Man, woman and their travels

    As you watch travel vlogs on YouTube, you will often see a man and a woman touring fascinating and unexplored places in the world. There are also solo travelers, but I find "couples" to be the more interesting kind- a man and a woman. Just two people, braving against all odds. The kind of life these couples have chosen to live reminds me of the lives that early men had- living amongst nature, gathering food from the wild, and never settling in one place. The circumstances of these vlogger couples are quite similar but with the addition of technology to record their adventures and allow viewers to enjoy the journeys, albeit vicariously, through their films. During the 2020 lockdown, such travel videos were a delight to watch when all we could do was stay indoors for days.

    Man, as a living entity, is designed to thrive in the company of others and yearns to be a part of a community. Even if there isn't a community, the company of another person is enough to sail through life. Perhaps this is why, in these vlogs, you'll witness merely a guy and a woman doing everything on their own, most times without a group of people helping them. They enjoy traveling together, documenting their experiences, shooting their own photographs, and recording their strolls through the forest, only to return and retrieve the camera from the ground. In addition, life on these travels needs a plethora of knowledge on how to survive with minimal access to facilities. By nature, men and women are designed to possess different attributes which help them perform different tasks in life. While a woman, usually, is meticulous and disciplined, a man is seen to be good at decision-making and taking risks. These qualities work together to form a perfect alliance that enables them to face any challenge that life presents. Making them a complementary deal.

    Now, am I trying to advocate here that the combination of a man and a woman is the ideal scenario for traveling together? No, absolutely not. I'm talking about this pair of combinations as they fascinate me. My mind wonders how the basic instincts of a human drive him or her even after centuries of evolution. The desire to see new and different places has become one of the prime driving factors of modern life. Every soul has the desire to travel; some maybe be scared by the idea of it, find it exhausting to plan for one, or lack the initial funds to start a journey. But, if money were no obstacle, I'm sure a lot of people would pack their bags and leave for a trip this very instant. In fact, one of the prime reasons for hustling every day in the 9-5 jobs is to gather enough money to travel to that dream destination. Our hearts and minds yearn to visit places we've never seen before with our own eyes. And with these dreams in our unclosed eyes, we carry on with our daily work.

P.S. The birth of these thoughts took place while I was watching Ronnie & Barty's vlogs on YouTube. Absolutely mesmerizing, with brilliant voice-over, and captivating background music in each video. These guys know how to make a cinematic vlog which reminds me of the travel shows that I used to watch on Discovery and Travel & Living channels during my childhood.

A picturesque view from Meghalaya resembling a scene from The Shire from The Lord of the Rings

P.S. This piece was written a year back in June 2022. I'm publishing it in August 2023 as I saw it in my drafts and wanted it on my blog.

Holding on

 

Why I love reading books by William Dalrymple

    “Kohinoor” was the first novel that I read written by William Dalrymple. This book about a gem is indeed a gem of a book. The facts have been well researched as the book talks in meticulous detail about the origin and the travels of the diamond that we know today and how it came to be a part of the Crown Jewels of the United Kingdom. I first read about this diamond in a history class in school, and I've been captivated by it ever since. The book brings to light various scenes from Indian history and the passage of the ‘Mountain of Light’ (Koh-i-Noor) through multiple hands and finally being presented as a gift to Queen Victoria by the Boy-King Duleep Singh. I recommend this to anyone who is curious about the story of the stone. A remarkably interesting read indeed.

    The next book that I thoroughly enjoyed reading was William Dalrymple’s account of various places and communities of India in “The Age of Kali”. The work has been a culmination of first-hand information about incidents, events, customs, and norms from people who have lived through it all.

    It serves as a travelogue of the experiences that Dalrymple has gathered in his ten years of travel across the terrains of the Indian subcontinent. Picking up stories from the north to the south; from the land of Pakistan to what lies beyond the Indian Ocean. The book’s title refers to the fourth age of time, the Kali Yug, which India is believed to be at present. It is evident from the writing that the writer is overwhelmed as well as in awe of the beauty of the stories the country has to offer.

    I was particularly enthralled to learn how modernization came into being in Bangalore and the opposition that came with it from the localities who desperately tried to hold on to the charm of the old Bangalore city. Each of the true stories depicted in the book talks of something unheard of before. For anyone interested in discovering new tales about India, I assure you this book will feed your curiosity and keep you wanting more.

