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ramcharantitties · 6 months ago

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Rangrez

Chapter 3: Keen

Sita's note: Imagine lying to a police officer lol

When Akhtar brought Kainat home, the whole family stalled, thinking he got married. He already had this responsibility, how was he going to get married now? The breath of relief they exhaled upon clarification sent Akhtar in confusion and made Kainat smile to herself.

It was a sweet family of four people, the kind of family Kainat often dreamed of. A supportive mother, a loving sister and a present father. Somehow, somewhere, Kainat envied Akhtar. Kainat soon got to know that they have a mechanic shop. She promised that as much as she is welcomed home, she won't extend her stay for long.

The only person she didn't understand was Ram. He was serious, yet kind looking man. There were glimpse of hope yet burden in his eyes, and she was keen to know more. Besides, years of training has told her how to read the face of a man. Their first meeting, as she felt, was tolling on him. She didn't understand if he was an ally to the police- perhaps yes. Maybe he was an inside informer. Spies reigned the streets of Lahore- she couldn't be trusting of anyone, anywhere. Kainat felt closer to her goal of freedom after coming to Delhi. The underground and informal meetings, exchange of information and knowledge, planning revolts and revolutions- she wanted to be a part of all of it. And it wasn't possible from the back of her horse cart.

But Delhi was not as easy to fit in, just like this family. Kainat always spent most of her time alone in Shahi Mahal, and sometimes she sprawled upon Khwabgah, doing her art. She painted various murals, only for them to be covered with dust instead of praises. Kainat wondered if she could do all of that here. But this close knit family reminded her that sometimes the best moment comes from just spending time together. Rehana was occasionally kind, but never hated Kainat. Mallika for some reason, did.

The expressions that planted on Kainat's face were only readable to Ram. She felt lucky to be invited to this lunch, eating with everyone. Ram could see the gratefulness on her face. But that raised questions in his mind. Kainat sat next to Akhtar, across Ram. Picking up her spoon, she began to eat when Akhtar pulled it back. "Eat from your hands, that's more fulling" Ram stared at Kainat, who hesitated but followed Akhtar. The way she took small bites, her hands, her lips, everything was elegant about her. Ram's gaze was interrupted when he felt Akhtar tapping his knee and smiling to himself.

Kainat saw Akhtar almost everyday, but he never really asked or interrogated about her background. She often told her Lahore stories to his younger sister anyways although Kainat never saw Ram. She wanted to thank Akhtar and his family, so she took up the kitchen to make Chicken Biryani for them.

She sat away from them, watching and serving when needed. As they huddled around the huge plate, the graceful Kainat died inside. Ram and Akhtar devoured the dish twice the speed of everyone else. On one incident, Akhtar used both his hands to eat. "Akhtar bhaiya, eat from your right hand!" She remarked, when she felt Ram's hot gaze at her. "How does it matter, I'm gonna eat it anyways" Akhtar's reply took away Ram's attention. "You come and eat too" Akhtar looked at Kainat.

Everyone relaxed after the meal, and Ram saw Kainat cleaning the kitchen up, following her. "What was your name again?" Ram's velvety voice shocked Kainat, making her jump. She looked back to see Ram leaning against the door frame, his eyes fixated on her. She turned around to face him. "Kainat" she muttered. "And where do you come from, in Lahore?"

"Heer-" a realisation dawned on Kainat; what if he knew about her birthplace? "Heer?" Kainat saw Ram straining to hear more. "Near Heeramandi" she said, her breaths getting shorter. "And why did you come to Delhi?" Kainat thought hard- would it hurt to tell the truth? "My sister was going to sell me to someone, after our parents died. She wanted everything my father has written in his will for me. So I ran away" Kainat looked down, her hands fiddling. "Do you belong to any royalty or just a rich family?" The poor girl looked up at Ram again. "Rich family, my father's business boomed" she wondered if that's how children with fathers talk. "And how l-" "you ask too many questions" Kainat couldn't help but notice. "Even Akhtar bhaiya didn't ask as many" she smiled, looking at Ram's mouth agape. His expression turned to a sincere and serious one, as he moved closer to her, step by step.

"And that's why I have to." Ram's breath hit her, his voice audible to only them. Kainat's smile fell. They stared at each other for what seemed to be a long time, when they were interrupted by a voice outside. "Kainat, can you make tea for everyone?"

She moved almost immediately, turning around to pick up the pan and filled it with water. Kainat reached her hand out to pick up the steel box of tea leaves, only to find it empty. She could still feel Ram staring at her every move, but she said nothing. Ammi did say in the morning where the box of tea leaves is, but it was too up for Kainat. She tried to pick it up, but her fingers slid it back on the shelf. Kainat could feel a presence around her, closer than where Ram was. She turned around to see Ram picking up the box. He breathed down Kainat's neck, his fingers barely grazing the box. "Maybe I should move" she began to escape the close space, only to be stopped by Ram's denial. "No, I got it" he said, handing the box to her now.

Kainat muttered a small thanks, and put two spoons of leaves in the boiling water, when she felt Ram's lips almost touching her ear. "If I found that you're lying, there'd be repercussions". A chill went down her spine, but before she could turn and see him- the kitchen was empty.

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Tagging: @jkdaddy01 @ramayantika @definitelyhim @starlight-1010 @panikk-attackkk @vijayasena @lilliebeingdelulu @multifandom-boss-bitch @yehsahihai

#ghungru #ram charan #rrr #rrr movie #desi tag #fanfic #ram x reader #ram x wife!reader #rambheem #rangrez #heeramandi

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possibilistfanfiction · 2 years ago

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fuck dude i spent the past two days reading the entirety of girls against god and catching up on we lived happily during the war and i s2g it’s the most i’ve cried in YEARS what the fuck bea’s trans niece?? it all must mean so much to bea?? what the FUCK oh my god i am so emotional i have so many feeling ily tysm for your service 🥹 (also BIG fan of footy au. big big fan. you are incredible) THANK YOU

[bea's niece! love her! here u go]

you’re thrilled that your parents have decided to spend a few days away in ojai at some winery aunt bea recommended, because as much as you love them, unlimited and mostly unsupervised time with your aunts is pretty much the best thing in the world.

they’d planned to take you to a cool, nice dinner at this trendy place asaad had seen on tiktok, which honestly sounded fun. plus, it’s mexican food, which is basically your favorite other than your nani’s lamb biryani. and it had seemed exciting and fun but then you had looked through your entire suitcase and didn’t love any of the tops you packed, and you want to do your makeup but you’re not that good at it yet, and usually your mama helps you, and —

you sniffle and take a calming breath, wipe the tears from under your eyes. it’s okay, you tell yourself. you can ask for help. your aunts love you, and your big brother loves you, and sometimes, of course, he teases you but not about this. never about this. if you felt bad enough you didn’t want to go out, no one would be mad at you.

you take another big breath and then put on one of aunt bea’s old t-shirts she’d accidentally left in london last year and then had laughed and told you to keep it. you walk down the stairs to your aunts’ bedroom. asaad and aunt bea are tending to the herb garden outside, and you’re not surprised to see aunt ava seemingly emptying a quarter of their closet onto their big bed. you linger in the doorway, your heart caught a little in your throat, but then aunt ava looks up and stills, then offers you a smile that always feels warm, and calm, and you don’t ever wonder why aunt bea fell in love with them.

