Es ist an der Zeit über ein Kochutensil zu schreiben, das in den meisten deutschen Haushalten völlig in Vergessenheit geraten ist, vielleicht noch im einen oder anderen verstaubten Keller aufbewahrt wird: der Schnellkochtopf. In meiner Erinnerung findet der Schnellkochtopf seinen Platz gleich neben der Kartoffelschälmaschine (eine Maschine, die eine ganze Anzahl von Kartoffeln binnen kurzer Zeit in ebenmäßige runde Kugeln verwandelt, böse Zungen sagen murmelgroße - aber das ist ein ganz anderes Thema.).
Einst revolutionierte die Erfindung des Schnellkochtopfs die Küche. Auf einmal konnten Garzeiten von Gemüse, Fleisch etc. beträchtlich reduziert werden. Allerdings haben Tiefkühlpizza, -gemüse und die Mikrowelle schon die nächste Revolution hinterher geschoben, die den Schnellkochtopf ins Vergessen geraten ließ.
Umso erstaunter war ich, als ich nach und nach in allen indischen Küchen, die ich zu Gesicht bekam, eben jenen Schnellkochtopf fand. Und hier war er gar nicht verstaubt, sondern in ständiger Benutzung. Jeder Haushalt in Indien hat mindestens einen Schnellkochtopf. Es gibt sie in verschiedenen Größen, Preisklassen, von verschiedenen Herstellern, mit verschiedenen Systemen. Jedes gute Haushaltswarengeschäft führt sie und hat dazu noch einen Reparatur-
Service, der ohne Probleme, Ventile, Dichtungsringe, Griffe etc. austauscht.
Meine Schwiegermutter verwendet in ihrer Küche zwei Schnellkochtöpfe, die sie -wie sie nicht ohne Stolz berichtet- schon von ihrer Mutter geerbt habe und die mittlerweile 40 Jahre alt seien. Das besondere am indischen Schnellkochtopf ist das kleine Gewicht, das auf das Ventil im Deckel aufgesetzt wird. Wenn der Dampfdruck im Innern hoch genug ist, zeigt sich das, indem sich das Gewicht hebt und mit einem pfeifenden Geräusch überflüssigen Dampf ablässt.
Selbst in indischen Kochbüchern hat der Schnellkochtopf seinen festen Platz (für interessante Einblicke in die indische Schnellkochtopfküche: http://www.ifood.tv/blog/pressure_cooker_recipes). Will man ein Curry mit Lamm oder Rind zubereiten, findet man oft als Hinweis auf die Garzeit die Anzahl der „Whistles“, die man das Fleisch kochen lassen sollte, oder dass man nach zwei „Whistles“ auf niedriger Flamme weiterkochen sollte. Diese „Whistle“ – Pfeife ist eben jenes Geräusch, wenn dem Ventil der Dampf entweicht.
Nach anfänglicher Skepsis ist auch bei mir der Schnellkochtopf in der Küche mittlerweile nicht mehr wegzudenken. Im Schnellkochtopf kann man einfach alles zubereiten, nicht nur Fleisch, sondern auch Reis, Linsen und Gemüse. Der letzte Schritt, um mich vollends zu beeindrucken und zu überzeugen war allerdings getan, als ich erfuhr, dass man im Schnellkochtopf sogar Kuchen backen kann (ein echtes Schnellkochtopfkuchenrezept: http://www.awesomecuisine.com/recipes/972/1/Easy-Home-Made-Cake/Page1.html)!!! Zunächst konnte ich es nicht glauben, aber da ich ohne Backofen einen frischen Marmorkuchen doch zu sehr vermisst habe, musste ich es einfach ausprobieren. Es hat geklappt! Und geschmeckt!
Abstract: In Indian kitchens I rediscovered the pressure cooker, after it had been an almost forgotten childhood memory in my German experience. I give some information and anecdotes about pressure cooking in India. Included is my all time favorite, the pressure cooker cake, which I couldn't believe to be reality till I baked and tasted it myself!
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Don't loose your color!
“Be careful, you will loose your color”, was the well meant advice of quite a few fellow Indian students during my first time in India. This cautioning I had to listen to whenever I set out for some sun bathing. Coming from a country where the concept of summer holidays is basically that of setting out to the beach for sun bathing and being born into a generation of people for many of whom getting a maximum tan is the ultimate completion of beauty this sounded rather alien to me.
