Potluck Picnic, An Odd Request and Other Stories

As you may know (or not), I have been on a mission to broaden my social circle.

Working for yourself, by yourself, in your own office at home – for years – can be isolating, while also providing innumerable benefits and rewards at the same time. And indeed it has been so.

So, this year, I joined Meetup, and found a couple of groups to join.

However, it wasn’t until this Saturday that I actually ended up attending a meetup event.

This was a small Potluck Picnic event at Lodhi Garden with a women’s only group. Food, followed by some games and tea. Sounded lovely, and I’m happy to report that it really was lovely.

One thing that struck me at the event was that people eat a lot of mirchi. Like, a LOT.

There used to be a time when I considered myself a Mirchi Champ. I could handle high levels of mirchi in my food, and in fact was quite addicted to it (and was secretly proud of it). But I’ve changed my ways, and found it’s much better for my system to restrict my mirchi intake, and stick to a pinch of Kashmiri chilli powder (the non-teekha one, which still has some heat; those of us who don’t eat much mirchi can very much taste the heat, thank you very much) at most while cooking.

Thing with mirchi is that, it’s a bit like coffee. The more you have it, the more of it you need for your hit. As a result, people with a mirchi-palate tend to over-mirchi their food, and those of us who any way don’t eat much (if any) mirchi, feel like our insides are on fire on consumption of said kind of food.

A couple of dishes in the potluck were of said over-mirchi variety.

Now, since we were handed out pre-determined quantities of some of these, I couldn’t even not eat it causing offence, so I diplomatically ate the chana pieces, and left the masala. With copious quantities of the delicious (and non-spicy!!!) raita which provided sweet and cold relief to my innards.

Separately, when I told my mother that I’d gone for this picnic, she of course enquired after it.

She also solemnly told me: “Never accept drinks from strangers.” 

I figured that everyone eats the same food at a potluck, so I’m fine if I wait until others are eating before starting, right? Not that any of this entered my mind before the event, I thought of this only after, when my mum had done her motherly duty of informing me of every potential risk involved with a daring activity such as joining a womens only social group where I knew no one.

After the success of the Potluck Picnic, I am now motivated to attend a meeting of the Book Club that I’ve joined (also on Meetup) (also women’s only) (Indian men can be literally the worst, so they’re best avoided unless absolutely necessary, right?). Have fortunately already read the book for this month – A Christmas Carol. Shall report back after attending.

I recently ordered this probiotic (and YUMMY) drink called Beetroot Kanji. It’s seriously yum. It’s my flavour of the month.

Also ordered a bunch of used books on bookchor.com. Got a fabulous deal with 8 books coming to just about 1000 bucks. Most of them are MC Beatons, and a couple other cozy mysteries, or Comfy Crime (as MC Beaton would like us to refer to them as).

However, I’d then been consumed with a bit of guilt, because authors don’t get paid on used book sales. Of course, I knew that, but it didn’t register, register. Being a creative myself, I am keenly aware of the importance of creatives getting paid WELL for their amazing work.

Was in a dilemma for a bit on this matter, but now I’ve resolved it in my head in this way: I will only buy used books by authors who have passed on (of course unless I can’t find a new copy, that is). That way, I get the odd deal once in a while, and don’t feel bad about authors not getting their due. And YES, I would any day rather be a person supporting authors than used book stores (no matter how small and noble they might be). YES.

A few days back, I received a most odd request – someone (could be described as a “youth” perhaps) wanted to watch me work and learn from my process. Errr… I’m afraid, I am not a museum! Since when has it become acceptable to ask a practical stranger if you can watch them at their workplace? Oh well, it takes all sorts.

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