DABKEH

Dabkeh is an energetic Middle Eastern folk dance performed during weddings and festive occasions. Performed to the accompaniment of the lute, Dabkeh in compliance with its Arabic meaning, involves a lot of feet stamping. A line dance, Dabkeh is extensively performed in Lebanon, Palestine, Jordan, and Syria and in sections of Egypt, Iraq, and Saudi Arabia.

The leader termed the ‘raas’( head) or ‘lawweeh’(waver) guides the other dancers. Twirling a handkerchief or a ‘mashba’ (type of rosary) he is given the unique privilege of improvising the dance. This vigorous dance form also involves a great deal of vocalization by the dancers.

Popularized in the 20th century throughout the Arab region, the birth of the dabkeh dance form can be traced back to Lebanon and Palestine. ‘Samaliyyah’, ‘Sarawiyyah’, Qurradiyyah are the most popular dabke forms. ‘Niswaniyyah’ is a unique form of dabke in that it is performed solely by women. The central theme of a dabkeh song is love and there are unique songs for specific dabke dances.

To learn more about this wonderful and distinctive dance form visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYxQMbsmPaw

FEERIE

I came across this perfume quite by chance while flipping through Hindu Newspaper's Sunday Magazine section. I was mesmerised by the sheer poetry of this beautiful perfume bottle. A rounded blue cut glass base with a silver fairy perched elegantly on top. It exuded magic and transported me to a world of dreams where fairies, butterflies and other wonderful creatures abound. It has floral undertones with a hint of Italian mandarin and black currant. This is another magical creation from the stables of Van Cleef and Arpels.

Photo Courtesy: myjane.ru

Wish You Well

David Baldacci's 'Wish You Well' is a captivating book which cronicles the life of two city bred children Lou and Oz and the turbulent times they face after their fathers sudden death in a car accident. In this coming of age book Lou and her brother Oz leave behind the Big Apple to live with their grandmother on her farm in Virginia. There are several heart wrenching moments but their indomitable spirit finally triumps over every adversity thrown their way. The poetic description of the idyllic landscape is especially beautiful. An ideal read for a rainy afternoon with a cup of hot cocoa in hand.

Picture courtesy of Amazon.com

A FRUITY RENDITION

It’s the fig season once again. All over Pune wooden pushcarts are heaving under the weight of ripe, plump, purple figs. On a recent evening walk I was so captivated by their pale violet-green color, and their mild fragrance, that I ended up buying four of these bulbous beauties.

As the vendor carefully bagged the figs in a brown paper packet, he informed me that this particular variety had originated from fruit farms in neighboring Sholapur.

The best way to enjoy fresh ripe figs, are to eat them whole, skin and all. However, I decided to sweeten up their tartness by cooking compote.

The fig compote has a spicy sugar syrup base. To make the syrup, on a high flame, I first stirred in 2 cups of sugar in about half a liter of water. To this molten mixture an inch stick of cinnamon and a teaspoon of orange essence were added. Later half a teaspoon of vanilla essence was trailed by a couple of whole cloves, peppercorns and cardamom. Once the sugar had fully dissolved, the flame was reduced and the mixture kept at a steady simmer.

The rosy figs in all their blushing beauty were then added to this mixture and cooked for about five minutes. Next I scooped out the figs, switched off the heat and allowed the syrup to cool.

As the figs were quartered, I took delight in their rosy heart. They were then placed in tiny crystal bowls and drizzled with the spicy sugar syrup. A dollop of vanilla ice cream and another generous splash of the lovely claret syrup topped off this divine dish.

My house was redolent with the heady bouquet of spices and figs; a warm and welcoming scent. Each mouthful was sheer heavenly delight and we couldn’t wait to make more.

A Second Chance

Enjoying Her Afternoon Siesta

Hide…Crouch…Lunge….Slap. It’s a bright sunny day, and I sit watching Minnie at play with a tiny grey earwig. Her little body is tense with excitement, whiskers twitching, tail swishing, eyes burning bright. A happy little cat like any other, except that Minnie is differently abled. She is bow legged and has a crooked back. On most days her body is racked with pain which makes her cry piteously.

Minnie is a two year old grey and white cat. Her journey with me from day one has been an adventure, filled with twists and turns, some happy, others painful. This is her story.

On a cold November afternoon in 2007 Minnie a tiny wriggling mass came into my life with her two brothers. Her mother, a tabby, was flighty to the extreme. So after attending to her maternal duties in a perfunctory manner for about 2 weeks she abdicated. It was left to me to play surrogate mum to the kittens.

I named them Minnie, Mickey and Buddha. Minnie was the outgoing one. Mickey, a grey tiger, had a voracious appetite. Buddha the pensive one lived on love, air and little else. In the early days their diet comprised mainlyof lactose free milk, which they sucked greedily from a filler.

Play time was totally monopolized by Minnie. She was a gymnast at heart. We watched her breathtaking back flips, jumps and double loops along with other awe inspiring airborne tactics. She also liked to play mother to her two younger siblings. She took it upon herself to give her brothers a thorough wash after each meal. Any rebellion on their part was met with a quick cuff on their ears.

Buddha, the thoughtful one, contracted a viral infection and died in his infancy. That came as a terrible blow to Minnie because he was her pet brother. For days she moped and mewed for him.

As the days went by, Minnie’s and Mickey’s personalities began to change. Mickey became the typical aggressive male cat while Minnie was the docile, lovable little girl. Mickey enjoyed pushing Minnie around and bullying her at every given opportunity.

One day when they were about 4 months old I saw them engaged in a furious tug of war with a discarded piece of cloth on our balcony. I left them to their game and went inside for a couple of minutes. When I returned I found Minnie missing and Mickey looking nonchalantly around. I searched for her every where but could not find her. With a sense of growing panic I finally looked over the balcony railing.

  Minnie aged 7 years.

I found her lying comatose on her side on the ground floor. I rushed downstairs absolutely panic stricken. She was breathing but was in terrible pain. I discovered that she had broken one of her front and back legs. Days of therapy and loving care followed. In the end Minnie pulled through. But she was left with a crooked back and bow legs.

Through injury, infections and pain Minnie has always emerged a victor and has become my best friend. As I write this piece, Minnie lies fast asleep on my lap a happy and contented 2 year old.