‘what’s up, kiddo?’

you take a second to compose yourself because you really don’t want to cry; you’ve spent enough time around the both of them that you know aunt ava understands how to be patient and let you arrive at what you need to say in your own time. ‘my mama usually helps with my makeup.’

‘ah,’ aunt ava says, already excited. ‘what’s the vibe your feeling? also, what are you wearing? i can’t decide.’ she gestures to the bed with her cane. ‘as you can see.’

it gets you to laugh, a knot in your chest loosening. ‘um, maybe i can borrow one of your crops? my camo cargo pants, i think, and my new cdg converse.’

‘ooh,’ ava says, ‘love. and yes, of course you can borrow anything you want. i’m still mad you’re big enough they fit you, but i’ll forgive you. growing up is better than the alternative.’

you frown at that but aunt ava doesn’t seem bothered, or sad or upset.

‘hmm. morbid. my bad.’

‘you good?’

‘i’m awesome.’ she smiles and gestures for you to actually come into the room. her hair falls in easy waves past her shoulders, longer than when you’d last seen her for eid, and it’s easy to hug her tightly, to settle into her gentle embrace, to smell the detergent that reminds you of aunt bea, and aunt ava’s subtle light perfume, and the lavender lotion you get to use every time you’re here. you know he understands, in a different way than aunt bea but in a way that matters too, that flows like water and makes you feel like you’re lifting your face to the sun, what it feels like to be bigger than what the world expects of you and your body.

your parents are the best; they’d gotten you hormone blockers immediately when you asked, and your mama and auntie had taken you shopping for pretty bras in the fanciest shops in london last month, and your dad practices your drag routines with you after football practice.

but still: people who feel it, people who know — your family, in the deepest way. you pray five times a day, in thanks, usually. blessings, you know, even now.

‘the vibe is, like, i don’t know. subtle but glitter?’

aunt ava squeezes you. ‘incredible. i’m obsessed already. maybe a glitter eyeliner?’

you relax: aunt ava loves you.

‘do you have your makeup here? i have, like, enough fun shit — uh, stuff — to cover us for any look you want, but obviously not foundation or concealer for you. but if you don’t have any, we can send your aunt and brother.’ she laughs. ‘asaad can be your skin tone match.’

'i have some makeup.' you let yourself take a deep breath, because aunt ava is happy; she wants to do makeup with you, and let you borrow clothes, and go out to a cool restaurant. it's not a duty, or because you're family — when your aunts get to help you be yourself, it makes them happy. 'but it's mostly boring.'

'the basics are very important, though.' she smiles. 'well, go grab any of yours that you want to use, then come meet me back down here. you can look through mine and use any you want. and i'm the prettiest person i know, so i can help.'

'number one?'

'way too like beatrice,' she says, 'mean. for no reason! but i'll humor you.' ava bites their bottom lip in contemplation. 'well, i met janelle monae last year. and shangela comes into my bar often.'

'you live a wild life,' you say, and aunt ava laughs. 'so, third?'

'yeah,' she confirms. 'well, fourth, maybe.'

'who's third on the list, then?'

'you, of course.'

it makes you blush, but you turn quickly so aunt ava can't really see. you know she knows, but, like, it's fine. whatever. maybe she's the prettiest person you've ever seen and she's kind and funny and smart and owns her own bar, but she's also your aunt, who you've watched throw up in a bush after she drank too much champagne at brunch one time, and she always falls asleep on aunt bea's shoulder when you go to a movie. there's no reason to be embarrassed, and there's also no reason, you remind yourself, to not want to feel pretty.

you get your setting spray and foundation and concealer and their respective brushes, and then aunt ava shows you through a lot of makeup. you don't think you'll ever want to own this much makeup in your entire life, and it's kind of funny because aunt ava doesn't really wear much most days, but she just — she loves it. she loves sharing with you, and explaining why she got stuff that doesn't really make sense, and eventually you pick out a gold eyeliner to use. aunt ava makes sure not to cover your freckles completely when she helps with your foundation, and then, when you try to do the eyeliner yourself and mess it up, she hands you a makeup wipe without any judgement or impatience.

you finish with some mascara, and you sit and talk and listen to music in the background while aunt ava does her own makeup. she lets you pick out any crop you want, and she decides, after a fair amount of deliberation, on a sundress that you know is aunt bea's favorite on her. gay, you think, and then say aloud because you're sure aunt ava will appreciate it. and she does: she laughs, and aunt bea kisses her after she knocks on the doorframe and then smiles softly when she sees the two of you.

'you both look amazing,' she says. 'asaad has already freshened up, so i just need to change, and then we can go. i'm confident it we leave in ten minutes, we'll make our reservation time.'

'what if we left in twelve minutes?' aunt ava asks.

aunt bea just ignores her and walks to their closet and lightly closes the door, which seems to delight aunt ava. she snorts.

'love her.'

'you guys are weird.'

'just wait until you have a partner or partners. if you're doing it right, which i'm sure you eventually will, because you're the best, it's all just the best kind of weird.'

they're right, you know. you get to be surrounded by all kinds of love and you've always gotten to see it every day. but still, when aunt bea walks out in tailored slacks and loafers and a loose linen button up with intricate stitching, a little mascara on her face, her hair with a few strands of silver in it now, less than your dad's but mostly the same — you can breathe in another way. you have the careful way your mama helps you wash your hair every week when you told her you wanted to grow it out, and how she always takes you with her to get your threading done together; you have your dad's genuine joy whenever he takes you to women's football matches, and the way he cries at shows with queer storylines that end happily; you have your brother and the way he always, always, makes sure his group of friends never misgenders you — ever since you came out, none of them have treated you any differently at all; you have aunt ava, whose identities are as big and open and exuberant as she is.

and you have your aunt beatrice, you smiles sincerely and, of course, notices your eyeliner. she taught you how to shave your legs when you were too nervous to ask your mama, for whatever reason that seemed confusing at the time in your head. she plays tennis with you and she's never mean but she also never lets you win; if you ever beat her one day, it will be on your own merit. you're pretty sure she could literally kill someone twice her size with one hand, but she has never been anything but gentle toward you, your entire life.

she tucks a pair of sunglasses in the V of her shirt and puts on one of her fancy watches with a thick band. she smiles at you. 'ready to go?'

