Four years today

Together for 6 years, married for 4 years, parents together for 2½ years. Happy wedding anniversary, Mr Planet XXX

(Photo, left to right: Mr Planet, Mrs Planet, Baby Planet)

A New York minute #1

It's 4.45pm and we're back in our hotel to catch our breath before dinner. M's having a bath and I'm reading Sarah Napthali's exquisite book Buddhism For Mothers Of Young Children - Becoming A Mindful Parent.



We've just come back from 5th Avenue, where M bought some shirts from Brooks Brothers. Before that, we were on Bleeker Street having lunch with a friend from university who usually teaches at Harvard but is doing a year's research at NYU so is now living in the West Village. And before that, we were walking The High Line from Chelsea to the Meat Packing District - a 1.45-mile section of elevated freight railroad which has been redesigned and planted as a green and verdant parkway (photos above).


We've also seen some very good art shows today - Jeff Wall's pseudo-documentary photographs (photo above) at the Marian Goodman Gallery (staged images of a couple eating fries out of a paper bag, people lining up at pawn shop booths, a man siphoning fuel from a car, a man throwing knives at a garage wall, and more); Daido Moriyama-trained Keizo Kitajima's portraits of people on New York streets or in dive bars off the US Army base in Okinawa and of Tokyo drag queens, to name but a few, at the Amador Gallery; and Edward Burtysky's monumental photos of oil tankers, oil refineries, oil fields and other stark landscapes such as quarries and even an LA freeway interchange (photo below).


We'd arrived in NYC on Wednesday night. After we'd checked into the Hotel On Rivington, we headed to the excellent Schiller's Liquor Bar for steak and fries and beer. This is my fourth trip to New York, M's seventh and our third trip here together as a couple. Each time together, we have stayed at the Hotel On Rivington. It goes without saying that we love this city and if we ever had the choice to live and work outside of London, then it would be here in NYC. And we particularly love staying on the Lower East Side - this part of town has the same buzz and energy as London's Shoreditch or Hoxton, with a little bit of Brixton thrown in.

Yesterday, we walked through SoHo, shopping for clothes at Vince (where I bought some amazing quality knitwear as it had turned cold and rainy in NYC and I had arrived unprepared!), Thom Browne, and Odin which sells clothes from US designers (M bought a very cool, grey woolen Woolrich jacket designed by Daiki Suzuki - again, he was as unprepared as I was for the sudden downturn in the weather). We also stocked up on books and magazines at McNally Jackson on Mott Street, where purchases included two children's picture books based in NYC for Little Planet: Good Night New York City by Adam Gamble and Joe Veno, and Subway (right) by Anastasia Suen and Karen Katz - two very colourful and sweet books that I can't wait to read to my daughter when we get back home next week.

Food is a very important part of our trip. Before we arrived here, we'd pored over magazines such as Time Out New York, New Yorker and New York as well as guidebooks and the internet. We stopped off for very good coffee and raspberry thumbprint cookies at Ground Support on West Broadway, chilling out and people watching from a repurposed cedar wood bench and table. The cafe reminded me of my favourite London cafe Fernandez & Wells.

We knew we wanted to eat at Keste Pizzeria on Bleeker Street. We met up with one of my childhood friends for dinner there and we were blown away. This truly is terrific pizza and I want to eat there now for every meal! My friend was born and brought up in London but now works as a business development manager in NYC. He lives in Manhattan and loves it. It was good seeing him after so long. Earlier on in the day, we'd lunched at La Esquina Taqueria and Cafe in Nolita where we ate delicious Mexican food - sopa de tortilla (soup of shredded chicken, tomato, onion, ancho chile, cotija cheese and lime), huevos rancheros (a little too much sauce on this dish), and carne enchilada (soft corn tortillas with char-grilled adobo rubbed pork, grilled pineapple, onion, cilantro, salsa verde and lime).

After lunch we took a tour of two restored homes of two Eastern European Jewish families who lived in a tenement building at 97 Orchard Street at the turn of the 20th century. The tour was operated by the Lower East Side Tenement Museum and was incredibly detailed for just one hour. I highly recommend it.