Mostly, I would jokingly reply that I won’t be losing my color but was rather trying to gain some. But with the number of times I had to listen to this concern, the seriousness of the matter started to dawn on me and I rather became concerned. Slowly but surely I understood that the question of color and complexion was a predominant topic in Indian society.
After this initiation into the topic, I slowly started noticing the impact of color-obsession. Next to usual cosmetic and skin care products in the shelf I came across ‘Fair and Lovely’. I was rather shocked to learn that products to bleach the skin were readily available and widely used by different kinds of people. Since those initial discoveries the market has changed rapidly. Next to ordinary ‘Fair and Lovely’ http://www.fairandlovely.in/ there is now ‘Fair and Handsome’ (the product aiming at the male customer) http://www.fairandhandsome.net/ and ‘Fair and Lovely Ayurvedic Balance’ (to give it a more natural connotation), and numerous other companies have come up with their own brands in plenty.
The brands seem uncountable, and unfortunately there also does not seem to be a shortage of actors ready to be their brand ambassadors. Initially, I was disappointed to see John Abraham, the hero with Kerala roots who made it big in Bollywood, giving his face for a product like this. But by now, there is hardly an actor who does not have a tie up, Shah Rukh Khan himself, next to Deepika Padukone or Katrina Kaif, to name just the real big ones. And I don’t think they even ever thought of any ethical aspects involved in tying up with a fairness cream. It just seems to be so much part of everyday life.
As long as the matrimonials are still trying to euphemistically call the darker complexion of a girl wheatish, as long as the delegation who comes to negotiate a marriage proposal claims that the girl is “very, very fair”, this will not change. And the recent trend to sell fairness under the cover of sun protection and healthy skin is just another strategy to perpetuate this beauty concept. I wish obsession with skin protection would take the place of obsession with skin complexion. And the sales of cosmetic products would rise due to concern about skin cancer and other related diseases for people of all skin colors and tones.
Mostly, I would jokingly reply that I won’t be losing my color but was rather trying to gain some. But with the number of times I had to listen to this concern, the seriousness of the matter started to dawn on me and I rather became concerned. Slowly but surely I understood that the question of color and complexion was a predominant topic in Indian society.
After this initiation into the topic, I slowly started noticing the impact of color-obsession. Next to usual cosmetic and skin care products in the shelf I came across ‘Fair and Lovely’. I was rather shocked to learn that products to bleach the skin were readily available and widely used by different kinds of people. Since those initial discoveries the market has changed rapidly. Next to ordinary ‘Fair and Lovely’ http://www.fairandlovely.in/ there is now ‘Fair and Handsome’ (the product aiming at the male customer) http://www.fairandhandsome.net/ and ‘Fair and Lovely Ayurvedic Balance’ (to give it a more natural connotation), and numerous other companies have come up with their own brands in plenty.
The brands seem uncountable, and unfortunately there also does not seem to be a shortage of actors ready to be their brand ambassadors. Initially, I was disappointed to see John Abraham, the hero with Kerala roots who made it big in Bollywood, giving his face for a product like this. But by now, there is hardly an actor who does not have a tie up, Shah Rukh Khan himself, next to Deepika Padukone or Katrina Kaif, to name just the real big ones. And I don’t think they even ever thought of any ethical aspects involved in tying up with a fairness cream. It just seems to be so much part of everyday life.
As long as the matrimonials are still trying to euphemistically call the darker complexion of a girl wheatish, as long as the delegation who comes to negotiate a marriage proposal claims that the girl is “very, very fair”, this will not change. And the recent trend to sell fairness under the cover of sun protection and healthy skin is just another strategy to perpetuate this beauty concept. I wish obsession with skin protection would take the place of obsession with skin complexion. And the sales of cosmetic products would rise due to concern about skin cancer and other related diseases for people of all skin colors and tones.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Anti-aging remedy
There are those days when I start thinking. I am still far away from becoming a senior citizen, but also can’t deny that the sweet sixteen are gone by days. Though I would say by and large passport photographs of mine don’t look much different from what they looked 10 years ago, when I take a closer look in the bathroom mirror, I have to admit that the wrinkles have become more. Having crossed a certain age, there are those days when I can’t help contemplating and also complaining about getting older.