    Another interesting book I read from Mr. Dalrymple was “Nine Lives”. This was also the book that I got signed by the author at the "Times Literature Festival" held in Bangalore in February 2020. It was after attending many literature events that I finally got to meet him for an autograph and hear live from the author. 

    “Nine Lives” depicts the stories of nine different individuals, each following a different religious path. While journeying across India in quest of modernity and ancient traditions, Dalrymple met these nine people and learned about their holy beliefs. The narrative is structured in such a way that the characters in each story speak for themselves. Here's a thought-provoking line, from a story titled “The Maker of Idols”, that reads- “It’s the faith of devotees that turns it (the idol) into a god.”

    I recall another intriguing story titled- “The Lady Twilight”. It recounts the life of Manisha Ma Bhairavi, who came to Tarapith in search of Ma Tara, and continued to stay there as she felt deep protection from the goddess. Tarapith in Bengal, noted for its Tantric temple and the adjoining cremation grounds, has witnessed the survival of some of the oldest forms of Tantric rites in India. While Sadhus and Tantrics live there amidst skulls and corpses, scavengers in the cremation ground, and confronting their fear of death, for Manisha Ma, it is her home, one “where even the most damaged and marginal can find intimacy and community”. One of the many practices and beliefs they follow there is the practice of drinking from a skull. They believe the skulls give them power- Shakti of Ma Tara. Each of these stories will make you wonder, "What is meant by religious belief?" and "Is it the same as spirituality?"

    The fourth book that I was reading from William Dalrymple’s list was “The Anarchy”. I completed a few pages of it before I left for the US. The book tells the story of how the British ruled India for decades through the establishment of the East India Company. I hope to complete it someday.

    

    Each of Dalrymple’s books tells us a distinct story.  It is an achievement of the author to be able to recount tales of history in such vivid detail and draw up images of the times that we can only imagine now. I have a great appreciation for the author who went scouring for these stories and preserved them for the reader's delight. A true historian of the modern day.

Images are from Times Literature Festival held in Bangalore in February 2020. That is where I met him and got a book signed. 

 

Gift from a lover

A poem for the day celebrating love.

Valentine's day, 2023.

Shuggie Bain - a review

I often read books that are well-received by the reader community or ones that have been awarded in the literature community. One such recent read was "Shuggie Bain", a debut novel by Douglas Stuart, winner of the 2020 Booker prize. As I started Shuggie Bain, I had a preconceived notion that it could be a lengthy, repetitive description of the despairing lives of the characters, and a bleak central theme in general which would make it difficult to continue reading till the end. These reservations of mine arise from my previous reading experience. I have often found that the books with awards or the ones most popular on everyone's must-read list are often not suited to what I consider an interesting read for me. I'm not criticizing any book or author here. It's a recurring thought that has often struck me when I finish such books. 

So with these thoughts, I picked Shuggie Bain anticipating it to be a gritty tale of depressing incidents referred to over and over again throughout the length of the book. However, I was in for a surprise. The book's narration is from the point of view of Shuggie Bain; talking about the experiences in his life, his dysfunctional family set in the suffering of the Glasgow community in the 1980s, and his relationship with his alcoholic mother, Agnes. 

Shuggie is a young boy trying to find himself amidst the difficulties that life is throwing at him. Abandoned by his father, Hugh Bain, and half-siblings, Leek and Catherine, Shuggie finds himself burdened with all sorts of responsibilities and care for Agnes through her alcoholism and depression. He faces additional struggles as he is often bullied and abused at school and in the neighborhood for his effeminate characteristics. It is only so much that a young boy could do to sustain himself in a world around him that is self-consuming, cruel, and scary. As the story progresses, people move in and out of Agnes's life, affecting her in ways that leave her more damaged than before. However, it is only Shuggie, out of her three children, who stays by her side till the end. Caring for her like she was his child, believing that his love for his mother could save her. Despite the depressing narrative, the parts portraying a child's love for his mother would warm your heart, even if for a few seconds.