'mhm. i'm hungry.'

she kisses aunt ava's temple and then puts a gentle hand to the small of your back, ushers you out of their room and to the foyer where asaad is waiting on the couch. it's still warm and sunny and gorgeous. aunt bea makes sure the front door is locked and then takes one last look in the mirror. this smile is all for herself, one you've had so many times, one that, on her, lights you up from the inside. she fluffs her hair and then nods, and you get it, unspoken: she must like who she sees looking back at her.

when she sits on your bed later that night, after you've all eaten more than your fair share and aunt ava had done a lot of moaning over some shishito peppers, after she'd driven everyone home and you had all changed into pajamas and watched half of a movie while she and aunt ava had a glass of wine — you curl into her hip and put your head on her lap.

you want to thank her — for being who she is, for being part of your family, for loving you — and everyone she cares for — in this quiet, stoic, unrelentingly gentle way. but you're sleepy, and you don't want to cry. she runs a gentle hand up and down your spine.

'did you have a good day?'

'yeah, aunt bea.' you think of the beach and aunt ava's laugh and your brother's gentle insistence that he hold every door open for the three of you; how good the food was and how you'd seen bella ramsey at a table and asaad had blushed so hard you had laughed. you think of the quiet way aunt bea had gotten aunt ava her medications in the morning at breakfast, a kiss to the top of her head. a long, long life together. a home, with you included, in any way you want. 'i had the best day.'

#she's little!!!!#butch bea 🥺🫡#wn #avatrice fic #avatrice #prompts #ava!!!!!! she loves being an aunt!!!!! she loves those babies!!!!!!!#her family!!!!!!!!#i KNOW ava uses mixed pronouns i K n o w #i am just being lazy & not writing all of them #bc it requires so much context in sentences to use more than two lol & i just... didn't have it in me #but i will!! one day!#i know. in spirit. i'm using all the pronouns for ava. one day in practice lol

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biryani-in-karachi · 17 days ago

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Top 10 Biryani Spots in Karachi: A Food Lover’s Guide

Karachi is a city that breathes biryani. As one of the most iconic dishes in Pakistani cuisine, biryani is more than just a meal here; it’s a beloved tradition. Whether you’re a local foodie, a traveler, or new to the city, finding the best biryani in Karachi is a must to truly experience its culinary culture. Known for its spices, tender meat, and aromatic rice, Karachi’s biryani is a delicious adventure that draws food lovers from all walks of life. Here’s a comprehensive guide to help you navigate the top spots for biryani in Karachi.

The Love for Biryani in Karachi

Karachi’s food culture is vibrant, and biryani stands at its heart. With origins tracing back to the Mughal era, biryani has evolved over centuries to become a staple that Karachiites can’t get enough of. The best biryani in Karachi features layers of spiced meat, fragrant rice, and just the right kick of heat. This beloved dish is often enjoyed on all occasions, from family gatherings to casual outings, and each place has its unique spin on this classic.

Types of Biryani You Can Find in Karachi

Biryani comes in various types in Karachi, and each has its own distinct taste. Here are a few popular variations you’re likely to encounter:

Classic Karachi Biryani: Known for its intense spices and aroma, the classic Karachi biryani is usually made with beef or chicken and incorporates a unique combination of spices that give it a bold flavor.

Bombay Biryani: This type includes potatoes along with meat, and has a slightly sweeter taste due to the use of dried plums. The addition of potatoes makes it a favorite for many Karachiites.

Mutton Biryani: For those who love mutton, this biryani is rich and flavorful, with tender mutton pieces that blend perfectly with the spices.

Sindhi Biryani: This version is typically spicier, often featuring green chilies, and is packed with bold flavors. It’s a fiery delight for those who enjoy their biryani with a bit of extra heat.

Seafood Biryani: Unique to Karachi, seafood biryani uses prawns or fish, which adds a coastal twist to this traditional dish, making it a refreshing alternative for seafood lovers.

What to Look for in the Best Biryani in Karachi

Finding the best biryani in Karachi depends on a few essential qualities that define this iconic dish. Here are the elements to consider:

1. Quality of Rice

Good biryani starts with quality rice, ideally long-grain basmati that cooks to a light, fluffy texture. The rice should be separate, yet perfectly seasoned and aromatic.

2. Tenderness of Meat

The meat in biryani should be tender, succulent, and fully cooked. Whether it’s chicken, beef, mutton, or seafood, the meat should easily pull apart with a fork, absorbing the spices in each layer.

3. Balance of Spices

Karachi biryani is known for its complex spice profile. The best biryani spots maintain a balanced blend that’s neither too overpowering nor too bland, ensuring every bite is packed with flavor.

4. Aroma

The aroma is often what draws people to biryani. A good biryani has an irresistible smell due to the saffron, cardamom, and other spices that blend during the cooking process.

5. Fresh Garnishes

A touch of fresh garnishes, like fried onions, green chilies, coriander, and sometimes a boiled egg, add the final layer of flavor and texture. These small details often make a big difference in the overall biryani experience.

Why Karachi’s Biryani Shops Stand Out

Biryani Shops in Karachi

Biryani shops in Karachi have a unique charm, offering different styles, spices, and presentation. They are often modest, family-run spots, but their flavors are anything but simple. Some of the biryani shops in Karachi are known to keep secret recipes that have been passed down for generations, creating a one-of-a-kind taste that’s impossible to replicate. Many of these spots specialize in specific types of biryani, like chicken, beef, or seafood, making them experts in their chosen style.

Buffet in Karachi

For those who love variety, buffets in Karachi often feature biryani as one of their main dishes, allowing diners to enjoy it alongside other Pakistani dishes. Buffets are a great option for anyone who wants to sample biryani along with various other foods, making it easy to appreciate how it pairs with traditional sides like raita, salad, and naan.

