I stopped at the intersection of Queen St. W and Spadina Ave. on my way to work today since I was craving a coffee and a muffin, something that seldom happens. This particular place has a good combo offer that’s cheap and I like the idea of not getting bankrupt in five years simply because I was spending four dollars a day on branded coffee.

The air smelled fresh and crisp, a mix of sun, shade and a hint of rain, a gentle breeze and I swear I even heard birds chirping. Things got nicer as I heard a street busker playing some cool Celtic tunes on the violin. I was smiling and happy until a big truck farted on me, its thick black smoke snapping me out of the idyllic mood I was momentarily lost in. What an awful way to remind you that you were at one of the busiest intersections in the city, during rush hour, and that dirt and noise was all that was in store for you. To make it worse, there was a crazy man across the street swearing at his comrade and smashing a bottle against the sidewalk.

I got my coffee and asked for a cranberry muffin that smelled delicious. The girl taking the order looked visibly nervous and I caught her glancing repeatedly at the queue , that kept on lengthening, of caffeine deprived serious looking folks in front of the counter. Slightly annoyed, I responded with a firm “No, thank you” when she asked me “Would you like meelk?” for the third time. Poor girl, seemed on the verge of a breakdown, prompting me to resolve to never work a morning shift if I were ever to work at a coffee shop. “Sank you, hava nice dae” she said, coming up with a smile (in a Chinese accent, in case you didn’t catch that).

I ran across the street to my bus stop, holding a hot cup of coffee in one hand and a brown bag in the other. As I was boarding, I saw a lady and (her?) child, who was crying loudly, getting out. I get annoyed by children who have learnt the art of faking crying. It starts with the kids making weird faces that makes other people, except me ofcourse, go “aww” and the mother go “oh god not again”. This is usually accompanied by loud screaming, crying and throwing tantrums while not a single drop of tear escapes the eye (worse than crocodile tears). They’ll stop this drama as soon as the mother lifts them up or they get a chocolate or something like that. Talk about parents spoiling their kids by patronizing such obviously fake theatrics, or other acts employing emotional blackmail.

As my bus left the intersection, I couldn’t help but think how interesting these little segments in our day-to-day life could be. If your day was uneventful so far, perhaps spending few minutes reading this made it interesting.

Cheers.

¶ Blogged by Priyank Thatte

I spent most of my time in January playing computer games, specifically Simcity, spending anywhere between 10 to 12 hours on the computer each day. One might wonder what I was doing and what was the real cause of this escapism, but lets keep the philosophical issues aside and look at what I managed to build.

Simcity is a computer game that simulates city building. Its a single player game where one starts with an empty piece of land and slowly builds a city (or a town / village) over it. A range of factors, such as unemployment, pollution, transportation, utilities, environmental and trade policies, taxes, industries, health and education, govern how the city will develop – and I must say it is pretty close to real situations. Infact, this game has been used by planners and architects in a number of research projects.

Here are some screenshots from a small rural village housing a population of 3,000 people.

Town center, Mayor’s house, medical center, a mill and a little lake with stream flowing across the village. I like cities that have water bodies. There’s a school and a small library nearby.

Water pumping station, few houses and shops. The road tunnel under the bridge connects to the neighboring city.

Railway station and a blue train on an elevated terrain.

Rural rail with farms on one side and residences on the other.

I like laying out rail tracks, routing them through the village and working on their traction.

Some large farms next to agricultural industries. The tunnel passes under the railway line and takes you to the other side of the village.

More farms, trains and trees.

Assorted farms: Sunflower, apple orchid, wheat, corn etc.

So that was my calm little village, with no air or water pollution, almost zero crime and healthy, educated people. The train connects this village to the city (40 minutes away) and those with higher education go there to work. About 600 people from this village work in the city, while 300 people from the city work in the industries here. Primary revenue sources are industrial and residential taxes, and export of water to the neighboring city.

That concludes visit to my farming village. In the next post, I’ll take you on a tour of an industrial town.

¶ Blogged by Priyank Thatte

Summarizing my new life as an immigrant in Canada.

On December 8 2006, I arrived in Toronto and began my MBA studies at one of the most prestigious business schools in North America. Everything was new – people, food, student life, language, snow etc. and everything familiar was left far away – people, food, work life, language, heat etc.

Last three years have been remarkable. I learnt many new things. Taking a cue from my China-loving-French-immigrant blogger friend Zhu’s post, I made a list of things that will eventually lead to an identity crisis:

9 clues I am becoming Canadian:

