes, till mushrooms are cooked.
For the Salsa.
2) Remove the skin from the grilled red peppers and chop.
3) Dice the Red onion into tiny pieces.
4) Seed and dice the Plum tomatoes.
5) Mix the peppers, onions and tomatoes with 1/3 cup of red vine vinegar, fresh oregano and 2 tbps of crumbled feta cheese
6) Layer your burger with the Greens and Salsa and add one large grilled Portobello cap to each.
7) That's it, you're done!


Unfortunately, I didn't take any pictures of our burgers, we polished them off too quickly! 

Meeting Poets

Meeting poets I am disconcerted sometimes
by the colour of their socks
the suspicion of a wig
the wasp in the voice
and an air, sometimes, of dankness.

Best to meet in poems:
cool speckled shells
in which one hears
a sad but distant sea.

Eunice deSouza

I love the wit, economy and irony of Eunice deSouza's poems. I was amongst those lucky students who studied under her just before she retired. She had a wonderful sense of humor and was a brilliant professor - I owe my love of Jane Austen largely to her extremely engaging and thought provoking lectures.  
(For Karin)

Northanger Abbey

# 19 on my To Do List is to read all six of Jane Austen's novels.

I love Jane Austen because of the wry humor, charm and deeply perceptive observations of human nature that is her writing.

Jane Austen in Bath via Pemberley 

I just finished reading Northanger Abbey a couple of days ago. It was her first novel but the last one to be published. The book is largely a parody of the gothic novel, a genre that was extremely popular in Austen's time.

I liked the book a lot, maybe it wasn't as polished as her later novels, but it had an innocence about it and I enjoyed the parody, the relationship between Catherine and Henry and the "villains" getting their comeuppance. I also really liked it because with the frequent interruptions from the author I felt there was so much more of Austen in this book.

I cannot wait to read Mansfield Park which is next on my list!

Ogden Nash

The Firefly
The firefly's flame is something for which science has no name
I can think of nothing eerier
Than flying around with an unidentified glow
On a person's posterior.

The Wasp
The wasp and all his numerous family
I look upon as a major calamity.
He throws open his nest with prodigality,
But I distrust his waspitality.

The Lama
The one-l lama,
He's a priest.
The two-l llama,
He's a beast.
And I will bet
A silk pajama
There isn't any
Three-l lllama*
[To which Nash appended the footnote
* The author's attention has been called to a type of conflagration known as a three-alarmer. Pooh.]


I've always liked Ogden Nash's light, quirky and completely delightful rhymes.

I love you Thai Food

Spicy Basil Fried Rice with Tofu

The Windy City

I was in Chicago all last week on work and while I spent the day and some of the evenings in the office (which has the most lovely view of Lake Michigan) I also managed to free up a few evenings to take a walk by the lake, visit the Art Institute and catch the sunset from the sky deck of the Willis Tower.

Here are some of my favorite pics. -

Cloud Gate at Millennium Park

Lake Michigan

From the Sky Deck (Willis Tower formerly Sears Tower)

Hopper's Nighthawks (I loved so many of the paintings at the Chicago Art Institute but for some reason this one just had me captivated)

Seurat's 'A Sunday on La Grande Jatte'

The Art Institute of Chicago

Beachy Keen

I love paintings of the sea - boats, lighthouses and sandcastles - they are always so soothing to look at. 

Monet

via CarolineArt

via Anne Goffe Smith

via artnikolov

via Jim Haynes

via Russ Potak

I suddenly feel like visiting the sea side!

I love you fountains

The Lady of Shallot

Part I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."

Part II
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

Part III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Alfred Lord Tenneyson

Eye Chart Art

If I knew a doctor's visit could prove to be such a design inspiration, I'd probably avoid them less!
These Eye Chart inspired posters and items are so cool, and seem relatively easy to DIY. When things are less crazy, I'm going to try my hand at that cushion cover.
You can make your own eye chart here.

via Apartment Therapy

via Cool Material

via Kara Paslay

via Nibs

via fiveftfour

via Artful Home

Beauty in its Simplicity - Ben Shattuck

My sister Karin introduced me to these oils by Ben Shattuck. His paintings are so beautiful and I often find more so because of the simplicity of the subject.

Jam

Paper White in Bloom

Cheesecake

The Highwayman

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding
Riding
Riding
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle,
His pistol butts a twinkle,
His rapier hilt a twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn yard,
he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like moldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say -

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet if they press me sharply and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face brunt like a brand
As the black  cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching
Marching
Marching
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets a their side.
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with a barrel beneath her breast.
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. she heard the doomed man say -
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good.
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood.
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not heat?
Down the ribbon of the moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highway man came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still!

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him ... with her death.

He turned he spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood.
Not till dawn he heard it, his face grew gray to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine -red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.


And still of a winter's night they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moon light
A highwayman comes riding 

Riding

Riding

A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbled he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;

He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;

He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there

But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,

Bess, the landlord's daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. 