Tips for Finding the Perfect Biryani Spot

To ensure you’re getting the best biryani in Karachi, here are some tips:

Look for Recommendations: Karachiites are passionate about biryani, and local recommendations are often the best way to discover authentic spots. Locals can guide you toward hidden gems or famous spots with a longstanding reputation.

Check for Freshness: The best biryani spots in Karachi prepare their food fresh every day. A good biryani shop won’t serve leftover biryani from the day before, as freshness plays a big role in the flavor.

Observe the Crowds: A busy biryani spot is often a good indicator of quality. If a restaurant consistently has a large crowd, it’s usually a sign that they’re serving some of the best biryani around.

Try Different Styles: Each biryani spot in Karachi has its own style, and trying different types can give you a deeper appreciation of the variations that exist within this iconic dish.

Watch for Seasonal Specials: Some places offer seasonal varieties of biryani, like seafood biryani, which may only be available at certain times of the year.

Making the Most of Your Biryani Experience

Biryani is best enjoyed with the right accompaniments, which add to the overall flavor. Here are a few traditional pairings that enhance the experience of eating biryani:

Raita: A yogurt-based condiment with cucumbers and spices, raita cools down the heat from the spices and adds a refreshing element.

Salad: Simple salads made with onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers add a crunchy contrast to the soft, fluffy biryani.

Shami Kebabs: Many Karachi biryani spots serve shami kebabs on the side, adding a layer of texture and flavor that complements the biryani.

Green Chutney: A spicy green chutney made with mint and green chilies can enhance the flavors of biryani, especially for those who enjoy extra spice.

#biryani #shops #karachi

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snn-foods · 4 months ago

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"Simplify Cooking: One Masala, Many Recipes - SNN Garam masala"

https://snnfoods.com/collections/blended-veg-spices/products/premium-garam-masala

#spices #recipes #grocery online #food #indian spices #grocery shopping #biryani #garammasala

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stars-tonight · 3 months ago

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Hi! I love all the matchups you’ve been doing and I would love to get one if you don’t mind Ꮚ^ꈊ^Ꮚ, thank you so much!!

✩ Long matchup; romantic

✩ Any pronouns, male preference but also okay with a female pairing!

✩ Ideal partner: Level-headed/patient, someone I’m able to rely on and who can be mature and calm when needed while still knowing when to let loose and be goofy sometimes, and also someone who is willing to rely on others when they need it too. Understanding, someone who is non-judgmental and open-minded, especially with any sensitive or personal topics. Someone who is willing to try out new experiences and meet new people. Lowkey want someone who can match whatever vibe I currently got going on lol.

✩ I would say I lean into being introverted quite a bit, I like to keep to myself mostly but if the people and vibes in a situation are right then I’ll feel comfortable with being more talkative and active in whatever is going on. I can be a bit stubborn(?) or passionate about the things that I care about, especially if I also have a certain goal in mind towards them. Massive overthinker and generally very anxious in unfamiliar settings lol, but willing to try new things and meet new people.

✩ My main hobby is art, I spend a lot of my time drawing on my tablet making characters or drawing fanart of media that I enjoy. My other hobbies include playing video games (things like minecraft, breath of the wild, animal crossing, etc), writing, and collecting figurines of characters from media that I like (anime, movies, etc)!

✩ Love languages: I like to give acts of service, gifts, or quality time and I like to receive physical touch or quality time

✩ Ideal date: something quiet and chill like going to a coffee shop, cat cafe, or museum

✩ Other: My MBTI is INFP, I’m an Aries, I love to wear gothic fashion and jewelry (similar to misa amane’s style in death note), and my favorite colors are purple or dark green.

Likes: lamb biryani (my beloved), rainy days, watching horror movies, and goth/rock/R&B music

Dislikes: summer heat, loud areas, and pickles

headcanons

🥛 suga is an ambivert and has two sides to him

🥛 the responsible mama side

🥛 and the wild little child side

🥛 with that being said, he can be patient, mature, and calm, but also goofy

🥛 and he's also willing to try new things, meet new people

🥛 he's just a rather chill guy who can go with the flow and match your energy levels

🥛 although i can say with confidence that i think suga would be completely non judgemental and open minded when it comes to personal topics

🥛 he'd make sure to do his research too so if you or anyone else he knew was ever struggling he would be well prepared and know how to help them and care for them

🥛 suga can be really passionate about his work or activities, such as when he spent all night coming up with hand signals for plays to run

🥛 suga strikes me as a pretty artistic guy; he at least has an appreciation for art and literature

🥛 he's not the best at drawing but he'll always admire and praise your work

🥛 and if he played video games it'd probably be a cozy game like animal crossing

🥛 i think he likes seeing people's hobbies and seeing the passion others have for what they do

🥛 so he'd love to see how much you love art! it comes off really endearing and charming

🥛 he likes to spend a lot of time with you; you could just be doing your own thing next to each other, but what's important is that you're together

🥛 and suga suits chill dates really well

🥛 can you imagine him surrounded by fluffy cats 🥺

runner up for you was kuroo tetsurō!

A/N: hi! i'm sorry about the long wait, but i hope you liked your matchup!

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu matchup #hq headcanons #matchups #haikyuu x reader

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andmaybegayer · 1 year ago

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Last Monday of the Week 2023-10-16

Another year older. Stealing the Untitled Wednesday Library Series format from Morrak for an open Reading section and then we'll get to the normal post.

Reading:

Untitled Monday Wednesday Library Entry No. 0

Do you like a recipe book? Do you like an unbearably comprehensive and frequently incorrect recipe book? Well boy do I have an item for you:

It's Indian Delights, the de facto standard book of South African Indian cooking. Assembled in the 60's by the Durban Women's Cultural Group and in print ever since then.

The How

A birthday gift from my parents, who sent it from South Africa.

There are apparently places that carry this book outside of South Africa but I do not know what those are.

The Text

Dubious, but useful despite this. It was written in the 60's by a bunch of people who had never and would never again write a recipe book. You may note from the frontmatter that while it has had sixteen impressions since its first publication in 1961, there has only ever been a single revision of the book. There are numerous errors, omissions, and flaws. Recipes may list ingredients that are not used, call for ingredients in the method not given before, begin preparing components and never use them, or outright lie about the quantities of ingredients you need. A challenging exercise.

Any given individual's copy of this book is full of little pen notes, slips of paper, and scratched out experiments. I have a blank canvas.