And what did Little Planet do yesterday at home in London? Her two Grans are looking after her. They give us regular updates via texts, emails and calls. My baby is doing absolutely fine. Yesterday she was visited by a little 8 month old friend who lay on the floor while Little Planet stroked her hair, brought her endless toys and cooed "Baby, baby, baby!" Obviously my little baby is no longer a baby herself at 16 months but a little girl :-)

Of course I miss her terribly. M and I talk about her constantly as we stroll New York's streets. But this trip is so good for our marital soul. Each year, I think, we will go abroad just the two of us and let Little Planet enjoy quality time with her Grandmothers.

Hanging out

The arrival of this weekend was much welcomed, capping a brutal work week for M and a stressful week for myself and an unsettled Little Planet. The weather was glorious and our little family of three enjoyed some quality time together.

Now I have a house and a new baby, my life is much more domestic than it's ever been. Just look back at the evolution of this blog from 2004 to see just how domestic my life has become. New motherhood, and the mundane, housebound routines that accompany it, has been a hard thing for me to adjust to as you well know from my recent posts. However, though I am greatly looking forward for Little P to get a little older so we can go out and do more things again - a few months, just a few more months - right now this is my life and I am resolved to make the most of it and make the little things count, like Little P's first smiles (above)!

Saturday morning began as leisurely as a morning can begin with a baby who awakes at 5 or 6am. We fed and played with her, put her down for a nap, had our own showers and breakfasts. M went for a run as I made up a few feeds, washed up and put on a load or two of laundry. Then the three of us went shopping for provisions.

We put the baby down for another nap at lunch time (though she had slept a little out in the pram too) and I headed into town alone to watch the gloriously camp and hilarious Mamma Mia! movie with the gorgeous Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan. The music I grew up with and still love is the gritty, dark likes of Nick Cave, Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen, but the mother-love hormones currently raging through my system made me laugh and cry at the wonderful renditions of Abba songs and the emotional mother-daughter storyline. And like the rest of the audience at the West End Odeon, I applauded when the closing credits came up. How wonderfully embarrassing! I popped into Liberty for some decadently expensive Ren body cream for myself, and then into Borders and John Lewis for colourful Lamaze toys and books for my little treasure.

Back at home, M filled me in on his day. Now we have this house, he loves spending time in it at the weekend, especially because he's rarely home during the week. I, on the other hand, crave to disappear for a little bit on the weekends as I now spend so much time at home. So he had spent an enjoyable day feeding and playing with Little Planet, putting her to sleep, doing some gardening, reading, cleaning... generally pottering around.

We ended Saturday with a barbecue dinner à deux of chicken and lamb chops and sat in our garden until darkness fell catching up as we have hardly seen each other this week. Though we both have some very good friends, essentially we are both loners. When we were single and didn't know each other, we had both always been able to spend contented days, even weeks, without seeing other people. Fortunately for our marriage - and perhaps why it works so well - we also love being loners together. It does sound cheesy, I know, but M really is my best friend.

After our al fresco dinner, we gave Little P her last feed of the day, put her to bed and then watched a few episodes of the brilliant Californication on DVD starring the surprisingly sexy David Duchovny.

I spent all of Sunday at home with M and the baby. We went for a stroll around the park in the morning, ate feta cheese and watermelon for lunch, cleaned the house, read, napped, ate roast chicken and homemade alioli for dinner by candlelight in the garden, looked after Little P who slept for much of the time but who, when awake, brightened up our day even more by throwing us little smiles. Yes, our baby turned 7 weeks old on Saturday and is smiling at us.

Letting go

8am this morning. I'm still in bed. I have bed hair, my skin is a little oily from the night, my huge pregnant belly is peering out from beneath the hem of my too-small ti-shirt, kohl eye-liner is smudged unattractively around my eyes, my legs need de-fuzzing, I seriously need to brush my teeth.

I text M, who landed in Heathrow from Atlanta an hour ago: "Let me know when you're on your way home and I'll get out of bed." Then I settle back into the pillows with a mug of coffee, a stack of interiors magazines and my iPod on shuffle. 30 minutes later I get a text, "I'll be home in 20 minutes. Don't bother getting out of bed".

