Lounge Loves: ‘Batt Koch’, lotus stem flour and more

Let Your Mind Wander

If you want a reprieve from the unending tragedies of the world, Deborah Levy’s recent book of short prose pieces is a perfect haven. I have been dipping in and out of The Position of Spoons: And Other Intimacies for the last several weeks, usually before falling asleep, letting the mind be soothed by her astute and crisp style. Most of these essays are barely a few pages long and range from musings on the “rat-grey” sky on a typical London day, to takes on writers like Colette and J.G. Ballard, to reflections on her beautiful brothel creepers. The prose is whimsical yet sharp; a masterclass in saying a lot while saying very little. Take a break from the relentless news cycle and allow your mind to wander. —Somak Ghoshal

A Free Fish Pedicure

When you are a dyed-in-the-wool city dweller like me, seeing a pond can seem like an event. Throw in a school of colourful fishes and we are talking about having an exotic adventure in the wild. Two weekends back I found myself squealing out loud as I waded into the natural pond at The Circle, a lush, charming hotel property in Anjuna renovated from an over-a-century-old home. The pond here is called The Quarry and unlike a regular ceramic-tiled swimming pool, everything is natural here and the water is not bleached. Which explains why fish thrive here. They are a friendly and eager lot. As I sat by the steps with my feet in the water, I had some pretty colourful fellows come right up and nibble at my soles. Tickles aside, it was a free fish pedicure and therapy rolled into one. —Mahalakshmi Prabhakaran

Longing For Home

Recently I saw an hour-long Kashmiri film Batt Koch, which roughly translates to “the lane where Kashmiri Pandits lived”. The audience was mostly Kashmiri. Despite the warm weather, one gentleman came wearing a woolen pheran. Directed by Siddarth Koul and Ankit Wali, it is set in a household of three generations. It felt like I had walked into a relative’s home: the jokes, the manner of speaking, the little details, all felt familiar, nostalgic, and heartbreaking. As an audience, we were one, laughing together; eyes misty during certain scenes. We were united in that ache for home, summed up by M.K. Raina’s character saying that he will be azad (free to die) once he visits his home in Kashmir, in a lane where he remembers the names of all his neighbours. —Nipa Charagi

A Bao To The Lotus Stem

I have a standard order whenever I go to restaurants serving south Indian cuisine: parotta with a spicy mutton or chicken fry. So you can imagine my annoyance when a friend insisted we try something different at a new restaurant in Delhi, Nadoo. Her pick? A green chilli chicken with bao. The chicken was mildly spicy, with a strong curry leaf flavour, but what caught my attention was the texture of the bao. It looked more moist and glossy than any bao I had seen before. One bite, and I was sold. The bread had an earthier flavour, was impossibly soft, buttery and light, almost melting into the spicy filling rather than merely holding it together. Curious, I asked the chef what gave it that texture and taste. The answer: lotus stem flour! A bao that’s tasty and healthy—the perks of reluctant experimentation.

—Pooja Singh