It is absolutely stuffed to the brim with recipes from the then-almost-century of South African development on South Asian cuisine. It is intended as a one-stop-shop for cooking from a diaspora of extremely wide origins.

South African Indians arrived in South Africa as indentured labour for British sugar farms and could just as easily be from the relatively cold and mountainous North Indian regions or the low, rainy, hot coastal areas of South India. As a result you've had almost a hundred years of adapting to the locally available ingredients, intermarriages across wide geographic origins, and failing memories. There are frequently many duplicates of any given recipe, each with some unique variation of note.

It is also extremely dated. It still lives in an era where "adding an elachi (cardamom) pod to your rice" is a luxurious choice that requires financial considerations, and where meat was still expensive. It also has a delightful section on mass cooking, such as the above "Biryani for 100 people" which has an additional note on the ingredients for a "Biryani for 800 people" on the opposite leaf. These things come up sometimes, although the largest biryani I've ever been involved in was for about 60 people.

It is not really for beginners but it does have a lot of introductory matter, in part because it has to contend with the mishmash of languages and loanwords that exist. You don't know if the reader uses the hindi word for cumin, or the tamil word for cumin, or makes a formal distinction between roti and chapati. As a result, there are extensive opening tables of translations.

The Object

Big, blocky hardcover recipe book. Cheap but hardwearing coated pages. I have seen these in every imaginable state of disrepair, unfortunately I do not have a photo on hand of my mother's which is completely beat to hell.

I mentioned that there have not been many updates, and this continues to the outside. Not a single impression has, for example, corrected the misalignment of the spine and the cover that means it stands out on any book storage system.

Some damage to the cover from the rigours of air travel. It'll recover, or rather, it'll get beat up in ways that make that negligible.

The photography is antiquated, having been taken by a photographer who was certainly good but was operating a) with 1961 camera technology, b) 1961 photographic sensibilities, and c) no real experience in food photography. As a result the images can look somewhat alien if you're familiar with more modern food photograpy. Colours are not accurate, framing is flat, and composition is often packed.

In addition to the colour glamour plates, there are black and white instructional photos, which are much more timeless.

The Why, Though?

Indian Delights is a very important cultural reference for the South African Indian population, and it's a pretty standard leaving home/getting married/leaving home and getting married gift. I've bought a copy for many friends and now this one is mine.

Will I actually use this much? Certainly not that often. My mother and her sisters learned to cook from this book, so it is the root of my personal culinary tradition. That means I already know a lot of what can be distilled from this for day-to-day recipes. Where it is handy is for more technical dishes, which require some guidance, or as an ingredient reference for something new you want to try.

In particular Diwali is coming up and while both my mother and I are staunch atheists, we will also take any excuse to make a ton of sweets for friends. If you are in Prague in the week of the 12th of November you can probably hit me up for something.

Listening: Acheney is a shockingly talented synth designer for the niche softsynth tracker sunvox, available now on windows, mac, linux, windows CE, android, and iOS. I was tooling around with their Guitar synths and decided to check out their music, which is a couple albums of very high concept EDM inspired ambient and/or noise stuff. Here's Euler Characteristic Zero

Watching: @humansbgone is an animated sci-fi series about intelligent giant arthropods and their attempts to deal with invasions of pesky little humans

youtube

Big spec-bio focus with a lot of end notes on the arthropods in question.

Playing: Played the Trans Siberian Railway Simulator demo, which I recorded and put up here, with crap audio because it's authentic to what I had lying around after I forgot my headphones at work.

youtube

Also: the digital version of the D&D themed agent placement game Lord of Waterdeep with my family, which works quite well. It's weird to have the game handling the admin of moving points around and automatically deducting resources, but it does make the game go very quickly, even if your parents are still figuring out the interface.

Making: Big cooking experiment with a slow roast lamb shank. Came out very well. Lamb shank definitely one of the more animal parts of an animal you can cook. Smells intensely of lanolin and other hair smells. Real greasy. Big honkin' bone. Smooth and fine but sturdy musculature. This thing used to be a very specific part of something alive and that thing lived the kind of life that develops the very particular smells of the insides of a sheep that are very close to the outside of a sheep. You will find some wool fibers in your pan from where the follicles reach down close to the bone and sinew.

Tools and Equipment: Easyeffects is the successor to PulseEffects and is a very complete set of audio tuning and manipulation tools for Linux. You can use it to process incoming and outgoing audio with basically any plugin you care to imagine.

#last monday of the week #Bandcamp #food #indian delights #south africa #recipe books #untitled wednesday library series

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vezlayfood1 · 4 months ago

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#vegan food products #vegan #vegan food #vegan products #delhi #health #diet #vegetarian #food

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tasavvur-e-jaana · 1 year ago

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Pehli si Mohabbat

In lieu of all my works lost, I am reposting all my RRR fics here. Again. This series is a 10 part story centred around our protagonists and classical music and ghazals (my inspiration to write), a fanfic of a fanfic really.

This was the first thing I ever wrote for the fandom and even though I am a dormant admirer, loving the characters from the sidewalk, here you go.

P.s. The characters are not mine, they are entirely credited to Mr. Rajamouli and I am just borrowing them, one fanfic writer to another really. And yeah, the usual disclaimer... bla bla bla... you all know by now how it goes.

The fic is unbeta'd and I own my mistakes like Ram.

Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1: Yaad Piya ki Aaye

“Yaad piya ki aaye…”

The sweet melody of the traditional thumri was wafting in the air, mingling with the buzz in the street of purani Dilli even close to eleven at night. The shops had closed and the porches were now filled by the food stalls and hawkers selling various delicacies that were the highlight of the city’s flavours. The aroma of chole, kulche, kebabs, nihari, biryanis, paratha and what not was ready to attack and entice one’s appetite on just entering the gali. The street was lit with lanterns that lent a rustic glow to the entire surrounding and one could see why Ghalib had fallen in love with the city, especially the nightlife of it.

A man clad in white pyjamas and light blue solid patterned kurta walked through the humdrum of the streets. He seemed to be in a hurry to reach somewhere, not at all pausing or even glancing at the vendors or people on the way, his legs falling in determined steps as he almost was going to burst into a sprint anytime soon. A small albeit sad smile involuntarily graced his lips as soon as he heard the thumri before he saw the house from whose window the melodious tune was emanating. The structure was modest, with old but sturdy construction and the said man did not knock before he opened the wooden door noiselessly to enter.