Living in a surrounding where talks about one’s cholesterol, pressure, sugar (diabetes) are common topics starting from young age groups, I am maybe also exposed to constant reminders. Self-evaluation has to come to conclusions which are not too flattering. Those extra kilos because of my weakness for food can’t be shed as easily as it used to be. The six-pack is something I know from the glitz and glamor world, but when I look down my body my concern is rather confining the number of flabby belly rolls. The horror of becoming old, fat, and shape-less is haunting me in my dreams.
Recently, I started watching video clips of latest Tamil movie songs as a pass time. I couldn’t help but notice that especially the male act has to master quite acrobatic dance performances. I slowly narrowed in on an actor called Vijay as my favorite. I found him a very good and young looking actor, whose dance sequences were impressive. Sulking and with a good portion of envy, while thinking again of the problems of getting older, I thought he is performing so well in his dance numbers only because he is still young. Intrigued, I started searching the net for my new cinema hero. Soon I found the official fan site http://actorvijay.net and an entry in wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Vijay. To my shock and disbelief I had to learn that Vijay is older than me!
This justification for sulking and self-pity burst like a soap bubble. I guess I had to rather acknowledge him as a source of inspiration. Physical fitness is not only a gift of youth but a matter of discipline and work out. There is no excuse. The sport shoes in the corner are not a subject for meditation but need to be used. Unless and until then weary thoughts of getting old are no longer permitted.
Living in a surrounding where talks about one’s cholesterol, pressure, sugar (diabetes) are common topics starting from young age groups, I am maybe also exposed to constant reminders. Self-evaluation has to come to conclusions which are not too flattering. Those extra kilos because of my weakness for food can’t be shed as easily as it used to be. The six-pack is something I know from the glitz and glamor world, but when I look down my body my concern is rather confining the number of flabby belly rolls. The horror of becoming old, fat, and shape-less is haunting me in my dreams.
Recently, I started watching video clips of latest Tamil movie songs as a pass time. I couldn’t help but notice that especially the male act has to master quite acrobatic dance performances. I slowly narrowed in on an actor called Vijay as my favorite. I found him a very good and young looking actor, whose dance sequences were impressive. Sulking and with a good portion of envy, while thinking again of the problems of getting older, I thought he is performing so well in his dance numbers only because he is still young. Intrigued, I started searching the net for my new cinema hero. Soon I found the official fan site http://actorvijay.net and an entry in wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Vijay. To my shock and disbelief I had to learn that Vijay is older than me!
This justification for sulking and self-pity burst like a soap bubble. I guess I had to rather acknowledge him as a source of inspiration. Physical fitness is not only a gift of youth but a matter of discipline and work out. There is no excuse. The sport shoes in the corner are not a subject for meditation but need to be used. Unless and until then weary thoughts of getting old are no longer permitted.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Do not disturb?
Beggars, as they are called in the common conversations in Kerala, they live without a shelter, their belongings in bundles and plastic covers, many of them having come from other regions of India, now stranded, with not much perspective for a different life. Usually, we notice them when they come to ask for money. Depending on our mood, we might give a coin or might shoo them away, afterwards continuing our way without a second thought on them again or at best remembering them as a disturbing factor in our routine.
This time, I was sitting in the car, waiting for my husband. The car was parked next to a big open space, in which many people camp during day time. Dark clouds covered the sky and the first big drops of a heavy rain started splattering on the ground. First, I saw an old man securing a heap of bundles with a piece of tarpaulin; after a few moments he went towards a building to seek shelter under one of the roofs there. Then, my eyes caught the sight of a woman. She was standing and talking to someone sitting on the ground. Taking a closer look, I saw that the man had no legs. The woman gave him his shirt and disappeared. He put on the shirt. After that he took a circular shaped piece of old tyre, I think. Pushing himself up on his arms he sat on that piece of rubber. Then, he started tying different strings attached to the rubber piece around his body. It was such a simple means but used in a rather perfected way with a complex technique. This wasn’t all. He then moved himself a bit forward by pushing his body up with his arms. First, he angled one old rubber slipper out of the grass, then another one. He slipped his, -no, I told you, he had no legs-, yes, hands into one each of the slippers. Some belongings he kept in his lap. Then, slowly, he started to make his way across the road to reach the shelter under the shop roofs, too. Pushing himself up and forward, up and forward, the body parts usually not supposed to be in direct contact with the ground, the grass, mud, and tar, are barely protected by those two different rubber products.