Ultimately, this dark tale of a boy's struggles and his mother will make your heart cry out in pain. As much as you wish a ray of hope to shine on their souls, the author keeps giving you more than one reason that would continue breaking your heart. At no point in time will the thought of "feeling sympathetic for the duo" leave you. The theme is, no doubt, bleak and full of despair, however, the writing is what keeps you wanting to continue reading it. Raw emotions are described so vividly that makes you feel like the characters are your next-door neighbors and you want to visit them to check if everything is fine. The helplessness of the society they live in, marred by unemployment, poverty, violence, and addiction issues are the effects of Margaret Thatcher's policies in the 1980s leaving the poor and working-class of Scotland in utter turmoil. And all you could do as a reader is just read about one such affected family and feel sorry.

I reached the end of the book to read the Acknowledgement section where the author mentions his mother, brother, and sister and their struggles. Stuart, the youngest of three siblings, was born in Sighthill, a housing estate in Glasgow, Scotland. His father left him and his family when he was young, and he was raised by a single mother who was battling alcoholism and addiction. His mother died from alcoholism-related health issues when he was 16. Perhaps, this novel is closer to reality than just a fictional read and the narrative style and tone are an inkling of that. The book is inspired by the actual story of Mr. Stuart's life and that is what makes it such a tragic and heartbreaking read. I believe a writer can write something with such make-believe conviction when the story is closer to home. And to imagine that Douglas Stuart could be the Shuggie Bain in reality, is just painful. Having the courage to write the story of his life as a debut novel and being awarded for it, speaks volumes of the wonderful work done by Douglas Stuart. Hope this makes you consider this book for your next read.

That wild blue flower

 Gentiana scabra, the Japanese gentian. 
Laitlum canyon, Meghalaya in the backdrop.

Oh why don't you see

My unfading love for thee,

vast and deep as the canyon,

and beyond everything

it could be!

I have so much to say,

Yet time is hard to find.

I wonder if it would suffice

with a poem that rhymes.

For I imagined our love will be,

Like the wild blue flower

Blooming unseen in the valley,

Hidden under the bower,

against all odds,

in abundance and glory.

Nevertheless it refused to be,

As uncaring and free as the

Winds and the sea.

And so I leave behind,

some thoughts well-defined,

some feelings unwind,

seeking that peace of mind.

Words said unsaid,

and letting go just fine.

Hoping in another lifetime,

you could be mine!

Counting blessings

Fuchsia thy name

What's fuchsia you ask-

Is it the colour or the flower?

Its none; perhaps its a reminder

of those happy days

when I was just a kid

Playing around in my frilly frocks

Blue, yellow and fuchsia coloured.

Perhaps its that dream

Something I saw in my mind's eye

The one where I painted the town

Fuchsia, in merriment

And danced to the sound of

Ringing bells.

Perhaps it that was song

Playing in my head all day long

Praising the fucshia

The one in my garden

Blooming in its glory.

Or perhaps it is none of these.

Perhaps it was the spur of that moment.

Leaving me with the question-

Why Fuchsia?

(Art by my friend Kunal Sarma. Here's his Instagram username: k_omoreb_i)

A kitten’s wish

(Art by my friend Mrigakhi Bora. Original creation by artist Vimal Chandran)

Why does the human live in a box like house?

Watching the idiot box all day

Only peeping out once or twice

To adjust the antenna signal in the way.

I am a little kitten, I stay outdoors all day

I dream of yummy things

And wish to lick a fishbone clean

Found in the roadside bin.

I wonder if the big fishes of the ocean

Would ever want to fly, like I do

Then I would meet them in the sky 

And twirl gracefully in my rainbow tutu.

For now I could play with the human

Only if it would come out and

Give me some milk and candies,

Sit in the lush green grass 

And watch the clouds dancing to 

The tune of the blowing wind.

Oh what a wonderful day that would be!

Once upon a December evening

 

(Dedicated to my dear friend Dishna Phukan. Here’s the link to her website :https://www.dishnaphukan.com/ )

Bathtub plants

Flora was a crazy lady. Thats what everybody had to say about her. She was a sane, young woman until the disappearance of her husband. Ever since then, she went into a recluse in her home. Her husband, Joseph was thought to have been killed in a plane crash in Japan. But no one knows if he is dead for sure. His body was never found. 

Nobody visited Flora, nor would she open the door to anybody. I was concerned about her, she was my friend. So I used to peep in to have a look at her every now and then. On most days she looked fine to me. Humming to herself as she tended to the plants she had grown in her bathtub. Yes, there was a mini garden in her bathtub. Strange as it may seem, the plants thrived with little sunlight and fresh air from the vent above the window. 

