V – The Longing

Sufi would have given anything to smell her again; he would have given anything to caress her soft curves and rub his nose against hers… nibble at her lips . He longed for the taste of her salt again. Flashes of their night together stirred something deep in him. It was a muffled, rhythmic love; a divine moment when they became one shared soul pulsating with the same frequency. The memory of her sweat mixing with his was electric. Real.

Fluids making magic.

Magic.

Pure magic.

The darkness

The rain beat down on the terrace with fury . It silenced the incessant hum of traffic in the distance. Thunder rolled ominously. He felt his past streak by along with the lightning. The storm in him raged and roiled. He stepped onto the ledge and peered at the darkness below. The darkness stared back at him.

I- Wolf Tales

It was a hunting accident. She had lost her footing while going for the kill. He couldn’t bear the loss. A part of him had fallen off the cliff that night. He had mourned her loss for months. The moon shone bright as he trudged to the hilltop. He had aged rapidly since then.

Shaggy fur.

Limping paws.

A lonely sentinel.

He looked up at his old friend in the sky and let loose a haunting howl.  Others in his pack looked up. They saw the same moon. They felt the same pain. They let out a collective howl.

It sent a shiver through the forest. She felt their pain too.

IV-Euphoria

In a moment of passion she embraced him and took his mouth with hers.

She was drunk that night. Happy. Light.

The night had settled in Sufi but the moon had risen in her. He blinked at her radiance just like the stars might; for she shone like the moon.

He wished they would stay drunk forever; that the moon would never set.

 

 

 

III -Sufi’s night of passion

They kissed passionately whilst disrobing in haste. The taste of their salt teased and tugged. A heady rush of blood pounded their insides. They sank into the sheets in a glorious, carnal mass. Noses brushed one another while they took in the intoxicating smell of their bodies. Fingers searched for grips while tongues passionately stroked each other’s love. A muffled moan escaped her tender lips as they became one. Sweat mixed with sweat as they settled into a slow, intense rhythm. A lifetime had passed before they laid back in each other’s arms. Sufi traced curves on her warm body while she whispered sweet nothings. Time was at their mercy that night as they made sweet memories in bed. It was magic. Pure magic.

II – Sufi’s surrender

As they moved in step with the music, his heart pounded faster. She wasn’t the woman he had known. She was different. Radiant. He took her fragrance in. A bead of sweat on her forehead glistened in the neon lights.He grabbed her by the small of her back; pulled her closer.Their hips swayed to the beats. The DJ spun her favourite track. She let herself loose and squealed in delight. This couldn’t be real. Could it? As he twirled and tossed her she leaned back in mirth. It seemed unreal. For a brief moment she left the weight of her life below.

The music seemed distant.

The spot lights seemed distant.

The drunken revellers seemed distant.

It was just them.

Two wispy souls.

In a trance.

As he held her from behind in a tight embrace, time stood still for her. It was perhaps the best she had felt in a long while. She felt safe in his arms. Special. Loved. He danced with passion and yet was tender. She felt giddy. It wasn’t what she drank that made her feel light. This was different.

This was him.

His touch.

His embrace.

She surrendered.

Her eyes seemed to suck him in. For a fleeting moment he felt helpless- drowning in those deep, dark pools. He dare not look too long at her captivating eyes. He was not sure if he should seize the moment. As he traced a curve on her body whilst smelling the nape of her neck, she pressed her body closer. In the bat of an eyelid she took his lips unto hers.

The world became still.

A kiss for the ages.

Sufi surrendered.

They sang. They whispered. They kissed. They laughed. It was sweet love on the dance floor. The fire was lit. Their souls were lit. There. That night. Their lives changed forever. It was magic. Pure magic.