This was a close view! You can reflect on it in different ways. There is a possibility to admire the clever usage of actual waste products as quite functional aids for physically challenged people, thus too, seemingly invented by the concerned person himself in a quite self-reliant manner. But you have to be careful as well, not to be called cynical, interpreting people’s misery as their chance. Another way of looking at it is, of course, to be shocked how people with disabilities have to live in most difficult circumstances without any medical care, professional support etc. Especially, if pictures of sophisticated care facilities in several countries come to your mind, you have to consider the overall reality that not only physically (and mentally) challenged people often end up living on the roads, but numerous so called ‘normal’ people as well.
This incident rather appealed to give ‘second thoughts’ and to ‘remember them as disturbing factor’ but in a rather different sense. Those on the streets, whether physically challenged or not, they are human beings, often struggling to lead a life, not even mentioning a life in dignity. I don’t have simple solutions and I know very well that their situation evolves out of manifold factors on different levels. But what struck me is that we should not and we cannot forget: they are human beings, human beings like you and me.
This time, I was sitting in the car, waiting for my husband. The car was parked next to a big open space, in which many people camp during day time. Dark clouds covered the sky and the first big drops of a heavy rain started splattering on the ground. First, I saw an old man securing a heap of bundles with a piece of tarpaulin; after a few moments he went towards a building to seek shelter under one of the roofs there. Then, my eyes caught the sight of a woman. She was standing and talking to someone sitting on the ground. Taking a closer look, I saw that the man had no legs. The woman gave him his shirt and disappeared. He put on the shirt. After that he took a circular shaped piece of old tyre, I think. Pushing himself up on his arms he sat on that piece of rubber. Then, he started tying different strings attached to the rubber piece around his body. It was such a simple means but used in a rather perfected way with a complex technique. This wasn’t all. He then moved himself a bit forward by pushing his body up with his arms. First, he angled one old rubber slipper out of the grass, then another one. He slipped his, -no, I told you, he had no legs-, yes, hands into one each of the slippers. Some belongings he kept in his lap. Then, slowly, he started to make his way across the road to reach the shelter under the shop roofs, too. Pushing himself up and forward, up and forward, the body parts usually not supposed to be in direct contact with the ground, the grass, mud, and tar, are barely protected by those two different rubber products.
This was a close view! You can reflect on it in different ways. There is a possibility to admire the clever usage of actual waste products as quite functional aids for physically challenged people, thus too, seemingly invented by the concerned person himself in a quite self-reliant manner. But you have to be careful as well, not to be called cynical, interpreting people’s misery as their chance. Another way of looking at it is, of course, to be shocked how people with disabilities have to live in most difficult circumstances without any medical care, professional support etc. Especially, if pictures of sophisticated care facilities in several countries come to your mind, you have to consider the overall reality that not only physically (and mentally) challenged people often end up living on the roads, but numerous so called ‘normal’ people as well.
This incident rather appealed to give ‘second thoughts’ and to ‘remember them as disturbing factor’ but in a rather different sense. Those on the streets, whether physically challenged or not, they are human beings, often struggling to lead a life, not even mentioning a life in dignity. I don’t have simple solutions and I know very well that their situation evolves out of manifold factors on different levels. But what struck me is that we should not and we cannot forget: they are human beings, human beings like you and me.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
The Silence of Sound
Every year in the first week of May the state of Kerala witnesses numerous processions at the occasion of the festival of St. George. You can notice churches decorated with myriads of light bulbs, fireworks and crackers in the evening hours, the sound of music groups and devotional songs played over loudspeakers. Since there are plenty of St. George churches, there is also a countless number of processions taking place every year. In one of them I took part.
Our church made grand arrangements for this year's procession. After the evening prayer, people slowly gathered at the starting point of the procession. A small girl told me that she had heard, there were even processions with elephants. Ours didn't have any though. But apart from this small draw back, there was nothing else missing: Two traditional drummer groups, a brass orchestra, and two jeeps with installed loudspeakers playing devotional music were ready to accompany the procession.