I haven't seen my husband in 2 weeks. More importantly, he hasn't seen me in 2 weeks. I look a mess! Damn, I have 20 minutes to make myself look presentable. As I hurtle through my shower, I find myself fuming, Do you not know what it's like to be a woman! You haven't seen me in 2 weeks - of course I need to get out of bed and make myself look attractive! We've been together 3 years, married for 1. But first impressions still count.

By the time I hear his keys in the door, I am presentable but still fuming inside. Of course, when he walks in the door with all his bags - including some goodies for me from DKNY - and looking tanned and handsome, my stress melts away. Especially when he gathers me in his arms and kisses me all over and says, "You look great!"

Okay all you out there in long(-ish) relationships - surely you also still stress out about looking good for your partners? My reaction can't be unique?!

Easter drift

In the end I didn't do much more than drift from one thing to another without purpose, which makes a refreshing change as I am a woman who likes to plan.

I watched season premieres of House and Grey's Anatomy, neither of which I've seen before, as well as the new Dirty Sexy Money, which is looking promising. I chatted with my parents and with M over the phone twice a day as he travelled between Jacksonville and Manhattan (where I'd instructed - whoops, requested - him to look at camcorders, laptops and DKNY clothing for me). I watched Brief Encounter and a few episodes of The Waltons on DVD. I watched The Way We Were. I filled my bags at the Food Hall in John Lewis and cabbed it home, chatting about Thailand with the affable taxi driver who has a Thai wife and 8 month old daughter living in Issan. I ate alot of Green & Black's milk chocolate and blood red oranges and marmite on toast, though not all together. I stayed in bed late, sleeping, napping, reading Hullabaloo In The Guava Orchard and The Inheritance Of Loss, and listening to Loretta Lynn, Leonard Cohen and Lambchop on my iPod. I wrote in my journal - a pretty pink and cream Japanese notebook from London Mitsukoshi's JP Books. I did laundry but I couldn't be bothered to hoover and dust the house despite my mother-in-law coming over on Easter Monday (today). I showed her around the new house. We went out to eat Turkish food with her friend and my sister-in-law and we looked at baby photos of M. We watched the 4D video of Little Planet's scan. I watched my belly dance as the baby did her rolling and kicking and hiccuping routine inside me. I browsed baby and nursery products from independent sellers on the internet. I read other peoples' blogs. And tomorrow morning I am off to my parents' house to eat home-cooked curries and drift aimlessly for another week.

I miss M so much. It's the longest we've been apart. I know from my own experience that a life spent largely alone can be rich and rewarding if you continually endeavour to make it so. But it's wonderful how much texture, shape and rhythm a loved one gives to one's day.

Intimacy and solitude

I was raised a happy and contented only child, I've been single for more years than I've been coupled up, and I enjoy solitude so much I have joyously spent weeks in my own company not socialising with a soul. When M said he had to go away to the States on business for two weeks, I thought to myself, "This will be fine. I love my own company. It's been a while since I've been truly alone to operate at my own pace only." And I've been enjoyably busy, booking the removals, arranging the parking suspensions, finding the cleaning company, buying a new PC, scheduling BT to install the phoneline and wireless broadband, showing friends and family around the new house, cooking all my meals, reading, writing, dreaming, and of course working. But I miss my other self. I am so much more of myself when I am with him. He enhances me. My life was good before him. But now it's so much better.

Anniversary weekend

Our anniversary weekend began on Thursday night with a sumptuous meal at Veeraswamy - an Indian restaurant overlooking Regent Street. It was touch and go whether either of us would make our reservation as work had kept us steaming and stressing until the very last minute. But once inside the elegant interior and settled into our cosy booth with rose petals strewn across the dark wood table, we began to unwind. We toasted our year of marriage with wine and lychee juice (guess who drank which) and M presented me with some exquisite diamond earrings handmade by the same jeweller on Fleet Street who had made my engagement ring and our wedding rings. We devoured a variety of dishes whose names I've forgotten but everything was perfectly spiced and immaculately presented and the service was very discreet. Afterwards, we treated ourselves to a cab home.

