THE STORY TELLER - Isabel S.R. Vas

THE STORY TELLER 

photo credit: Arun PJ.

You will normally find the actors seated on little chairs and benches in some empty classroom normally occupied by Kindergarten students as their eyes lay intensely fixed upon a figure. She moves like the wind and every move spells an emotion. At the moment she is indulging in a monologue; or telling a tale, creating a cloud of imagination in the minds of her theatre friends. They are wrapped in curiosity as she slowly walks them through the suspense and then suddenly she reads a line that makes the room burst up in laughter. 

The joke is as infectious as her smile and the little spark of humour picks up force, accelerating into a laugh riot. The actors seem to have lost their focus. “Ladies, Gentlemen and all other species!” she exclaims; trying to capture their attention. Disciplined to that voice, the laughter ceases and they regroup to stay with her till she concludes the tale. So vivid is her skill of narrating, so intimate her gift of empathizing that by the time she has finished walking the listeners through the script, every prospective member of the cast and crew of the Mustard Seeds has already lived the play in their minds.

A WHISPER IN THE WOMB

A whisper in the womb!

A young girl’s brave fight against the world.

Mumbai_8-30a.m: A 21 year old lies cuddled up with her soul mate. She wakes up to the sound of the doorbell. The milkman has arrived with fresh buffalo milk. No, the love of her life is not a body-builder yet; neither does he go to the gym. He continues to sleep gloriously as she boils the milk and gets back to bed. As the radiant sun rays light up the city; he wakes up, gets on his fours and crawls onto her. The cuddling begins, followed by sweet kisses and cute words. She tells him how much she loves him, as he sheepishly utters something that sounds like ‘latto’. If you haven’t guessed by now, this is a teenage love story of city girl that doesn’t involve a man; but a little baby boy named Yohann.

The 21 month old sweetheart is the only reason that Kero wants to wake up every morning. He makes a lot of animal impersonations and loves mimicking the lion, snake, cat and dog. Soon, its breakfast time and as universally advised, he demands to have it like a king. Perched on his high chair, he burrows through his cereal with his favourite music video playlist in the background. TV sessions continue with a recess for lunch and an afternoon shower. All she needs to say is “common for bathie” and he is ready with his rubber duckies. Then he gets his hair spiked and heads downstairs to play with his buddies. He kicks around his size-one football as his biggest fan watches him from not so far away. 

THE KITCHEN DIARY

The Kitchen Diary

As you stroll by the promenade leading to Miramar - with the wind in your hair and the sand in your eyes - you will notice an ancient log of wood sitting lazily atop the compound wall. The initials inscribed there demand instant attention. Amidst shunted coconut and tall palm trees, a clay stuffed rooster proudly sits near a man-made pond, which houses little fish and toads. Curious as the cat, you decide to trespass the lawns across a narrow foot bridge that leads you to the threshold of nostalgia.

As you push open the door, the aroma of an international fusion of Latino and European spices assails up your nostrils; and even before you realize, your stomach has taken over your anatomy. A jar of pickle stands on a wooden counter silently seducing your taste buds. As you grapple with the growl, the enzymes shoot to your brain cells and your mind begins to associate and connect with everything Goan. “It was just a random idea, a spilled thought that has grown into this beautiful place,” says the artist of her brain child, adding that it was consummated purely to save the Goan cuisine.

Keeping alive the Goan Pau.

                  

The bread in Goa is more than just an element of food; it is an insignia of the most talked about Goan virtue of hospitality. People in Bombay love to take a jibe at Goans, by nicknaming them as ‘Pau’, simply because they cannot do without their staple diet. Wherever you travel in India, you will never find bread like the Pau of Goa.

The most unenviable part of the snack is it indifferent taste, that is likely to induce you to condemn it as un-edible. However this plainness allows you to dip it in any curry or gravy and enjoy that tangy experience. The Pau allows you to diffuse yourself,very much like the culture of Goa which is so open and available to the multi-national attitudes and likes. What makes the Pau so distinct?

EARTH MEETS ART - THE POTTERS OF GOA

EARTH MEETS ART: THE POTTERS 

Those summer evenings at granny’s still make fresh memories, when we would come back all tired and sweaty and dash straight to the earthen jar.  Jogging back from the beach we drooled of the thought of the liquid inside that clay cooler. The summers in the 90’s were not as hot as that of today; but they were warm enough to burn you out and leave you dehydrated. Fortunately, back then we had more natural means to refresh and rejuvenate. A tumbler of cold water and we would fall flat on the cow dung carpeted floors and stare at the clay tiled roof. No air condition, no fridge needed, the earth with all its generosity comforted us with its riches.