The procession of a festival is supposed to have meditational character. During the walk the participants are meant to pray and ask the saint for his or her intercession. Honoring the exemplary life of the saint, people hope that the saint might intercede on their behalf to God and help their petitions to be heard.
My position in the procession was somewhat in the thick of it. I could simultaneously hear the intense drum beating, the loud trumpeting of the brass orchestra and the blaring music from one of the jeeps. All this mixed into a dreadful cacophony. I did not know whether to laugh or to cry. Instantly this urgent thought came to my mind: how on earth could I solemnly take part in this procession and put myself into a prayerful mood???
The procession started, and after a few minutes, the sounds surrounded me almost like a cloud. And inside this cloud, I could detach myself from the things happening around. I was carried by the sounds into a very spiritual experience, that made me calm down and become very silent inside. I did not notice the cacophony but rather felt the sounds a soothing background for my prayers.
Our church made grand arrangements for this year's procession. After the evening prayer, people slowly gathered at the starting point of the procession. A small girl told me that she had heard, there were even processions with elephants. Ours didn't have any though. But apart from this small draw back, there was nothing else missing: Two traditional drummer groups, a brass orchestra, and two jeeps with installed loudspeakers playing devotional music were ready to accompany the procession.
The procession of a festival is supposed to have meditational character. During the walk the participants are meant to pray and ask the saint for his or her intercession. Honoring the exemplary life of the saint, people hope that the saint might intercede on their behalf to God and help their petitions to be heard.
My position in the procession was somewhat in the thick of it. I could simultaneously hear the intense drum beating, the loud trumpeting of the brass orchestra and the blaring music from one of the jeeps. All this mixed into a dreadful cacophony. I did not know whether to laugh or to cry. Instantly this urgent thought came to my mind: how on earth could I solemnly take part in this procession and put myself into a prayerful mood???
The procession started, and after a few minutes, the sounds surrounded me almost like a cloud. And inside this cloud, I could detach myself from the things happening around. I was carried by the sounds into a very spiritual experience, that made me calm down and become very silent inside. I did not notice the cacophony but rather felt the sounds a soothing background for my prayers.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Pay role number or Personality?
A visit to the supermarket. Nothing special. I just went to the usual place and bought usual things. With my basket full of things I waited at the cash counter for my turn. After paying I took my basket to the counter, where they check the billed items with the items in the basket and put your purchase in shopping bags. This is a quite slow process, I feel. Many a times, it had cost me lots of patience to still take the shopping bags from the girl at the counter with a smile. That day, while waiting I used the time to have a closer look at the girl. Young she was, she did her work slowly and concentrated. She was wearing a maroon colour overcoat like all employees. When I had almost turned my attention to something else, I suddenly noticed the badge pinned at the coat. I focused my eyes and read:
The usual shopping routine was disturbed. How ironic to keep a badge, which on the one hand offered personalized help to the customer, but on the other hand had the help come from a number. Number 123. It sounded more like a tag for a machine, a robot, but not for a human being.
A recent piece of information came back to my mind. Someone had talked to these young girls working at the supermarket. And they had told her, how they were all staying together in a dormitory, had very few leave days, and got a meagre salary for all this hardship.
Such working conditions are not an individual case. When a fire had struck a huge shop in Chennai one night and an employee died in the flames, the newspapers suddenly reported about very similar working conditions to those of the supermarket girls in Kerala.
When I read about it at that time, I was convinced that it was a phenomenon of big cities, never thought of the possibility of similar working conditions in tiny towns in Kerala. But it seems a much more common phenomenon. Ironically, this supermarket even belongs to a chain, whose concept is to offer consumer-friendly prices, below the maximum retail price. But this concept unfortunately does not seem to include an alternative approach to employment conditions.
The girl handed over my shopping bags to me. This time it wasn’t difficult to give her a smile and a thank you, despite her not having been the fastest that day either. I tried to interact with her as a person, and not a mere number.
May I help You
No. 123
No. 123
The usual shopping routine was disturbed. How ironic to keep a badge, which on the one hand offered personalized help to the customer, but on the other hand had the help come from a number. Number 123. It sounded more like a tag for a machine, a robot, but not for a human being.