I – Sufi’s awakening

‌Sufi looked at his friend in wonderment. He had known her for a while. Yet, this was not the girl he had known. It felt different this time. She felt different this time. She seemed lighter. Unshackled. She felt at home.  He stole a glance at her while she admired her surroundings. She smiled at him catching him off guard. Her doe eyes sparkled. His heart skipped a beat as he furtively looked away. The bar was empty. The guests had left. He changed the track. He had to dance with her. He had to know her again. The beats changed. The lilting tunes of his favourite song lifted his soul. He felt her breath on him. She swayed. She giggled. He led.  For those fleeting moments they danced like time had stopped.  Every step they took was a mystery they had just unraveled.  He held her tight as the track changed. They waltzed as one. A dance for the ages .  It was magic. Pure magic.

 

 

Poetry is as good as spit. Sacrilege. NOT

Poetry has always been revered; something otherworldy- a gift. There are good poets and there are the bad ones. Even the worst amongst us have grovelled for moments of inspiration; to give birth to lines that would strive to be less mortal than we are. I’ve tried too in good times; in drunk times; in times when I feel farther away from the crass worldliness that bind us. It’s been a while since I shared some insight on myths and orgins and I’d like to enlighten some of you on how poetry was pretty much spat out on humanity. No I’m not being a bad kind of poetic; it literally was.

Let me rewind to a time amd place when gods weren’t so godly and wars were waged for celestial pleasure. The Aesir and Vanir (two opposing Norse god-clans) had just decided to end another such war and call it a truce by spitting into a jar. Why? Because like us homies trust our spit – shakes , gods trusted their spit too.  But gods being gods didn’t stop at that. To symbolise their spit, a man named Kvasir was created from it. Not as random as was his birth, Kvasir was a man with wisdom unheard of ( what with holy spittle coursing through his veins) but like all stars that shine bright, his end was ill fated and abrupt.  Killed by two conniving dwarves (fjallar and gallar), the man of spittle was bled out and made into a tasty mead by mixing it in vats with honey. Ahh! alcohol from blood – spit.  Anyhow, the dwarves soon decide to kill some more people for sport and pick on a giant and his wife next. They succeed in their plot. Imagine the joy of the serial – killing- dwarves. Little they foresee the giant’s son Suttungr coming after them. But they were spared. They could barter for their lives with booze made from the blood made from holy spit (that’s certainly worth more than a life or two). Now Suttungr asks his daughter to guard deep inside a mountain. But gods being gods get itchy when lesser mortals have things they don’t. Holy mead was as good as elixir.  Odin always prided in himself being the most knowledgeable. Now knowing there was a source out there to give him a run for his money was far too much of an itch he couldn’t scratch. Off he went in search of it. In a bizarre turn of events only gods can concoct, nine men died, Suttungr’s brother Baugi was hoodwinked to drill a hole into the mountain, Odin slithered inside as a snake before he could be killed by Baugi and then turned into a striking young man to woo Suttungr’s daughter. Three amorous nights with her, he promised, if she could give him three sips of the mead. A deal was struck. After bedding her for three nights, he takes three sips from the vats; empties them, becomes an eagle and soars away to his holy land, Asgard, with the mead safe in him. Suttungr learning of this becomes an eagle and gives chase. Seing Odin approach the Aesir keep pots ready for Odin to throw it all up. But in his haste to escape from Suttungr he spits some backward into humanity and voila we received the gift of poetry. All from regurgitated booze brewed from blood drained out from a man made from spit. So, next time think how poetic it is to spit at thy neighbour! Ok bye.

Tajikistan, here I come!!

Back! (Pun intended)
I just got back from the Tajik Embassy after submitting my documents for a visa.
Fingers crossed. I hope everything falls into place this week.
SOLO TRIP. TEN DAYS. UNCHARTED TERRITORY (Well, not really; but for us city animals it’s bound to be a shock)
Why Tajikistan? Well,
a) The silk route has always fascinated me  (Tajikistan is as ancient as ancient can be)
b) I always wanted to visit Afghanistan. This is the closest I’d venture for now.
c) There isn’t much online on Tajikistan and seldom do I do trips without an itinerary. This would be an eye opener of sorts.

