Monday Motivation: Christmas, Cakes and Nostalgia

This Sunday afternoon, while the rest of the neighborhood relished the cozy charms of the quill, I decided to follow an unusual routine that I had started a week earlier. Last weekend, thanks to the Internet Shutdown, I had churned out a less than perfect sponge cake. Since then, though, the internet had returned and life had taken a turn towards normalcy. However, that was not enough to refrain me from the enticing possibilities of an empty kitchen this weekend.

You see, I must admit that my love for cooking can be discriminatory at times but I am extremely fond of baking a cake. So this Sunday afternoon, I took the flour and the eggs and the powdered sugar and worked up a creamy batter. By the time little Messi woke up, the room was filled up with the sweet aroma of a freshly baked cake.

“Umm, Happy to you!” Messi uttered, with a smile. To the little fellow, cake meant birthday and birthday meant cake and on a birthday one has to say “Happy to you”. The “Birthday” after the “Happy” continued to stay silent, unfortunately, but we are working on that.

“Yes, Baba, Happy to you.” I acknowledged that there was, indeed, a cake in the room.

“Khabi?”  That was his way to let us all know that he wanted to have a taste.

Later that evening, when he gave me a “tasty, tasty” certificate after his first bite, I felt a sense of pride inside me. This was, after all, a family tradition very close to my heart. While the rest of my family indulged in their respective pieces of the cake, I delved into the past and remembered this time of the year from decades ago.

Christmas was always a time to cherish in the quaint little town I grew up in. The whole of Malbazar came together to celebrate the festival. But the year end’s biggest attraction unraveled deep within the confines of my home. Every year, during the festive season, my father would prepare a cake to die for.

The process usually started late on a Sunday afternoon. In the days before the advent of mixer grinders and Microwave ovens, cake making was a tedious process that brought the family together. From ensuring that the sugar was finely powdered to making the batter himself, I grew up watching my father put his heart into a simple cake. After he had placed the batter in the simple cake-making machine, I could feel the anticipation build within me with every passing minute. It was extremely difficult to control my inner urge to open up the lid of the machine and devour the cake all by myself.

“Is it done yet?” I would enquire about a hundred times.

My father would always smile.

“Have patience.”

Years passed and the cake making machine got lost somewhere in the realm of time. Now, every year during Christmas time, I miss watching my father turn a bowl of flour, eggs, and sugar into the most delicious thing in the world. I miss watching him take the knitting needle and stuff it slowly into the cake, pull it out and check it to see if the cake was ready. Sometimes, he would put the needle near me and the aroma would rejuvenate my inner self.  I miss that ecstatic feeling that filled up my heart when he finally took out the cake from the machine. And most of all, I miss that special Sunday afternoon in the last week of December.

As such, on a Sunday afternoon before Christmas, I decided to improve my cake-making skills. After all, it is a family tradition that I want little Messi to indulge in as well. Someday soon, maybe, he shall pester me while waiting for the cake to rise in the oven. Maybe, if my baking skills improve, he shall wait for the final piece with the same anticipation that drove me as a child.

The next morning, I packed two pieces of cake to work. Frustrated by Monday morning blues, I pulled my bag aside and took out the Tiffin. The aroma filled up my heart and the taste? The cake tasted of Christmas and nostalgia.

‘Tis the season, folks! Happy Holidays!

5 essential tips to survive an Internet Shutdown

Of the many experiences that I have gathered in this lifetime, perhaps the most humbling one happened just a couple of days back. It all started with the agitation over the Citizenship Amendment Bill, the latest bouncer inflicted on us Indians. The protest grew from strength to strength with each passing day but it was at its strongest at Assam, where people took to the streets to express their dissent. One thing led to another and soon life came to a standstill.

While the agitation continued outside, we stayed careful, avoiding the National Highways and rationing our supplies prudently. Shops remained closed, markets were deserted and people did not venture outside unless absolutely necessary. Thankfully, there were no violent incidents in and around the small municipal town I currently reside in, with residents maintaining peace and religious harmony despite the many provocations. However, the protests continue to rise and threatened to gather pace. The authorities struggled to contain the growing discontent and soon opted for the latest fail-safe option in our “new” India – block the internet.

For someone who thrives on sports articles, reading and writing them throughout the day, it was a bolt from the blue. It came into force in the middle of one afternoon without any prior warning. I had worked on an article for a sports website and was looking forward to adding the finishing touches to the piece later in the day. Imagine my surprise when all of a sudden, I was locked out of the world.

For the next few days, I learned the essence of the internet in my daily life and realized how lucky we previously were to have unrestricted access to the internet. With every step in my life, I realized that this new era of digital India had actually crippled us and made us slaves to the World Wide Web. No social media, no assistance from Google, no online transaction, no window shopping, no meaningless surfing through the English Premier League table and dreaming of how Manchester United could finally make it to the top four. It was as if I was in the medieval age and might as well be making a fire in the evening using two stones!

We spent 9 days as a digital prisoner, but it felt like a lifetime. Thankfully, the broadband service at work was resumed on the 4^th day, which led to a strange routine. Every morning, our phones filled up with notifications and we played catch up to the rest of the country. It was a surreal experience! I attempted to write in the evenings and publish it during the day. It did not always work. We synchronized our routines with this 9-5 luxury that tempted us to return late from work and reach office in time.

In the end, with a little intervention from the Guwahati High Court, the authorities decided that we had been punished enough and internet services resumed one fine morning. After I had satisfied all my cravings for the internet and had returned to my normal, sane, self, I realized that it was a time to rejoice. I had actually survived an Internet Blackout! 

I immediately had an urge to use my survival instincts for the greater good and help my fellow Indian citizens out as well. Because frankly, what happened to me is going to happen to you too, it is just a matter of time. With the next hiccup on the road, the authorities will be hitting the kill switch on the internet services again, only this time, we shall be ready. This is why, today, I bring you 4 life-saving tips on how to survive an Internet blackout!