A recent piece of information came back to my mind. Someone had talked to these young girls working at the supermarket. And they had told her, how they were all staying together in a dormitory, had very few leave days, and got a meagre salary for all this hardship.
Such working conditions are not an individual case. When a fire had struck a huge shop in Chennai one night and an employee died in the flames, the newspapers suddenly reported about very similar working conditions to those of the supermarket girls in Kerala.
When I read about it at that time, I was convinced that it was a phenomenon of big cities, never thought of the possibility of similar working conditions in tiny towns in Kerala. But it seems a much more common phenomenon. Ironically, this supermarket even belongs to a chain, whose concept is to offer consumer-friendly prices, below the maximum retail price. But this concept unfortunately does not seem to include an alternative approach to employment conditions.
The girl handed over my shopping bags to me. This time it wasn’t difficult to give her a smile and a thank you, despite her not having been the fastest that day either. I tried to interact with her as a person, and not a mere number.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
On the Road with Comrade, UFO and the Holy Family
Comparing the public transport, I must say that especially rural areas definitely have a better connectivity in Kerala than in Germany. It is a quite easy and well organized means of transport to get around various places in Kerala. Of course, the comfort of the travel is debatable: To get a seat you have to be either lucky or traveling at the right time (the noon heat, when no one else is interested to spend time on a bus for example); whether you have to share a small bench with a woman, who is equally round as you, is still a question – in most cases your knees will anyway suffer if your height is more than 1,5 m since the benches are arranged so close to each other in order to save space. If you don’t catch a seat, your height will again decide about your travel comfort, the taller you are the more you will sway around the poles, you are desperately hanging on to, at every turn or pothole.
Anyway, before entering the bus you need to know some basic hints: In Kerala you find the Kerala State Road and Transport Corporation (KSRTC) busses and the busses operated by various private parties. The KSRTC busses are easily recognizable because of their bright red color. Private busses are much more individual and creative in their design. Apart from various color variations, the most striking aspect of them are their names: Very popular are St. Mary, St. George, St. Jude and other saints, or -in one go- the (entire) Holy Family, Fatimah, or Lakshmi as reflections of faith. Lulu’s and A. Brothers’ seem rather reminiscence of ownership. But then you have the truly creative ones: Comrade (any political affinities?), Passenger (thought those were inside?), UFO (any relation to the driving style?), Galaxy (safely to the next town would be enough for me!) – to name just a selected few.
A last one, essential to survive in Kerala busses: Bus travel is a gender sensitive issue. Before entering the bus, one should find out the seating arrangements – are the women (who still get usually less space allotted in busses) seated in the front or back of the bus? Mostly, for KSRTC busses the women’s seats will be in the back, while for private busses they will be in the front. But exceptions from the rule are always possible. Negligence can make the journey either way uncomfortable – women might have to bear the stares and what not all trying to survive in the men’s section, while men have to fear the almost violent action taken by women to secure their space.
Anyway, before entering the bus you need to know some basic hints: In Kerala you find the Kerala State Road and Transport Corporation (KSRTC) busses and the busses operated by various private parties. The KSRTC busses are easily recognizable because of their bright red color. Private busses are much more individual and creative in their design. Apart from various color variations, the most striking aspect of them are their names: Very popular are St. Mary, St. George, St. Jude and other saints, or -in one go- the (entire) Holy Family, Fatimah, or Lakshmi as reflections of faith. Lulu’s and A. Brothers’ seem rather reminiscence of ownership. But then you have the truly creative ones: Comrade (any political affinities?), Passenger (thought those were inside?), UFO (any relation to the driving style?), Galaxy (safely to the next town would be enough for me!) – to name just a selected few.
A last one, essential to survive in Kerala busses: Bus travel is a gender sensitive issue. Before entering the bus, one should find out the seating arrangements – are the women (who still get usually less space allotted in busses) seated in the front or back of the bus? Mostly, for KSRTC busses the women’s seats will be in the back, while for private busses they will be in the front. But exceptions from the rule are always possible. Negligence can make the journey either way uncomfortable – women might have to bear the stares and what not all trying to survive in the men’s section, while men have to fear the almost violent action taken by women to secure their space.
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