Feeling brain fried? Have some prawny delights.

Of late, my dearest mum, fuelled by the daily e-mail updates from Ching (supposedly accurate Chinese astrology) is under the impression my world is coming to a nasty end. True, I do get her daily Ching forwards, all of which for the past 2 weeks have "Sung: Conflict" written in big bold all over.

In a way, she might be right, I have been trying to express to the Immigration department here in NL what a bunch of nincumpoops they are, messing up perfectly organized applications. After the latest telephonic rendezvous which involved a lot of hand-waving, voice raising and calling them incompetent atleast thrice, I decided to call it a day. Being the foodie I am, what better form of consolation than a good bit of mum's prawn curry right? (yeah compulsive eating doesn't solve anything blah blah blah, mum's curry can bring back the dead, period).

Horror of horrors. I have managed to misplace or worse, lose my mum's Indian masala stash (garam masala: a powder mix of several spices by grinding them together). Its as if the dementors left Harry Potter and decided to suck out every last bit of restraint and hope I had.

So I hyperventilated, turned the entire larder inside out and was ready to kill someone. Really, if there was a Lord Voldemort, this would be a good time for wizards to send me out to the battlefield, I was surely ready to punch, jinx or curse somebody. My boyfriend, of course very smartly, kept far far away from my mere aura for the next several hours.

Yes, I have been catching up with all the Harry Potter movies, thus the non-Muggle, completely-random references.

 After contemplating life wasn't worth living, I decided to make my own recipe. A new take on the centuries old Moitra-family rice&prawn legacy that only a few have had the privilege of knowing.

Fast forward to Justin Bieber on full blast (yes, I have regretted that move ever since; turned the blue skies grey), some spices here and there, well fried prawns and veggies and VOILA.

This recipe is quick (everything from washing/chopping/cooking takes ~20 minutes), and it is definitely worth the wait, give it a try if you feel creative.

What you need (for 2-3 people):

300 gm Basmati rice
250 gm prawns
1 onion
1 tomato
peas (I use 1 cup frozen)
3-4 garlic cloves
1 inch ginger stick (or powder, whatever you have)
1 cardamom, 3 cloves, 1 tbs cumin seeds, 1 bayleaf (works if you use powdered forms as well)
3-4 cloves garlic
1 inch ginger stick (or powder)
Turmeric &chilli powder
Few drops of lemon juice
Salt to taste

Wash and cook the rice in a large container. I take proportions of 1 cup rice: 1.5 cups water. Add a lil salt and let it cook.

Fry the spices (cardamom/cloves/bayleaf/cumin), once they start sputtering add the onion, ginger&garlic. Whilst this mix fries, clean the prawns &de-frost them if need be.

After the onions have turned a lovely golden brown, add the peas, stir for a while then add chopped tomato to the mix. Once they start softening, add the turmeric&chilli powder.

Stir and reduce flame. Then add the prawns. Stir again, let the prawns cook for a while.

In a few minutes, add the cooked rice to the prawn pan and mix everything together on low flame. Toss it one last time over high flame and you're DONE!

There are truly no words to express how satiated I felt sitting with piping hot prawn fried rice, some juice and Harry Potter&the Half Blood Prince to start my evening.

Snake charmers. Chicken tikka. Bollywood.. and Slumdog Millionaire.

A list of just a few things people expect from you if you're Indian:

-You eat chicken curry all day, everyday.
-You come from an esteemed lineage of rope climbers and snake charmers.

-You're very spiritual and pray to random animals on the street.
-You must have sacrificed atleast one goat to satiate one of your 33 million gods.

-Being Indian, you must be quiet and shy, submissive and docile, always smiling and nodding head. Bull's eye.
-Your spoken English must sound as if you're singing (out-of-tune) and you must nod your head every time you say "Hello!"

*Good lord. I have no idea what he's
 saying. Note to self: Smile when he
smiles, make  sure to nod head and
look intelligent*

-Your English has hands down, the most incomprehensible accent ever. And if you speak fluent English and aren't talking&nodding your head at an alarming rate, you probably grew up abroad.

-Your pets must be the street cows.
-Eating beef = Instant one way ticket to the gates of burning hell.
-You've never heard of Steak or Lasagna. Let alone pronounce it right.

-You wear strange clothes.
-You have to get married really young.
-P.S: You want atleast 15 kids (cricket team+extras, they always come in handy).