We took Friday off and our extended anniversary weekend unfurled at a wonderfully active pace. We began the day with runny poached eggs on granary toast and slathered with tomato ketchup. We took a bus to the Thames, caught the Juan Muñoz and Duchamp, Man Ray & Picabia shows at the Tate Modern (who knew that Duchamp had been an accomplished competitive chess champion!), then walked along the South Bank - as we used to do often when we were dating - to a packed Canteen in the bowels of the Royal Festival Hall. Canteen is well known for its fresh British cooking and for the ethically sourced produce they use. There, M ate fried pollock and chips and I ate chicken and mushroom pie with greens, mash and gravy. We followed our mains with hearty desserts of treacle tart and Jersey cream (M) and apple crumble with vanilla custard.

In between bites, we were captivated by a huggable, cuddable three week old baby who had a full head of thick black hair and was very, very sleepy in her mother's arms. Now that I am pregnant, I am broody like never before (which I suppose is a good thing) and I couldn't take my eyes off her. By dessert, though, we had become distracted by a mixed Anglo-Indian couple dining with their three young children. We looked at the little girl with her dark eyes and long, light brown hair and rosy pink cheeks and wondered - as we do often now - how Anglo-Indian Little Planet will look like when she arrives in this world. My manager is English and married to an Indian woman and he admitted that when his wife was pregnant with their son they too could not help looking at other half-Indian babies and wonder. So glad we're not the only ones!

We took a cab to Soho and I bought M a vintage bottle of Suntory Hibiki whiskey from Gerry's on Old Compton Street for his anniversary gift. We bought pancetta from Camisa & Son then walked to the Odeon Covent Garden. The film we wanted to see was an hour later than we had thought, so we bought tickets anyway then strolled over to the Aveda Institute on High Holborn for tea.

It's disappointing that the Aveda Cafe is now a Le Pain Quotidien because they no longer serve the delicious and frightfully healthy range of herb teas, freshly squeezed juices and sprouted salads they were famed for. But the atmosphere is still as good as it used to be, with the high ceilings, wooden tables, kilim rugs, constant whir of hairdryers, the all-pervading aroma of herbal hair products and beautiful stylists and beauticians dressed all in black. This is where I always get my hair done and I took the opportunity to make an appointment for tonight.

The film we saw was Wong Kar-Wai's My Blueberry Nights. One of the reasons M and I fell in love was over a mutual fondness for Wong Kar-Wai films and we were intrigued to see the Hong Kong director's first movie in English and with English-speaking actors. The reviews for this film have been lacklustre at best and I wasn't sure I would enjoy a film featuring Jude Law, Norah Jones and Natalie Portman. But we were both entranced by this beautifully shot, sweet and sentimental tale of love and loss.

Back home, we were too full to eat a dinner, so we snacked on toasted peanut butter sandwiches and some delicate yuzu and cherry sweets from Minamoto Kitchoan on Piccadilly instead.

Saturday began with a stroll across the park to pick up bagels and buttery croissants then back towards home to drop off and pick up laundry, buy meat from our local butcher and the FT and International Herald Tribute from our local newsagent. After a leisurely breakfast at home with the papers, we headed into town to watch the heartwarming and heartwrenching (and extremely funny) movie Juno at the Curzon Soho. The music (and perhaps also the sugar from the pack of jelly babies I was devouring!) sent Little Planet into a kicking frenzy throughout.

At the Annely Juda Gallery on Dering Street, we were blinded by the retina-burning canvasses of Sigrid Holmwood, who paints luminous Swedish pastoral landscapes in a combination of traditional pigments and bright contemporary fluorescents. Her work reminded me of Karen Kilimnik, only a touch more gimmicky and a shade less complex, but enjoyable and absorbing nonetheless.

We stocked up on provisions at the John Lewis Food Hall and then bought an anodized skillet from the kitchenwares section. I also bought M the second part of my anniversary gift to him - a pair of heavy crystal whiskey tumblers.

We took another cab back home and dined on fillet steaks, pomme frites, sweet fresh tomatoes and peppery watercress, followed by cherries for dessert. Then spent the rest of the evening listening to Bach's cello suites (Pablo Casals), which again had the baby kicking away, and reading.


