Why spray painting is also about training your mind? OR Challenging it…you be the judge!

If you have been glancing at my DIY submissions about the weird and often excessively adventurous trials and tribulations that are usually about Home Improvement, Home Repairs, DIY Builds and Unwanted Landscaping, this discussion will not surprise you. Now, one of the most recurring aspects of my DIY voyages has been painting. This started with the usual route of buying an acrylic paint, a bottle of turpentine oil to dilute the paint, and a standard painting brush. The strokes were going good, the results were beginning to impress, and the compliments, though scanty, had started to surface. Just when I thought that my brushed journey had started, I got this idea about spray painting. The thought was actually an after-thought, a few days after I had gotten the rear bumper of my aging Maruti Swift painted.

DIY Anxiety Explorations: it is not generalized, not GERD, not Acute or Extreme!

This blog is a testament to my anxious soul, my habit of overthinking things and being a bit volatile. For a long time, I had been believing that there is nothing really new about anxiety issues, about the anxiety of any type that I have not experienced. But September was a rude awakening and a realization that I did not see coming. This time, I have experienced anxiety in its most unusual way. Think of it as some sort of shakiness or feeling unsettled despite not worrying about anything, without obsessing over things around me. This bout of anxiety is very subtle but it remains in the system for the day. A few lone moments or working on some DIY project where my mind wanders around a bit can bring it on. This is the most spontaneous form of anxiety that is not about meeting new people or handling new situations. Many times, it comes up when there is nothing disturbing me at the moment, even when I am not fixating on the small imperfections I tend to notice a bit too much.

Reasons why me and Mr. Waffles, representing all waffles known to mankind, are not getting along…

Okay, you like waffles and you believe that there can be nothing unlikable about them. However, the reality is different. There are plenty of folks like me who just cannot get their mind around what seems like a rehash of pancakes, baked cake-like stuff, and crusty pies. Waffles remain elusive to me in terms of having a taste, an individual flavor that separates it from the rest. Competitors here include many types of bread and bakery essentials like biscotti or cookies. A waffle is supposed to have a crusty exterior and the insides are supposed to be warmer and softer. However, the manner in which waffles are served these days means that the outer surfaces are already overwhelmed with many sauces and flavoring bits. The outside crust is already lost. The more you try to dice and mix up the fruits and creams, the more waffle is likely to lose its individualism, not that it really has a unique identity to preserve.

Are we trying too desperately to make serveware Boho-chic or something laidback?

I recall this scene from Kill Bill where Daryl Hannah is visiting one of her former kill squad members. I think his real name is some Madsen and I recall the guy from Reservoir Dogs and the Species franchise. This is not about how macho he looks or how the one-eyed portrayal of Hannah was very realistic. This is about them drinking some sort of alcoholic concoction in what seemed like glass jars with handles or without handles, really don’t remember now. But if you look closely, the guy was living in a trailer parked in the middle of some God-forsaken landscape and had literally nothing in terms of lifestyle goods or accessories.

Honey, I need some more honey – that was bad, but yes, I eat the warm, gooey thing almost every day.

These days, my wife has started a morning ritual of swallowing a bit of aloe vera juice as soon as I get out of bed. She remembers it, pours it, reminds me about it, and then follows up as to whether I consumed the supposed Digestive tract soothing agent or not. Notwithstanding, discussing her affection for me, this adds one more thing to what I consume every day, to a list that is predominated by Honey. For some reason, I have been having that sticky, amber-colored stuff for years now. I love to spread it on hot, toasted slices along with butter. I dip my digestive biscuits in it. It is also the SOS when sugar cravings hit me badly and I don’t have the good stuff to satiate the cravings. Other inclusions to the daily regimen include honey in hot water, infused with herbal tea extracts that I carry to the office. I might put some on vanilla ice-creamed served with almonds and cornflakes. What makes it so good?

Big sandwiches are good but when they turn meal-sized, are we still eating them like a sandwich?

The other day I was at Burger Place, Rajouri and I ordered the double-egg burger. Here, the burger patty was really big. It had been filled with poached eggs and lots of green veggies. The result was a true gastronomic delight. The eggs were slightly mushy and when pressed slightly almost hung tightly to either side of the burger buns like some industrial adhesive and the flowy sauces and cheese things were equally warm and orgasmic. However, I had a small issue. I just couldn’t eat the burger like a burger.