-Slumdog Millionaire is the biopic of every living man in India (How do you think Mittal became the man he is? He grew up in the slums, danced around for a solid 15 minutes, entered a contest and voila, hello Forbes.)
-If you're Indian, you must do Bollywood dancing at clubs. Just like the Irish do the Riverdance everytime they go clubbing.

-Bollywood movies are a true representation of how Indian couples do the courting ritual.
-True. We meet someone, definitely from a different caste and social class, fall in love against everyone's wishes, fly to the Alps, make sure we profess our love to each other with atleast 3 situational love songs across the Swiss countryside with atleast 5 costume changes from the latest Armani &Versace Spring line with 50 random and befuddled white backup dancers wondering how on god's green earth they ended up in a Hindi movie (perhaps its time to reevaluate your life choices).

Clichés. Stereotypes. Do you love them just as much as I do?

A dose of Los Cojones

Mid-June, a sunny Saturday (with the usual probability of turning into a stormy afternoon, courtesy: perpetually stoned Dutch weather), us walking towards the Scheveningen beach in Den Haag, pretending to  care two hoots while my insides were on their very own multi-level uber queasy roller coaster ride. Yowza. Entered the premises, signed the "we-are-not-responsible-if-you-meet-your-horrible-end" form; such a great way to calm my already over-hyped nerves I must say. A foggy horizon view of the North Sea and oh, a horde of gleeful strangers staring at the bunch of us wondering if we had the cojones to take the plunge, their way of getting a major adrenalin rush for the day. Pansies.

Which brings me to: Did I have ze famed cojones?

The flight&fight stress response in me had gone completely haywire by now: my right leg wanting to make a dash for the nearest tram and never again seeing my date while my lefty TRIED taking a bold step forwards. Holy crap, is this that shitting-in-your-pants feeling? Maybe calming myself down would help. Next thing I know I'm humming Mariah Carey's "Emotion". Sure, by now people think I'm completely cuckoo including the hottie beside me but atleast I didn't scream "We're all going to DIE!" and flee. 

Chanting "ImOkayOwC'monI'veWantedThisForeverHolyCrapWhat AmIDoing HereToHellWithTheDateRunForYourLifeEeeyaaah" I strapped on the cords and stepped into the cage.

Oh.Hell.Yeah.

By now, just by the looks of the people looking at me I felt like a total rockstar. No superstar. Well, both. I was already super ecstatic by now, there was really no way of looking back unless I made a dash with the ropes tied around my feet and trip atleast 10 people on the way.

With Mariah Carey's Emotion playing on full blast in my head, I stepped in the cage, shot a winning smile at my date (tell me you bought it, J) and proceeded to be lifted 60 metres up in the sky, over the ocean.

I wasn't scared or anything at this point, really pepped up and excited- this is what I'd always wanted to do. Any second now, the instructor would tell me to place my feet over the end of the cage and just jump.

And then fate/destiny/universe/bad timing/bad luck decided to get my cage stuck mid-air. There I was, dangling 60m above sea level, staring at ant-sized people pointing at me and clicking photos. 

Cue to my head thinking *...blank..*. At this point, some fear and severe flight-reponse started creeping up. Trust me, stuck hanging on a swinging cage 3 floors above the sea is not something you'd look forward to. Anyway, after a few minutes, I was given the green signal. 

Of course, my guts/confidence/cojones had long left while I stared at my feet, heels over the cage plank and toes in mid-air. I really couldn't turn back- so I took a deep breath and.. started singing Emotions out loud.

"I don't know if you're for real~~

But I like the way I feel.. insaaaaIIIIAAAAAAAAAAWHOOOOAAAAAeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaa!!"

Bungee jump baby!  It was the most incredible feeling in the world, this wave-a surge of uncontrollable adrenalin shooting through my head, my entire body, I never knew I could get this heady.

By the first tug, I had taken the entire feel in a stride and was just enjoying the free fall. By the second tug, I tried doing some cool poses for the camera- sadly they all came out looking like the chicken quack dance. But the rush of adrenalin- holy guacamole. I knew I'd become an adrenalin junkie. 

One of the best moments of my life. I've loved speed and the adrenalin rush all my life. I always knew I wanted to do the bungee if only to test if I had the guts to voluntarily step off a plank into thin air. It wasn't just about the sport, it was about testing myself.

And hell, I was proud of myself.