Sunday - our actual wedding anniversary day - was a much quieter affair. I needed to rest after so much activity, so while M dropped in on his cousin who was celebrating his 9th birthday, I spent the morning snuggled into the sofa with Indian Vogue, Monocle and Ian McEwan's graceful and immersive Chesil Beach. Then I dozed in bed for a few hours. M returned home with his mum, who stayed for an hour's chat. For our proper anniversary dinner, M roasted a chicken and served it with a pomegranate and parsley tabbouleh and homemade red chilli harissa sauce. Then we settled into a quiet evening together, reading (M read the whole of the new J.G. Ballard autobiography in just a few hours - he was so rivetted), listening to music and simply being.

What a wonderful weekend; what a wonderful year; what a wonderful man I married.

One February...

One February in 2005, a handsome young man leaned over and kissed me for the first time as the closing bell rang in the Soho bar we were in. Later, on Regent Street, we couldn't stop kissing as I waited for the bus to arrive to take me home, alone.

One February in 2006, in a hotel room on the 57th floor by a picture window overlooking the glittering Thai city of Bangkok, the handsome young man began covering my neck with tiny kisses before whispering, "Will you marry me?" into my ear.

One February in 2007, I looked into the eyes of this handsome young man and began crying as I pledged my life to him in front of our nearest and dearest.

And this last weekend of February in 2008, my handsome young man will celebrate one year of marriage with me.

February is now one of my favourite months of the year.

I love you, M. What a blessing you are in my life. My lover, my best friend, my co-adventurer through life. Happy one year anniversary xxx

Candlelit Valentine's

Happy belated Valentine's one and all. We spent the evening eating assorted goodies - antipasti, fresh pasta, amaretti biscuits and rich chocolate cake courtesy of Carluccio's near my work - by candlelight at home.

Last year, I forgot all about Valentine's Day until my soon-to-be husband presented me with a card. Careless of me as a soon-to-be wife!

This year though, a blissful, chilled night away from it all, just the two (well, three) of us.

Mr and Mrs Planethalder

M on the left and me on the right - just a few months old, yet look at all our hair! Inspired by Broom.

I tag 30in2005, Southways, SilentOne, Prema, Mallika, Tommy, Jean, Olivia, Leslee, Sprink, Hypatia (if you're still there, Hyp) and Choxbox - in fact anyone who reads me. Photos of you as a baby or you and your partner as babies please and leave a comment so we can check you out!

Eastward bound

After a long working day, we met up on Friday for a simple, light and aromatic dinner at the Thai Garden Cafe in Bloomsbury. We started with crab cakes and spring rolls before moving on to whole sea bass roasted with lemongrass (M) and beef red curry (me). We bought desserts of creme brule (M) and sticky toffee pudding (me) from Waitrose in the Brunswick and then ate them back at home in front of last week's laugh-out-loud Curb Your Enthusiasm. Really, the 6th season is shaping up to be as hilarious as ever.

On Saturday we ventured eastwards. Under a crisp blue sky and pale yellow sunshine, we strolled along the canal, periodically dodging earnest cyclists eager to claim the path as solely their own. At the Parasol Unit we viewed Darren Almond's black and white photographs of crystalline, snow-covered Siberian forests (above). Though the ravaged, stripped trees on show were testimony to the brutal effects of nickel mining, there was an eerie beauty about the photos and their composition that made for a magical if conflicting viewing.

Also on show was Almond's fourteen-minute, three-screen film shot on the Qinghai-Tibet railway - the world's highest train route. The barren landscape viewed at a hurried pace through the train's window contrasted sharply against the meditative chanting of Tibetan Buddhist monks filmed in the Samyey monastery in Lhasa. For Almond, the train is supposed to symbolise the penetrating force of China upon Tibet, but again I was conflicted - this time by my sense of excitement watching the train speed through the wondrously undulating and stark landscape, and by the inevitable if fraught coexistence of the industrial and the spiritual in the modern world.

