Why this blog is called "Gallimaufry".

gal-uh-MAW-free\, noun.

Originally meaning "a hash of various kinds of meats," "gallimaufry" comes from French galimafrée; in Old French, from the word galer, "to rejoice, to make merry"; in old English: gala + mafrer: "to eat much," and from Medieval Dutch maffelen: "to open one's mouth wide."

It's also a dish made by hashing up odds and ends of food; a heterogeneous mixture; a hodge-podge; a ragout; a confused jumble; a ridiculous medley; a promiscuous (!) assemblage of persons.

Those of you who know me, will, I’m sure, understand how well some of these phrases (barring the "promiscuous" bit!) fit me.

More importantly, this blog is an ode to my love for Shimla. I hope to show you this little town through my eyes. If you don't see too many people in it, forgive me, because I'm a little chary of turning this into a human zoo.

Stop by for a spell, look at my pictures, ask me questions about Shimla, if you wish. I shall try and answer them as best as I can. Let's be friends for a while....

25 May 2008

Patchwork Sunday.

Patchwork is a form of needlework which involves cutting out & sewing together different pieces of fabric - varied in colour, shape & size. I like the metaphor because a patchwork pattern may have a repetitive design, or it may be a "crazy quilt": random shapes forming "crazy" or non-repeat, asymmetric compositions.
Today was one of those patchwork days. The weather went from sunny, to cloudy, to rainy, to misty, then back to sunny, with a short sharp hailstorm thrown in between for good measure. The company was motley: a heritage expert, a housewife, an anthropologist, a financier, a painter, a bureaucrat and a sleepy dog. The food eclectic: maa ki daal, biryani, two chutneys: an envy-green one & a Ferrari-red one, patra ni macchi, pasta, chapaties & raita. The dessert was equally multifarious: sewiyan, chocolate mousse, gur-ki-shakker & ghee on hot roti! (Guddu, you man of parts, take a bow).
I rambled from Willows to my friend Sanjiv's beautiful home in Kasumpti and then ambled back satiated by great food & even better conversation. The best part was hiding in Billy's den to catch a chapter of the madly fascinating adventures of Amir Hamza.
The pictures below may give you an idea of how the day went:

Farhad says this poem by Emerson is most appropriate:
Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.
I, in my pleachëd garden, watched the pomp,
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I, too late,
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.

No comments:

Related Posts with Thumbnails