 

One fine day as I was returning from work, I heard a loud wail from her house. I ran towards the window to look. I saw Flora slumped on the floor. She was dressed in red and wore her pearls, looking like a woman on a date. But she looked distressed as she her eyes were fixated on a spot. Thats when my gaze shifted to the bathtub. The plants weren’t alive anymore. The tub was covered with some blue green looking substance; perhaps algae. It smelled foul, I could sense it even outside the house. What exactly was she doing in the bathtub? What was she growing there? Why are the plants dead so suddenly?

 

And then I saw Flora looking at me fiercely. Kohl stained eyes that whispered sinister intentions, teeth clenched, one hand plucking the pearl beads from the necklace. It scared me. I took my bag and ran from there as fast as I could, promising never to peep into her house again.

 

The new, yet old

Perhaps 2020 was this dark side of the world and yet we hustled through; meeting the stronger side of ourselves, building up our courage and determination to survive. For we knew - the struggle to survive is not a new game. 

Sending good vibes to everyone for this maze -2021 ✨✨🧚🏼‍♀️✨✨

When Judy met Lily

 

It was a cold winter morning. The bright morning sun shimmered through the snow. It was the day when Judy the alpaca meets Lily. Judy and her partner Jake had wanted a baby ever since they got together. They would look up to the sky and watch a plane go by and wonder if it would drop a baby for them to catch. But fate had some different plan for them.

So one day while Jake set out to go the fields, Judy stayed at home. She was busy with her chores when she heard a faint meowing outside. She thought it might be a stray cat looking around for food. But the meowing continued. So she came outside expecting to find a stray cat. Instead what she saw made her heart skip a beat. It was a tiny kitten playing all by itself with a flower. Judy stood there, amused by the kitten’s play. The kitten jumped around the flower, meowing as if it were another kitten. This continued for a while, until Jake arrived home.

“Look Jake, such a tiny kitten”, exclaimed Judy.

So they both stood there watching the kitten as it played. Their hearts filled with joy and laughter. After a while the kitten got tired and started looking for its mother. But no mommy cat was to be seen around. That’s when it struck Judy that the kitten must have been lost.

They brought it home and fed some milk. After a good meal, the kitten rolled up near Judy and fell asleep. Judy was touched by the gesture.

Watching that Jake suggested, “Let the kitty stay with us until it finds its mother.”

Judy beamed with delight. And that’s how the little kitten, Lily, became the light of the lives of Judy and Jake.

The last night with my family

 

Its been 20 years since the accident- the one that ceased the existence of the townspeople. But I needed to find my family. I drove into the abandoned town. I parked my car near the woods and walked around. Dry leaves crackling under my feet as I walked along the empty road. I stopped in front of a broken down warehouse. Broken car parts, rusting old drums and more dried leaves lay all around. I vaguely remember what had happened here.

20 years ago, one night I anxiously lay in my room as I heard the first little cries of my baby brother being born in the next room. I was elated. I ran in and slowly opened the door. The nurse was cradling the baby in her arms. I wanted to hold the baby but I was asked to stay in my room as they tended to my mother and my father was not yet there. I came back to my room and plopped down on my bed. I was  looking out of the window when I felt a sudden shake. The Buddha statue on my table started moved violently. Before I could comprehend what was happening, the roof came crumbling down. I called out to my mother but all I could hear was a lot of loud screams. I saw a glint of light from my window and I rushed towards it. There was a tiny gap. I jumped out and stood on the street. There was chaos all around. I looked back at our house. The roof on my mother’s room was on the ground. I did not see anyone there.

That was the last time when I saw my family.

 

The abandoned warehouse

 

I was yet to recover from the trauma of the death of my best friend. Everywhere I go I can see him. So much so that the other day I froze at the spot when I saw the silhouette of a man walking on a zebra crossing . It was around midnight, everything was dark but the height and the walking style of the figure resembled that of my friend. I wanted to take a look at the face. So I followed the figure. At the corner of the street he took a right turn and walked ahead. I kept a good distance and walked behind him.