We continued towards Old Street. I find the Old Street area of London a curious mixture of derelict dead zones and colourful quirkiness with just the right amount of interest to draw me back again and again. What I dislike about Old Street is the endless waiting at traffic lights as the ceaseless traffic drones by. But luckily the galleries draw me back, as do the places to eat and the small boutiques. In Hoxton's White Cube, we saw more of Darren Almond's photographs - this time of the British landscape where the exquisite subject matter (left) was rendered flat and dull by highly conventional photographic techniques that wouldn't look out of place in a tourist guide.

We returned to my favourite burger joint, The Diner on Curtain Road, for lunch where this time I was only just able to fit inside their leather and formica booth. This is definitely the last time I will be able to gorge myself on their deliciously fat-laden bacon cheeseburgers, fat fries and coleslaw as my pregnant belly had just half an inch of breathing space before it pressed uncomfortably against the edge of the table. I kid you not! I savoured my food while skimming the Saturday newspapers and chatting with M, while eavesdropping on a dull young man who would not stop yapping away as his girlfriend tried to stave off her boredom by eating without stopping to breathe, while stealing glances at a couple eating their burgers while their adorable little baby contented herself with her milk and toys and gurgled gleefully at her parents. I can't wait to bring Little Planethalder to places like this!

After lunch, we popped over the road to browse the furniture and interior knick knacks at SCP before cabbing it over to the Barbican for the superlative tale of murder, revenge and meat pies to die for that is Sweeney Todd, The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street. Murder, mayhem, mouth-watering meat pies and a tortured Johnny Depp who channels David Bowie through his singing voice - what more could a girl like me want. I enjoyed every second of this musical and can't wait to see it again. Though perhaps not at the Barbican's Cinema 2 which, unlike its Cinema 1, is cramped and uncomfortable.

Afterwards, we walked to the Bloomberg Space on Finsbury Square to see Sarah Beddington's Places Of Laughter And Of Crying film installation featuring near-still footage of interior shadows, drifting jellyfish, a Lebanese skyline, fluttering plastic sheeting, raindrops on concrete and more. Plus her 29-minute, four-screen footage of modern Shanghai. We had just a quarter of an hour to immerse ourselves in the installation before the gallery closed, so I'll do another review when we return.

And then to dinner at the Vietnamese Song Que Cafe on the Kingsland Road, where we enjoyed sugar cane prawns, beef wrapped in betel leaves, beef and tofu soup and beef stir-fried with lemongrass and rice vermicelli. We were also entertained by two of the staff's children who were excitedly engrossed in a computer chess game on the new Samsung laptop they had just been bought. M doesn't play chess and I can't wait to teach Little Planethalder the game so she can play with me - after all, like marriage, isn't having children all about having a permanent playmate to have fun with?!

In a Johnny Depp mood, we returned home and watched the first Pirates Of The Caribbean on DVD while eating Green & Blacks cherry chocolate. This time Depp was channeling Keith Richards to hilariously ultra-camp effect.

Today, Sunday, we didn't drift too far from home. We lay in late, drank coffee and read in bed, shopped for groceries and laundered clothes. M went to the gym. I stayed at home and finished off reading the last few pages of a number of books. If I have just a few pages left of a novel I tend to put it aside to start reading a new one. I do this because I know I will finish the book on my commute into work, leaving nothing to read on the commute back home. Rather than carrying two books with me, I bring a fresh new one and leave the unfinished one behind.

M can't understand why I don't carry the two books with me, or finish the other one later at night back at home. I can seldom read two books at once and if a book doesn't grip me in its fictitious vice then I tend to forget about finishing it once I am immersed in another story. As a result the unfinished novels pile up until I get round to finishing them off in one reading session. Curious habit I know, with little reason or logic behind it.

Anyway, this Sunday was my day to finish all those books: Douglas Coupland's Eleanor Rigby, Anne Tyler's Digging To America, Amulya Malladi's The Mango Season and Manju Kapur's Home.

On his way back from the gym, M picked up some samosas and kachori from Ambala. We don't have a famed Gupta near us but these satisfied us perfectly. M came back from the store with tales of little children with their dads choosing what they wanted to eat. He said we should make such trips our own Sunday morning ritual when we have our own little family. But I cherish my own childhood memory of my mother batch-frying homemade samosas on the weekends - filling the air with exciting smells and aromas - and I would love to establish this as one of our weekend rituals with our daughter when she's old enough to enjoy the experience.

