Ande ke mere funde

I just finished reading this write-up on egg cups. It spoke about the different kinds of egg cups, from simple wooden rings to whimsical rooster-shaped ones carrying the cup on their back with wings outspread. The article then went on to describe the correct, or at least the best way to eat a soft boiled egg, with minimal mess. A couple of days ago, I read this incredible recipe for scrambled eggs with tomatoes. When I am reading a book I love imagining the scene the author describes (often in an English setting) about one or more characters having a nourishing breakfast of poached eggs, or bacon and eggs, or a mushroom omelette, and so on. Eggs fascinate me. Fair enough you’d think. Some people have an irresistible weakness for chicken, some will do anything for biryani, some live almost exclusively on burgers.

Where I differ from these food addicts is that I don’t like eating eggs. I cannot stand the smell of eggs. And I once threw up when I was beating an egg for a cake and some of the yolk splashed onto my fingers. I don’t like that slimy feel. Waffles, cakes and pastries are among the few egg-containing foods that I will eat – provided they don’t smell much of egg. Oh, and scrambled eggs too, if they are hot and smothered so much in onions and tomatoes that the egg loses its identity completely.

I just like the look of eggs, not the feel and smell. Eggs look beautiful, the smooth shell, the golden yolk, the transparent white. I remember my housemate at university cooking instant noodles and in the end breaking an egg right into the steaming bowl. The egg would spread out slowly like a sun throwing out its reach, and simultaneously the heat of the noodles would make the albumen go opaque, the whole egg draping itself over the noodles. And sometimes, the yolk would run slightly, like liquid gold. It was mesmerising. And the words associated with eggs – omelette, soft-boiled, crepe, sunny-side-up…

I love watching and listening to eggs. But from a safe distance. The most I can venture to do is hold a raw egg, and perhaps draw a smiley on it. Anything beyond that, I leave to the stronger willed people of the world.

A matter of chance

Some chances I throw away; some chances don't come my way; some depart a moment before I can grasp them.

A certain chance was hovering in front of me. It was light and wispy, floating in the air: now visible and shimmering; now invisible, just a light fragrance to indicate its presence. It took me a while to even register its presence. The chance of finally recognising it, I did get. But when I wished for the chance of reaching out and touching it, holding it in the palms of my hands and examining it - it was gone.

What do I call this? A chance deliberately thrown away, or a chance not given to me?

Making a point

Keep going off on a tangent and eventually all the tangents join to form a circle. Most people don’t see the circle for the tangents though.

Most points go on to make a straight line leading to another point eventually. Some make little zigzags, but more or less stay on course before arriving. Others draw a complete sketch showing the meaning they intended to convey and some other things as well. Some go crazy on the way, trailing a completely haphazard path, going this way and that, rushing back and forth, leaving the other person bewildered. If they eventually reach the final point, at least the end is clear. Some don’t even do that. Start somewhere and end somewhere, both unfamiliar.

Some points go very slowly. Very, very slowly. They cannot be hurried if you want them to end at the logical place. They will stop to smell the flowers, admire the sunset, make a few observations on life and the world, rest a bit now and then. If you don’t chivvy them along, then eventually they will reach the final place. Some points make a long jump to the end. They don’t believe in wasting time leading a way. Now you are here, now you are there.

Some points are very reluctant. They need constant goading, and even then they frequently threaten to stop at the slightest provocation. They are a particularly fussy tribe, getting offended at the most unexpected of times. You can never be sure if they are sulking because you agreed with them or disagreed, encouraged them or criticised. Patience is the only way to lead them to the end.