Albeit I crave to know more and find Agents who would help arrange a trek for me, there isn’t much to read online. If anybody out there knows more, I’d welcome your help 😀 So, this would be one trip where my mind would be a BLANK CANVAS (gives me goose bumps). Alone in an alien land nestled at the base of the imposing Pamirs. I’m rubbing my hands in glee and licking my lips even as I pen my thoughts.
I’ve decided to go without a plan, gear or itinerary. Just trek and sleep in yurts if I can. Not answer my mails or calls. It will be a far cry from the sedentary, decadent lifestyle of mine in Dubai. 
I will land on Tajik soil and then see what destiny has in store for me. It could be hit or a miss but I’ll have the pleasure of having done an impulsive trip to an unknown land with little preparation. It tickles the old school romantic in me. A trip with no expectations. Mother Nature, I’m all yours!

Note to self—take every moment in the trip as it comes.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.—Robert Frost

The Tharoors’ secret recipe for spreading Christmas cheer #hichic

What is fluffy, creamy, light yet dense, oh-so-alcoholic and symbolic of everything festive?

The E-G-G N-O-Gggggggggg (yes, I’m yelling) 🙂

Santa might be a lie and so  the tooth fairy but what are certainly real about Christmas are the the roast turkey and the eggnog. The eggnog is an extremely simple punch to make, yet there are so many different ways to make it.

You could buy the eggnog from a store. But Christmas doesn’t come from a store now, does it? So, why should your eggnog? So, go ahead and invest 15 minutes of your precious time in a kitchen and revel in the smiles of your family and guests licking every last dreg.No Christmas is complete without this fabulous and easy-to-make drink.

The eggnog is one of my favourites and certainly ranks alongside rum and spiced plum cake for must-haves during Christmas.Third Christmas in a row and it has become a  tharoor-tradition already 😀

So, here’s my easy recipe for your reference.

You need–

• Eggs
• An egg beater
• Caster Sugar
• Milk
• Whipping Cream
• A shot of Vanilla Essence
• A healthy sprinkle of Nutmeg powder (Even better if you can grate some)
• Alcohol (Whiskey/Rum/Cognac and Bourbon)
• A pinch of salt

I use about 12-15 eggs to serve 20-24 guests. Going with that rough count, I’ll use half a Kg of sugar, a litre of cream and about 1-1.5 litres of milk. Well, the trick to making your eggnog extra-special is preparing your base a good week in advance and giving the flavours time to blend. The alcohol will cure the eggs and the ageing will make it delicious.

Step 1 —

Separate the egg whites and yolks. Freeze the egg whites until Christmas eve. Save half the cream for the final step and use the other half to make the base.

Step 2 —-

Start whisking the egg yolks whilst pouring all the remaining ingredients in a slow drizzle. There is no limit to the alcohol one can pour. Just remember not to pour in too much because the alcohol will shock the mixture and overwhelm the other flavours. Whisk until the mixture becomes creamy and fluffy with a nice light consistency. Refrigerate until you serve. Those who’re apprehensive of having raw eggs needn’t fret because the alcohol will cure the eggs of any semblance of bacteria in the eggs.

Step 3–

Thaw the egg whites on the eve and when you’re ready to serve, let the egg whites come to room temperature. Now, whisk the egg whites for a few minutes until stiff peaks form. Whisk the remaining cream in a different bowl until you get medium peaks. Combine the two and now with a spatula, gently mix with the yolk base.

Now it’s ready to be served in cups over ice. Garnish with grated nutmeg.

Now, what you get at the end of this is a light fluffy xmas drink which is rich and dense, yet light and creamy beyond belief 🙂

Enjoy your eggnogg, have a blessed Christmas and a happy new year. Godspeed!

Yours Always,

N