He reached an empty street, across it was an old, abandoned warehouse. The gate seemed to be padlocked. Suddenly he climbed up the wall, stepped on the branch of the tree near it and jumped into the property. It seemed like he frequented the place. I did not want to trespass but the entire scenario intrigued me. So I tried to snoop in like he did. I stepped on the branch when out of nowhere a bee looking insect flitted past my ear. As I took a closer look, I was amazed. The bee was unlike the ones I have seen- it looked robotic. I was staring at it when it stung me. I dropped down and fainted instantly.

After an hour or so, my eyes opened. I could feel my legs and hands were tied. Just then somebody threw water at my face. My vision cleared, I looked up to see who was there.

“Hello John. Guess you are happy to see me alive!”, said my friend.

A strange journey

 

Somewhere between the earth and the sky lay the land of Nowhere and I have to find it. I have spent a decade making this plan. That’s where I will find the answers to my questions. And so I set out skydiving through the air to my destination.

Just then the sky turned pink and blue, thunder striking through the clouds. I lost my consciousness, falling through the air. I opened my eyes after what seemed like an eternity. I wasn’t falling anymore but I could feel wind through my hair. I glanced sideways; there was a mist all around. And then I looked up and saw what was carrying me through the air. It was a massive balloon. The likes of what I have seen only in sci-fi movies. I sat behind the machine that powered the balloon. The steam and the constant ticking noise of the engine were the only sound around me. What was going on? Where I was?

Suddenly as the mist surrounding me cleared away I could see numerous tall towers and some mushroom shaped buildings. My transport was heading towards one such strange building. I jumped off from the balloon and stood on the landing platform. There was nobody to be seen. Just then a door opened and out came a strange looking human shaped creature. A three headed blue faced creature, wearing a weird blue costume with frills. I could say it looked like the joker.

I asked, “Where am I?”

The creature looked at me from top to toe and said, “Come inside Peter;  we have been waiting for your arrival. Its time to introduce you to the land of Nowhere.”

New section announcement

 Hi friends,

I am starting a new segment in my blog called "Creative writing". The idea of this segment is that I will generate a collage of four random pictures and try to create a story by linking all these pictures. I will try to keep it interesting. Posted the first one today called "A strange journey". Lets get on this new adventure of tale telling.

Cheers,
Annie

Sushi dreams

Last night I had

Salmon Sake and Crab Sushi, so amazing,

At a restaurant that served it

For a dollar a piece.

Each piece so huge 

A plate could fill one at a time

But never enough to fill my tummy.

Soft tender salmon flesh

With a strong flavor of wasabi 

On the side, and the sushi 

Waiting to be gulped down 

In delight.

I put a piece between the chopsticks

And took a bite instead of chewing it whole

Oh, what a nom-nom!!

Two sushi rolls, one sake

And a happy tummy later,

I wake up smiling only to find 

It was in a dream 

That I had the food 

I had been wishing for these days!!

A conversation

Maa’s plate full of love

My mother - maa or mumma, as I call her - is my best friend. Despite being a strict mother at times, her love for me gets portrayed in every little act of hers. Now I have never been a spoilt kid; I was taught about the value of things from an early age and the dignity of earning something rather than getting it on demand. But there’s one thing that I received abundantly and without any demand. While other kids are usually spoilt with a shower of toys and fancy stuff, I have been lucky enough to be spoilt by good food.

I have always been a chubby kid throughout my childhood and some part into my adulthood too until recently when I realised the importance of a healthy and fit body. My childhood memories are filled with the daily box full of love from maa’s kitchen comprising of my favourite food items- the ultimate source of gaining chubbiness. During school, I used to wait for the tiffin break quite eagerly because I knew there would be a yummy treat inside. I loved my tiffin so much so that I was scared to share it with anyone. So while everyone in class bonded over sharing their tiffin, I happily munched on my own. Gulping it down at a speed that would choke me sometimes, only to be pacified with some water. I remember once I made a deal with a friend whose mother cooked a type of chowmein that I liked and my friend liked my butter-sugared sandwiches as she was restricted from having butter. So that was the only time I shared my tiffin. And I chuckled to myself thinking “Lucky that I didn’t have to share the other delicious stuff with her”.

As a kid, I never fully understood the joy of eating outside in a restaurant. For most occasions, we would have a feast at home prepared by maa. Papa would carefully cajole us into believing that outside food can be harmful and homemade food is hygienic and tasty and we would happily enjoy a three-course meal on every birthday or anniversary. In fact each year our birthdays used to be a tiring day for my mother as she would start the preparations early in the day and come up with a variety of dishes for my friends and family. And now as I leave from home every time, my luggage is half-filled with food boxes with various items and among them some favourites for my friends too. Many a times this has left me perplexed at the airport on how to deal with an exceeded baggage capacity.

