I’ve been thoroughly enjoying bird watching from home. It’s truly a joy to witness the tiny beings relishing the bird food I set out for them. They’ve become regular visitors to the little corner in the garden where I place the food and they quickly devour it all within just a couple of days. It seems they’ve caught on to the fact that there’s a feast waiting for them!
To keep up with their appetite, I now find myself ordering 5kg bags of bird food every month. Among my feathered guests, I’ve been visited by great tits, sparrows, blackbirds, a robin, and a pair of pigeons. Occasionally, the crows and squirrels also drop by to join in the feast. While the larger birds can’t reach the feeder, the smaller ones inadvertently drop food, which the bigger birds then feast on.
In an effort to provide some variety, I’ve recently ordered a different kind of bird food that includes dried worms. I’m quite curious to observe how they’ll take to this new addition to their menu. It’s always fascinating to witness their behaviour and preferences when it comes to food.
The robin, while sociable, remains just out of touch. It approaches to signal an empty feeder, and I delay refilling for a day or two, giving the larger birds a chance to scavenge the fallen food.
I have a love/hate relationship with cooking food – I like talking about it, eating some particular dishes, cooking it, and experimenting with new flavours and ingredients. However, I am not good at writing down/typing detailed recipes. My own notebook contains a list of ingredients for a any recipe and sometimes some random notes or tips that my mom shared. Reading the list of ingredients, I know what to do and how to do it. These written down recipes are not your usual daily cooking recipes, these are the ones you cook on special occasions, festivals or once a year. If they turn out well, I share them on social media, more so to share that I could do it, I could cook it well, rather than here’s a great recipe on how to cook this item.
I recently shared a picture of a sweet dish called ‘kalakand’ on Instagram. This food item is made from paneer (cottage cheese), sugar/condensed milk, saffron, cardamom powder, ghee and milk. I had some mangoes that were ripe so to add a flavour to it, I added mango pulp. I found this recipe from a food blogger on Instagram and I also tagged her just in case people wanted the recipe. While many people appreciated the photo, there were a few who asked for the recipe. I don’t regularly Instagram about food, only on festive occasions. I cannot be bothered over fancy props, lighting etc. For me, it is about the emotional connection with food, sharing conversation around food, tips, tricks, stories passed down from generations. I can still hear my aunt and grandmother’s voice in my head when I cook a particular dish.
Yet, there are people who seem to believe that every food-related post should immediately be followed by a detailed recipe. Their reflexive response of “recipe?” often feels like an abrupt end to any meaningful conversation, like hitting the pause button on interaction.
When I share a food anecdote, like the time my mom revealed her secret for fluffy vade – adding them to very hot oil with the rolled side down – it’s not just about sharing a recipe. I’m hoping to ignite a conversation and hear your own food stories too. But sometimes, instead of engaging in dialogue, all I get are requests for recipes. There’s a clear distinction between those genuinely interested in trying out a recipe and those simply adding to the noise. You can usually tell who’s serious – they might send photos or provide feedback while actually making it. But for others, it feels like their recipe requests vanish into a black hole of forgotten intentions.
In many Indian recipes, the challenge lies not in the list of ingredients, but in the preparation method. It’s difficult to convey the precise techniques, like how to knead ghee and cornflour to achieve a smooth yet stiff consistency for adding to pastry dough to make ‘kanavle’, another Indian sweet. Sometimes, you have to witness it first-hand to truly understand.
In the middle of November last year, I embarked on a delightful gardening endeavour by potting various coloured tulip bulbs in different pots and along the edge of the front garden. The process of planting the tulip bulbs not only marked a simple gardening activity but also infused my days with a profound sense of renewal and optimism.
As I surveyed the pots, each holding the potential for a breath-taking display of colours, a genuine sense of achievement washed over me. The deliberate selection of tulip varieties and the thoughtful placement of each bulb were conscious decisions in my planning process. I neglected to label the pots, and soon enough, I lost track of which coloured bulbs I had planted in each one. As the pots began sprouting greens in early January and February, I couldn’t help but wonder which coloured blooms would emerge from each one.
The weather has been absolutely delightful lately. My tulips have been in full bloom since early April, painting both the front and back gardens with vibrant colours. I’ve been rearranging the pots as they bloom, ensuring each one gets its moment in the spotlight. In the evenings, after work, I love to sit in the living room with a cup of coffee and admire the beautiful display. I have a variety of colours including dual-tone orange and yellow, striking blood red, creamy petals with red strokes, another dual-tone in yellow and deep yellow, and a lovely pink one. Some pots are still in bloom, and it’s been an absolutely amazing month.
Spring is definitely my favourite season now, with the longer daylight hours and the beautiful colours of tulips, daffodils, and cherry blossom trees. They really do add such a cheerful touch to everything.
Maddie's Musings 