The scene that greeted Akhtar was this as soon as he crossed the dehliz of the house and closed the door even more slightly than before. Unsurprisingly there were books strewn everywhere, meaning literally everywhere with barely any space to walk on the floor. The furniture comprised of an ordinary table, a chair and a bed that could be called a four poster if we were being too generous, wide enough of a full grown man if not more. But amongst all the clutter there were two things that were absolutely Akhtar’s favourites. One, the gramophone that oozed the beautiful and heartfelt tunes and the other was a recliner wooden chair on which lay Ram, the third and the most favourite entity of Akhtar’s life.

The said man was relaxing on the chair (or the version of relaxation that Ram did) and was almost asleep as he had not noticed Akhtar enter. His eyes were closed, one hand resting on his stomach which was moving lazily as he breathed. His other hand was laying casually on the handle of the chair, lithe fingers moving gently with the tune playing. He would look younger than he was only if his brows would not have been furrowed, forehead creased and slightly tensed shoulders that carried the weight of the world on them even when he was not working. Akhtar winced internally at this observation on top of feeling guilty at being late for the dinner.

He wanted to give as much less worry that he could manage to his… no, not his. To Ram. For a few days now, he had started calling him Ram in his head instead of anna or bhai or bhaiya due to a reason that he’d locked so far down in his heart that he wouldn’t touch it with a 100 foot pole. As he stood there openly gawking at the man in question, because such instances where he could just observe the other were too rare and too precious for him to let go of. How he wanted to shake Ram and get him to confess what was always troubling him? What guilt did he carry in his heart that had travelled to his beautiful face and had permanently etched a frown on those lush lips. He wanted to shout at him until he cracked and shared all his worries with Bheem. Bheem. How he himself wished he could tell Ram his real name so that Ram would not call him by the false identity that he’d donned. Bheem spent too much time thinking about how it would sound from Ram’s mouth.

Yet he never asked for Ram to spill his heart out and share his burdens because he could never share his own secret with Ram. That would be sheer hypocrisy. But Bheem already was a hypocrite wasn’t he? The whole coming to Delhi to rescue Malli was like walking on a double edged sword that was kept on the fire that was sure to burn Bheem alive. A creaking noise of the wood and a soft, sleep ridden voice brought Bheem back to the present from his reverie.

“Akhtar! Akhtar!?” a snap of fingers in front of his face had Bheem startled. Oh, right. Ram had woken up. How long had he been standing there? Anyway, he shook his head internally, putting on a blinding smile that was partly genuine- because how can it not be when Ram was there? And that too looking at him amusingly with that glint in his eye?

“Han!” (Yes.) Well, time to be Akhtar again.

“Kin khayalon mein khoye huye the?” (What were you thinking?) Ram asked, eyes still twinkling as he added. “Ya phir kis ke khayalon mein khoye huye the ye poochhna chahiye?” (Or should I ask whose thoughts were you lost in?)

A sudden and unwanted blush crept up Akhtar’s face at the question. He jerked away from Ram’s intense gaze as he replied unconvincingly, “Kuchh bhi toh nahi, anna.” (Nothing, Anna) oh, how he hated that word now.

“Kyon bachchu? Mujhse se jhoot bologe? Tumhari aankhein bata rahi hai k koi hai.” (Will you lie to me? Your eyes reveal more than you know.) If Akhtar had not been persistently boring a hole in his chappals, he would have noticed that even though Ram was teasing, the smirk did not reach his eyes.

“Meri chhodo. Apni baat karo na. Wo main nahi jo bhaabhi ki yaad mein saare din virah ke geet sunta rehta hoon.” (Leave me be. Let's talk about you. I'm not the one who's listening to sad songs remembering Sita) Akhtar retorted with his own jibe. Now it was Ram’s turn to flush; that’ll show him, thought the younger man triumphantly.

“Ye behad khoobsurat thumri hai. Aur main dusre ras ke gaane bhi sunta hoon.” (This song is a classic. And I listen to other types of songs.) Ram defended himself as he shifted on his feet; how could he ever tell his friend that the song did not remind him of Sita. It had never reminded him of anyone until he met the gorgeous, wide eyed man standing in front of him that commanded all his thought recently. He turned toward the kitchen to get their food ready. Because, let’s face it, if they would spiral into one of their classic playful bickerings, they’d be standing in the middle of the room like a couple of morons for the whole night. And also, he knew Akhtar would be starving.

“Tum baitho main khana lagaata hoon.” (You wait I'll bring the food.) Just as Ram took one step forward, the record whizzed and stopped. Before he could go and flip it over, Akhtar beat him to it, starting a new song. Unfortunately, the record player was not on Ram’s side as the second song that started playing turned out to be another thumri in the same ras.

Akhtar looked at him knowingly as the words formed in vilambit laya (slow tune) setting the base of the song that went “Kaa karun sajni… aaye na balam”

“Dekha? Main na kehta tha?” (See? I know you too well.) Akhtar chuckled at a slightly peeved Ram, who had been betrayed by his own gramophone’s timings. And just to rile him up further, Akhtar added, “Agar aapke paas koi khushnuma kism ke gaane ho, to woh lagaate hain.”, (If you have some happy and fun songs, let's play those.) and started to remove the pin from the record to stop the song.

Ram lunged at him with catlike reflexes, catching Akhtar’s extended arm in his own hand. “Nahi. Rehne do na ise. Ise beech mein badlna matlab sangeet ki tauheen karna.” (No. Let this one play. To stop this song in the middle will be an insult to music.)

“Achcha, to iske baad lagaate hain.” (Fine. Then after this one.)

“Thik hai.” (Ok.) Ram acquiciesed, not letting go of Akhtar’s arm.

They both looked at each other, Ram feeling butterflies in his stomach as Akhtar beamed at him on getting his way. A moment and more passed as they stood in that position, Ram not letting go of Akhtar’s arm, growing more aware of it by the second. Akhtar’s arm feels warm on his skin, touch tingling to his very core. Ram was not aware how touch starved he was until this hurricane of a man entered his life and uprooted everything. He left Ram with a clean slate on which he could rewrite his emotions and beliefs. He loosened Ram in a way that no one else could. After the death of his family, Ram was alive but had not been living. He was but only a weapon seeking revenge and destruction of the Empire.