• I have a number of seasonal clothing and other supplies. There’s winter jacket, fall jacket, summer jacket, fall hoodie, winter hoodie, winter toque, summer hat, winter socks, summer socks, snow boots, winter boots, (you know the difference, eh?) running shoes, sneakers, formal shoes, flipflops. I also have a humidifier (for winter) and de-humidifier (for summer).
• Holidays that are conveniently placed on certain days of week (as opposed to fixed dates) no longer surprise me. For e.g. Labour day is first Monday of September, Thanksgiving is second Monday in October, Family Day (ON) is third Monday of February, etc. I love talking about looking forward to the long weekend, planning trips for the long weekend, etc.
• I bitch about rush hour ‘crowd’ in Toronto subway. Rush hour means that each passenger gets only one seat (as opposed to four or five during non rush hours). Being an avid cyclist, I sign petitions asking for separate bike lanes in the city. In India, we usually have a common road for everyone – pedestrians, cyclists, stray dogs, and motorists (yet the per-capita injury rate is lower).
• I can comfortably shit in public washrooms which have flimsy partitions that barely offer any privacy.
• My sense of “personal space” has changed drastically. Now I get uncomfortable if strangers come within a radius of 1m around me. I also use terms like “personal time off”, “personal property”, “personal blah..” – terms that are unheard of in collectivist cultures like India.
• I get into unnecessary discussions due to my argument that the Liberals’ initiative of harmonised sales tax (HST) is actually a good idea but the Conservatives just want to oppose anything McGuinty does.
• If someone apologises to me for accidentally brushing their bag against my elbow in rush hour traffic, I apologise to them for making them apologise to me in the first place.
• I often say “hey! howz it goin’?” and walk away. Note to newcomers: This is a polite way of saying “hello”. When someone asks you “How are you?”, just say “Good, thanks, how are you?” instead of telling them how you actually are. This is just how we greet each other.
• I can identify Americans (I mean people from USA).

9 clues I am still an Indian:

• I don’t enjoy the “Indian” food served in fancy “Indian” restaurants at all. That’s because that food is so heavily customised for local tastes that it loses its Indian-ness. If you can eat your food with forks, spoons and knives, assume that it’s not genuine.
• I always address my teachers as “professors” rather than their first name. I have an incredibly tough time calling them Rick, Steven, Mary or Mark.
• I brush my teeth first thing in the morning and wont step out of the house without taking a shower.
• When I see an empty seat in the train, I run to grab it. Then I notice ten other empty seats and smile at myself.
• When I hear white people say that they eat “very spicy” food, I secretly giggle. I must say that there are notable exceptions to this rule.
• I mix up V’s and W’s, and forget which of the 4 T’s (त, थ, ट, ठ) or 4 D’s (द, ध, ड, ढ) I should use while speaking. I’m also known to speak (and write) “Indian English” (which, I hate to tell you, is much superior to American English). I ask people if they are standing in a “queue” or whether they “endavour” to plan something, etc. I am sometimes caught using awkward translated expressions like “today morning”, “I like this too much”, “many many colours”, etc.
• I am kinda shy of using public shower facilities, especially locker rooms where people walk naked.
• When people tell me that Toronto is a “fast-paced city”, I secretly giggle again. Ditto when they refer to their hometowns with population of 100,000 as “cities”. Oh please! The only real cities in Canada are Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver, Ottawa, Calgary and Edmonton (in that order). It might be useful to mention here that my little suburban hometown Dombivli would be the fourth or fifth largest city in Canada. Among the suburbs of Mumbai alone, Dombivli ranks fourth.
• I carry an Indian passport and I’m kinda hesitant to give it up. Unless the Indian government stops eying all non-residents with suspicion, it won’t allow dual citizenship. And that sucks.

So you see, I am kinda all over the place, but I am happy with the balancing act of defining my identity. Only few thousand years ago we were all black and and living in Somalia. And in another few thousand years we might be on Titan or who knows if we’ll even exist! In any case, I am happy to learn and experience something new every day in a country that has so warmly welcomed me.

¶ Blogged by Priyank Thatte

Halva, halawa, halaweh, ħelwa, halvah, halava, helava, helva, halwa: spell it anyhow you like, it simply refers to dense, sweet confections, across the Middle East, Central Asia, South Asia, the Balkans, and the Jewish world. Few days back, I made Carrot halwa (गाजर हलवा) and it turned out to be great. See for yourself:

Recipe

There are probably a million recipes out there but this one makes the gaajar halwa closest to how it tastes when my mother makes it (we need a benchmark, right?).

Ingredients (4 servings)
4 cups shredded Carrots (गाजर)
1 cup (250 ml) Milk (दुध)
1/2 cup (125ml) Water (पाणी)
1/2 cup sugar (brown sugar tastes better) (साखर)
2 table spoons Butter or ghee (तुप)
1 tea spoon Cardamom seeds/powder (विलायची)
Mixed nuts: Almonds, raisins, cashews, pistachio, wanluts (बदाम, बेदाणे/मनुका, काजू, पिस्ता, अक्रोड)

Procedure:
1. Wash and grate the carrots. I prefer to keep the peels (hence the nutrients) on.
2. Drop the butter In a deep pan and let it melt.
3. Add shredded carrots and saute on low flame (about 10-15 minutes) until the carrots change colour to light brown. It’s easy to burn the carrots, so stir well and be watchful. Add water to compensate for the moisture.
4. Now add sugar evenly while you stir. It will quickly melt. If you are using cardamom seeds, add them now.
5. Add milk and keep stirring until all the milk has been absorbed and the mixture thickens (about 15 minutes). If you are using cardamom powder, add it now.
7. Remove from flame, let it cool and garnish with nuts.
Enjoy it with some hot chai and let me know how it went.

Gajar halwa: Carrot pudding, decorated with almonds, raisins, cranberries, cashews and walnuts.

¶ Blogged by Priyank Thatte