It was too big. It was oozing too much of the good stuff. I could not afford to press and kill my vulnerable patty. And I hate when the cheese starts to drip. So, the solution was finding refuge in a plastic fork and slowly eating away the hand-sized burger. Did this ruin the taste? Not really. I should say not at all. In fact, having a burger like a plateful of the meal was a refreshing experience. Now, when I compare this with some of the sandwiches I come across in Delhi’s cheese-based eat-out locations, it seems that eating these sandwiched, held-up like the traditional way of eating your bread is not really practical.

Looking over the edge, almost into the infinite that lies below…High Rises can be therapeutic?

Please note that this is not a discussion about how to overcome your fear of heights. This discussion is not meant to be a cure for Acrophobia either. It just tries to put out a word that sometimes what seems scary to others and is generally regarded as being a bit frightening can also be slightly helpful...if you look at it from my perspective. 

I was watching some unknown movie when surfing movie channels and came across this scene of a typical corporate guy, with bow ties and suit, rushing to the terrace of the office building, panting, trying to catch his breath. For a moment, I paused and thought about the overwhelming sense of anxiety that this scene was trying to create. I realized that this dramatic scenario actually presented a reality-check—we are all bitching about the skyscrapers but there are times when these monstrous buildings actually do something rather well. I live on the fifth floor of a residential high-rise and the windiness is still very palpable. Just imagine someone on the 20th+ floor or terrace. The wind must be cutting through with God's speed. Perhaps, these few moments, bent over the rail of a typical skyscraper are akin to catching deep breaths and regathering—something most of us have done at our workplaces. The view from the top is equally breathtaking as long as you don’t hit the terrace every day.

This is not about being vintage, just that More Metal equals More Trust…

One of our overseas migrant friends has been restoring a classic set of four wheels and sharing the images. As expected, there is a lot of automobile wisdom pouring-out in response to the data published on social channels. The love for classics and vintage seems to have no boundaries. But when I say this, I must confess that despite my love for cars that were bigger, heavier, and made with the heart, I am not that big on everything that is retro themed. My love for the bygone era of automobiles stems from the large-scale use of metal and that is it! There is nothing more though I like the rich leathers and plenty of glass-work and curvaceous lines.

Being Punju: If it hasn’t been Roasted to a Brownish shade of RED, it is not worth eating…

I keep watching these foods shows about the Mediterranean way of eating and always have borderline dreams that touch upon the idea of at least tasting all these delicacies at least once during one of my dreamy vacations. But the reality? I am a true Punjabi in most ways and the chances of actually biting into stuff that looks half-dead or still has a layer of its actual, wilderness or ocean life are very, very remote. This comes with being a Delhi-bred Punjabi. Our logic with food is rather simple. If you have killed it, roast it to the extent that it loses its identity. I mean the French preparation of marine being is such that sometimes you must get fish that stares right back at you. The other end of the story – if you have pulled it from the ground or plucked it from a tree then undress, cut, slice, dice, fry, simmer, re-fry, and re-heat it until what was once from the plant kingdom now seems like a serving of something mixed in a highly enthusiastic mix of onions and tomatoes. Not doing this every day of your life, not staying true to this way of interpreting food, and not passing judgement on food that hasn’t been prepared in this way is unbecoming of a Delhi-ka-Punjabi.

Still don’t know what that Zoned-out feeling is like but Daytime Zombie-ness? Been there…

I was watching re-runs of That 70s Show and I realized that unlike the hippie-loving, herbally-explorative folks on the sitcom, I really cannot say that I know the feeling when you are doped to the extent that it seems like metaphysics and the afterlife have mated to create a realm of the unknown. I have had days of Valium excesses, many years back, and some instances of drinking silly but largely, I have always been in control. Laughing or smirking a lot more than usual, driving a bit crazy, having that dreamy-eyed look – these are things that come close for me. When people talk about being high or having progressed into an alternate universe after doing joints, I am a true alien to the real feeling they are talking about.