And Akhtar- that curly haired menace had thoroughly made a permanent residence in Ram’s heart in no time. He was like a hot cup of sweet chai on a rainy day that lifted up Ram’s spirits at any point of time with his mere presence in Ram’s vicinity. All the little touches that he bestowed freely on Ram were akin to a salve soothing his wounds from the inside, healing little by little with each pat on the back, held hands, tight hugs, casual arm around shoulder. Ram always gravitated toward it, seldom initiating the contact himself. But Akhtar never seemed to notice or if he did, he didn’t mind. Ram was so engrossed in his thoughts that he missed the loud growl the younger man’s stomach let out.

“Anna…” a voice seemed to call him. “Ram!” the voice called out loud. Ram jolted back to find himself in front of his friend who was calling him. “Um…” Akhtar seemed…flustered? Clearing his throat, the other man spoke sheepishly. “My hand…”. Ram dropped it and ran as fast as he could in the kitchen leaving an equally crimson Akhtar behind.

Akhtar went into the kitchen after gathering his wits about himself. Ram was preparing two plates, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips. Akhtar stopped short of entering, entranced by the beauty that Ram oozed doing such a simple chore. He admonished himself, chastising internally- he needed to work harder controlling his emotions in front of Ram. It would not be appropriate if Ram found out about it. Taking a deep breath, Akhtar masked his emotions lest they spill out at some very inopportune moment.

“Kya bana hai khane mein aaj? Pet mein chuhe nahi ab to haathi daud rahe hain.” (What’s for dinner? I am starving like anything.) He asked even though he saw the plate was filled with his favourite biryani. Ram was now filling the bowls with raita as he answered. “Tumhari manpasand cheez.” (It’s your favourite) Ram handed over Akhtar’s plate to the younger man, following him out in the room with his own.

They both settled on the chairs by the table plate in hand as the table too was fully cluttered with papers, books and miscellaneous paraphernalia. Akhtar had once made the mistake of setting things straight on the table so it would look a bit organized and Ram had thrown a fit like a child. No Akhtar! What are you doing? Everything is just as I want it to be. Don’t disarragne it! That was the first and last time Akhtar dared touch to oragnize things for Ram.

Ram let out a soft chuckle as Akhtar dug into his biryani like a man starved and let out an indecent moan. Ram gulped down air as his throat went dry suddenly. Frankly, Akhtar should be arrested for public indecency and more so for making Ram melt into a puddle of mush. The older man resorted to small talk to divert his focus onto something else. “Aaj aane mein der kaise hui? Kab se intezaar tha tumhara…”, (Why so late today? You were being waited for a long time by…) he paused, only for the curly haired man to look at him with such fondness and a little sorrow. Mujhe. (Me.) Ram wanted to say, instead he blurted out a little too loud, “Biryani ko.” (Biryani) He really was such an emotion stunted person! It was perfectly fine telling a friend that I’d been waiting for you, right? Right? Ram face-palmed himself internally.

Akhtar, on the other hand, went completely still, the biryani forgotten for a moment at the pregnant pause Ram took. His heart was racing million miles a minute as if it would just jump out and land at Ram’s feet in benediction. The way Ram was looking at him, Akhtar, just for a second dared to imagine he saw the same emotion in Ram’s eyes as his own. But how could it be? Ram thought of him as a little brother, a friend. He was only reflecting his own sentiments, an illusion that his vulnerable heart created for his mind. He shook it off, a bit disappointed and also relieved when Ram ended the sentence with a joke. Of course it was a jest. A slight admonishment at Akhtar being late, because Ram was too gentle and sweet to actually get angry at him even if he was upset.

“Maaf karna, anna. Aaj bahot zyada kaam aa gaya tha achanak se. Uss silsile mein waqt ka taqaazaa hi nahi raha. Par aap to kha lete na! Kyon mere liye…” (Sorry, anna. There was a sudden repair to be done and I lost the sense of time. But you could have eaten. Why wait for me?) his eyes were too sincere as his voice was laced with guilt.

Ram couldn’t take that. Someone like Akhtar should not be upset for such a trivial thing. He shouldn’t be upset ever. “Akhtar,” he cut in, “Koi baat nahi. Aur daawat maine di hai. Tumhare bina kaise shuru kar sakta hoon?” (It’s no big deal. And it was my invitation. How could I start without you?) Ram smiled in reassurance, hoping to get his message to the other.

“Kya aap bhi! Apne hi ghar mein koi nyota hota hai bhala?” (What are you saying? Does one need an invitation in his own home?) Ram smiled wider at this, making Akhtar’s heart do somersaults in his chest. “Achchha chalo ab khao, warna fir se thandi ho jayegi.” (Fine. Now eat before it gets cold again and I have to reheat it.) Ram started working on his plate, urging the younger man to do the same. Both shifted to lighter banter after that, enjoying the food, the music and most importantly, the company.

The song slowly faded into silence as they finished up with dinner. Akhtar finally dragged Ram to his record collection in search of a song with faster beats and happy tone. “Chalo na! Pehle gaana dhoondho. Fir baki sab thik karenge. Aur mujhe shart bhi to jeetni hai!” (Come no! First let’s pick the song. Then we’ll clean up. And I have to win the bet too.)

“Maine koi shart toh nahi lagayi thi.” (I did not wager anything.) Ram said as he started shuffling the record collection, narrating the names of the songs to Akhtar for him to choose.

“Han toh ab lagaate hain. Agar main jeet gaya toh kya milega?” (Then let’s do it now. What will I get if I win?) Akhtar raised an eyebrow.

They had already gone though a few records without any luck: they’d all turned out to be gambhir ras raag or ghazals. Akhtar was preening in confidence and Ram really didn’t want to lose now.

“Nahi. Main bachchon jaise shart nahi lagaata.” (Look, I’m not wagering some stupid bet, ok?)

“Kyon darr gaye?” (Why? Afraid you’ll lose?)

“Ismein darne wali koi baat hi nahi.” (There’s nothing to be afraid of.)

“Toh phir lagao shart.” (Then let’s bet!) Akhtar extended his hand, baiting Ram. Ram shook it, “Lagi shart.” (Done.) And started digging through more of the vinyls. While searching, Ram found a disc with the song that he hadn’t heard in a while. It was one of his favourite ghazals. A beautiful poem and even better composition.

“Aha! Mil gayi. Akhtar ye ghazal toh sunni hi hogi!” (Yes! Here it is. Akhtar, you have to listen to this ghazal.) He held out the disc for Akhtar to drop in the gramophone.

“Kaunsi hai yeh?” (Which one is it?) Akhtar fixed it in the instrument, putting the pin in for it to play.

“Tum khud hi suno. Aur shart haar gaye ho tum.” (You’ll know when it plays. And yeah, you lost.) Ram declared with triumph.