The saga of delicious food and maa has intrigued me forever until the time I went to hostel. Those four years my friends could only wonder why I could never finish my plate at hostel. Though unsuccessful, they gave me various tips on how to gulp down hostel food. Little did they know how much I craved for “maa ke haath ka khana”. That was the time that I not only understood the significance of homemade food but also the love, care, patience, and the hard work that she undergoes to prepare each dish. After that, I never complained anything about food and once again happily munched on to whatever she cooked. Many a times I have kissed her hands after tasting a meal to show her my appreciation and amazement at how she could cook such magic. I knew that gave her immense happiness. Also, I would wash some extra utensils that day just to show my appreciation for her.

Whenever I am home, I help maa in the kitchen but I never dare to touch a dish that she is preparing. I am scared my hands would spoil the effort she has put into preparing the dish. We – my father, me, and my sister- have been thoroughly spoilt by good food so much so that if we ever have to go through “not so good tasting” food for some meals at home, our taste buds cry out in pain and beg for mercy. Papa surely is a victim of that sometimes and we know he finds it unbearable. Often times our discussions over a meal span over discussing what’s cooking in the next meal. So much for a foodie family. Guess this makes me a foodie person but I eat with care and some restrictions. My mother always tells me, “Eat little quantities of good food for longer rather than eating huge quantities for a short time”. I have always tried to abide by this golden rule.

I had never tried cooking a full meal at home and I was not even sure if I could cook one. Though the good cooking genes run in the maternal side of my family. Starting from my great grandmother to my grandmother to my mother and her siblings to my cousins, while the paternal side of my family justify to be called keen eaters. I wondered if I could ever justify my maternal family’s genes or forever remain the faithful inheritor of my paternal genes. As a  child, I used to say that I would never like to cook and I wouldn’t have to learn cooking because I would earn so well that I would never have to cook for myself. I would always order from outside or eat at a restaurant for every meal. But reality knows it better! So when the push came to shove I picked up the utensils and some raw materials and tried my hand at pacifying my hunger. Little by little I got the hang of cooking stuff to my perfect taste and I grew to love it. Hence proving my thoughts wrong. I would try to replicate the way maa cooks. Sometimes it doesn’t turn out as I wished it, and sometimes it tastes better than I expected it to be. And then one day, the chicken curry that I cooked had a close resemblance in looks, smells, and taste to the chicken curry maa cooks. I was over the moon. Far away from home, I could only show her the picture of the dish I created. She was happy to see my happiness. Perhaps I indeed inherit the cooking genes from my mother. But the most unexpected compliment that I got for my dish was when my father told my mother, “Looks like your daughter can give you a competition in cooking now”. I am nowhere near the competition but the feeling of satisfaction of trying to replicate a taste I cherish has been the most rewarding experience for me. Now that I am not home and each day that she cooks a yummy cake, a snack, a pizza, or anything new, I know how much she misses me. All she can do now is send me a picture of it and tell me how happily my sister is munching at it.

I have been watching cooking shows and my mother’s cooking for so many years now. I can say I know most ingredients that go into a dish and the way it is cooked. But while trying to cook, I learnt something furthermore valuable. To know something by watching or learning is not complete until you get your hands dirty with it. To know the exact timing of when the rice boils, the perfect time to put the tadka and the masala, the right amount of ingredients, and the patience to stand there and cook for hours is a real art. It is an art that goes unappreciated. A mother’s love and soul goes into preparing a dish for her kid each and every day. And sometimes we fail to recognise that hard work and treat it like a chore. I believe it should be every day that we should pray for and thank the hands that prepare the food.

Maa, you know how much I love the way you shower me with your love in the dishes you make for me. And each day that I try to cook for myself, I can only wonder about the troubles you go through to serve me with the best despite all hardships. So next time when I am home, I would give you a day off from the kitchen and hope to shower you with my love in the form of the dishes that I can cook. I remember you did not like the tea I once prepared while papa always loved it. But I hope that after tasting my dishes now you won't forbid me from entering your kitchen!!