Alfred  Noyes

I first read this poem in school and it gave me shivers. Since then every time I read it, I hope against hope that Bess and the highwayman find some other way to save themselves.  

I love you blue skies

Dangerous Moves

# 39 on my List is to watch all of the Oscar winners for Best Foreign Film from 1980 till present.

I saw Dangerous Moves (La Diagonale du Fou, Switzerland, 1984) last weekend.

The film is about the competition for the World Chess Championship between a 52 year old Soviet master with an ailing heart and a 35 year old impulsive Soviet defector who cannot wait to make Russia look bad. The premise of the movie is intriguing and I was looking forward to it but while it definitely held my interest I think when compared to the other Oscar winners (that I have seen so far) it does come up a little short. I'm not sure I can put my finger on why; as a film of the Cold war genre, it was interesting to see the politics behind the game but I would have liked to dwell more on the minds of the two protagonists. The delightful endgame nearly redeemed it for me and was a lovely way to round up the film.


When the game is over, the pawn and the king go back to the same box. 
Irish Saying


Note: I thought the title was a tad unimaginative and much preferred the original French one, which translates to The Fool's Diagonal (the Bishop is known as the Fool).

A Portrait a day - Jacob De Graaf

I stumbled across this site, DailyPortrait.co.uk a couple of days back and I think Jacob's work is beautiful. He has set out a challenge for himself, where he has to create one portrait a day. He posts the art on his blog and they are available for sale on his Etsy store.

So very lovely!

Our Weekend

We spent Saturday night with family from DC. We had cocktails at home then went out to dinner,  then decided we had to have some champagne at a lounge bar, went dancing in a packed, loud, wait-in-queue with bouncer club, went on a failed city wide search for a hookah bar at 1 am and ended up in a karaoke bar in the early hours of the morning. I felt 19 (21 where the champagne was concerned, Ma!) again and can't remember the last time I laughed that much!

On Sunday, we spent most of the day recovering, but met up with another set of cousins and friends for dinner at Saravana Bhavan, and spent a few hours just catching up and talking.

I had a girls afternoon out on Monday and we caught a showing of Get Low. I thought the movie was lovely, gentle and sad.

I love Long Weekends!

Not quite shelf reliant

We just bought a new bookshelf for our bedroom, and I'm struggling with the styling of it (On a side note, I thought I'd surprise R and assemble it by myself while he was out - long story short, Bookshelf - 1, Shreya - 0 and I hate the Allen wrench & all the Cap Screws in the world.) But back to the point, the shelf in our bedroom has all the rejected books that didn't make it to the living room and has to also serve the purpose of storage along with style - tougher that you would think. This is what I'm working with (I was pretty mad at the book case so didn't want to give it any unnecessary attention, hence the terrible pic - its one of those that can be placed both vertically as well as horizontally - will be placing it down horizontally)

via Overstock

I've been looking at some inspiration photos of bookshelves online and want some nice but not super expensive storage options within some of the shelves... I also want to be the person who lives in this first photograph.

via Desire to Inspire

via Country Living

via Country Living

via Country Living

via Colour Me Happy

Color coding books (called Color blocking) seemed a little much to me earlier, but I just tried it last evening on a couple of shelves and it wasn't too bad. Evidently, by doing so, it is easier on our over processed eyes causing us less headaches.

Will hopefully come with something that isn't a complete eye sore!

Departures

#39 on my List is to watch all the Oscar Winners for Best Foreign Language Film from 1980 to present.

I recently saw Departures (Okuribito, Japan, 2008).
It is the story of a failed cellist who on replying to a vaguely worded advertisement finds himself working in the trade of 'encoffinment', the preparation of corpses before their cremation. The encoffinment ceremony is an elaborate, tender, elegant and dignified process that prepares the person, and probably more significantly their family, for their departure.
I thought the movie was heartfelt, poetic, sweet and at times tinged with that particular humor that often accompanies the profession of undertaking. The cinematography was beautiful - there is simply no other word for it, and some of the scenes will stay with you long after the credits roll.

Lochinvar

O young Lochinvar is come out of the West,

Through all the wide border his steed was the best;

And save his good broad sword he weapons had none,

He rode all unarm'd and he rode all alone

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was a knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late:

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)

"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide

And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,

That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up,

He quaff's off the wine, and he threw down the cup.

She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,

With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,

"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

That never a hall such a gailiard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume

and the bride-maidens whisper'd, "twere better by far

To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

"She is won! We are gone, over bank, bush and scaur;

They'll have fleet steeds that follow'", quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;

Forsters, Fenwicks and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of a gallant like young Lochinvar?

Sir Walter Scott

My father taught me this poem many years ago and it instantly became one of my favorites. The brave knight, his swift steed and the fair lady all appeal to my cheesy, sentimental, romantic heart! 

I love you Public Libraries

A little late to the game...

...but I wanted to post a wordle of my blog (something doesn't sound right about the grammar there!) so far. I'd like to see how it changes after a few months (or dare I say years!)