Akhtar refused to back down as the tune started with a slow rhythm of the tanpura. He was confident that Ram’s definition of a fun song would be still a slow one. Then the words started flowing, making Akhtar more confident of the genre of the ghazal. It went- Mujhse pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na maang…

He had heard this one before, it was one of the favourites of his abbajaan, the benevolent man at whose place he was staying. “Nahi nahi! Ye nahi chalega. Ye bhi dukh bhari ghazal hi hai. Main waqif hoon iss se.” (No! No! This is not done. This is also laden with sorrow. I know this one.)

“Par tumne kaha tha k mere paas virah ras k siva aur koi sangeet hi nahi hai! Ismein to desh bhakti ka tawajjuh hai. Shayar apne mulk se mohabbat ki baat kar raha hai!” (But you said I would not have songs apart from virah (separation from the beloved) ras. But this is about patriotism. The poet is talking about the love for his country.)

“Ho sakta hai, par wo keh to apne firdaus se hi raha hai na? Aur phir baat ismein bhi mulk se judaa hone ki hi hai!” (Maybe. But he’s conveying this to one of his lovers only. And also, there is the point where the poet yearns for his country.) Akhtar argued his point.

“Ye bhi ek soch hai par mulk se ishq aur insaan se ishq alag hai.” (This is one perspective toward it. But loving one’s motherland and loving a person is different.)

“Pata nahi. Shayad. Mere liye to ishq ishq hai. Chahe kisi se bhi ho. Pyaar mein koi alag mayne thoda hi hote hain? Dard bhi wahi hai, ranj bhi wahi, hijr bhi wahi aur vasl bhi wahi hai na? Par main toh itna padha likha nahi hun, main kya jaanu?” (I don’t know. Maybe. But for me love is love. Whoever there may be on the other end. How can you set boundaries for love? Pain is the same, distress is the same, woe of separation hits the same and the joy of reunion is the same. But I’m not a scholar, so what do I know?) His voice trailed into a soft whisper as he said the last sentence. Akhtar was afraid to look at Ram now, thinking he had crossed a line.

Ram took a step closer. They already were in close quarters riffing through the music, and that step landed Ram closer still. Akhtar could feel the heat of the other’s body, his breath on his cheeks as he spoke tenderly. “Akhtar, meri taraf dekho.” (Akhtar, look at me.) Akhtar shook his head slightly, shutting his eyes with embarrassment.

“Akhtar,” Ram repeated a bit more commandingly this time. Akhtar lifted his head, still not looking at Ram, his gaze fixed somewhere over the older man’s shoulder. Ram held his jaw with a featherlike touch to tilt his face to himself. His hand did not leave as he uttered the next words. “Kabhi apne aap ko anpadh bol kar khud ko neecha mat dikhana. Ek taraf tum itni gehri baat karte ho aur dusri taraf tum ye soch bhi kaise sakte ho? Tumse zyada samajhdaar, hoshiyaar aur kaabil insaan maine nahi dekha. Aur main ye tumhari khushaamad nahi kar raha, na to tumhe achchha lage isliye keh raha hoon. Main ye isiliye keh raha hoon kyon ki ye sach hai.” (Never think of yourself as lesser. On one hand you say something so profound and on the other hand you belittle yourself? I have not met anyone who is more smart, understanding and caring than you. And I’m not saying this to lift your spirits or to flatter you. I’m saying this because it is the truth.)

Bheem felt his vision go blurry and wetness on his cheeks as Ram proceeded with his speech. And as Ram cupped his face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs, did Bheem realise he was actually crying. He held Ram’s wrists with both his hands as he shut his eyes to stop tears from flowing. What had happened to him? Sure, he was an emotional person, a bit too emotional as the elders in his tribe commented, feeling everything all at once. But he had learnt how to mask his feelings after coming to Delhi. He was here on a mission and the only time he had allowed himself to be emotionally vulnerable was when he went to the forest, be it for a walk or a hunt. When he would be alone.

Tears in Akhtar’s eyes were a new sight for Ram altogether and it split his heart into a million pieces to see the man cry at genuine compliments. Had no one ever told him how precious he was? How beautiful? How smart, intelligent, selfless and pure he was? Did the ever smiling, ever happy and optimist Akhtar think this about himself? This would not do. Ram would spend every moment that he got in the other’s company to make him believe otherwise. What Ram did next surprised him as well.

He lifted Akhtar’s head a little, thumbs rubbing under his eyes until he opened them, the honey dipped orbs that somehow held Ram’s universe in them. Ram wanted to drown in them. Forever. And forget the rest of the world, all the responsibilities and burdens and challenges. Ram was aware how close they were and how intimate the position was, their breaths mingling as time stretched in an eternity in that moment. But it was as if he was floating somewhere above his body, looking at the two of them suspended in their own personal bubble. He closed his eyes, raising his head and pressed his lips to Akhtar’s forehead, conveying everything he felt in that fleeting kiss.

“Anna…” Akhtar whimpered with so much love and reverence but the word still sounded hollow to him as he sunk himself in the older man’s embrace, burrowing his face in the other’s shoulders. Maybe, Ram heard the hollowness too as he engulfed Akhtar in his arms. “Mujhe mere naam se pukaaro na Akhtar.” (Call me by my name, Akhtar.) he pleaded.

“Ram..”, the muffled voice in Ram’s shirt was the sweetest sound in the room as the gramophone whirred in the back, effectively ending the song.

Chapter 2.

A/N: Please please let me know how you liked it or didn't like it...

Also, I do apologise for the Hindi/Urdu dialogues but that's the language i thought in for the songs and the Delhi backdrop. And I'm sorry that the translation of the ghazal is not mentioned in the fic but I'll attach a link with the video.

P.s. for the ghazal nerds, the ghazal was written by the great Faiz Ahmad Faiz sahab (1911-1984) and it might not have been exactly written in 1920s. It was around the time of partition and was written in the form of a revolt poem against the government and his love for the country (India and Pakistan). But I've taken artistic liberty here so I hope that's okay. The ghazal has a very rich history in Urdu literature and it is absolutely my favourite.

P.P.s: I also have lost my taglist- and somehow am not exactly keen to make one without request. So lmk if you want the notifications. Or just keep tuned to this blog.

#rrr #doodles fics #rrr fics #long series #pehli si mohabbat #rrr movie #ram rrr #bheem rrr #rambheem #classical music #indian classical music #rrr fandom #wip

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