There is so much to dream about... this new future of ours... this whole new life...

Now M is cooking our dinner of poule-au-Bouillon - whole chicken boiled with leeks, carrots, turnips, celery, bay leaves, thyme and other aromatic seasonings. He may serve it with fried or mashed potatoes. Perfect comfort food to ease us back into the busy working week.

New Year notes

• I have so much to be grateful for in 2007 - my husband, our romantic wedding in February, my ever-deepening relationship with my parents, gaining a new family, getting two pay rises and a promotion in a career and company I love, my husband enjoying his new job also, getting pregnant, re-visiting NYC, having two honeymoons in Japan and India, getting our offer on a house accepted, having another year of good health.
  
  
• My life has not always been so blessed and joyous, and I know enough about how life works to not expect such blessings and joys so fulsomely all the time. But this was certainly my year for happiness and I am savouring it all.
  
  
• I suspect 2008 will be just as busy and so I am again not making any New Year resolutions. When I recovered from cancer a few years ago, I vowed I would make the most of life and not just seize opportunities as they came to me but create opportunities for myself, without thinking too much and over-analysing and having the moment pass me by. It was the biggest resolution I could make to myself and has served me increasingly well over the years.
  
  
• Having said all that, there are a few bite-sized resolutions I want to keep for 2008. I am guilty of never having read a Charles Dickens novel and as I love London so much I want to rectify this pronto. I want to get back into the habit of reading the current affairs sections of newspapers and magazines rather than contenting myself with the Arts or Lifestyle sections. I want to keep in better touch with family and friends - even if it simply means remembering to send birthday cards out on time. I want to make sure I slather on the body lotion each and every morning after my shower.
  
  
• We saw the New Year in quietly at home, with a leg of lamb slow-roasted with rosemary and garlic and served with a salad of baby lettuces, sliced pears, orange segments, coriander leaves, pomegranate seeds, toasted pine nuts and roasted beetroot. M found the salad recipe in a local Austin newspaper from his business trip to Texas a few weeks ago. Then we watched Jools Holland on BBC2 and the sensational fireworks on the River Thames on BBC1 and soon after midnight phoned both sets of families - one in Suffolk, the other in Loughborough - to wish them a Happy New Year.
  
  
• This may very well, God willing, be our last New Year together before we are joined by Little Planethalder so it was extra special seeing in 2008 just the two of us - M with his California syrah and me with my elderflower cordial. Hugging, kissing, being in love, being together.
  
  
• And then today, the first day of 2008, we went walking across Hampstead Heath, where we were married earlier this - whoops, last year. One of my favourite places on earth and so close to home. Our boots sinking into the wet, squelching mud. Stopping for bangers and colcannon mash and bread pudding for lunch at Kenwood House.
  
  
• At home, we began to watch Akira Kurosawa's medieval epic Kagemusha, but were so shattered from the walk and fresh air we collapsed into sleep.
  
  
• Now M is preparing shepherd's pie from the lamb leftover from last night's roast and reading last weekend's New York Times and I'm catching up online.Tomorrow, it's back to work for both of us. Happy New Year one and all!
  

Returning

I've just come back from my parents' house in East Anglia. My mum is about to go into hospital for a knee operation. If it is successful, as everyone predicts, then a few months down the line they will operate on her other knee. Her mind is strong and agile and in recent years it's been her body that has let her down. But this time next year, if not sooner, her doctors expect full mobility. The knee operations should transform her life and we are already chatting about a family vacation in Kerala together next winter.

I grew up an only child in Kent and our little family of three has always been very close. I've always enjoyed going home, which I still consider home even though I now have one of my own. We chat about food and the garden, we share recipes, we gossip about the neighbours and work, we discuss politics watching BBC News 24, we watch old 70s sitcoms like Terry & June and Love Thy Neighbour on DVD, and we moan about each other too. My mum cooks me all my old favourites - this weekend it was cauliflower curry and minced beef and mixed vegetable curry. It's great seeing them.

Going home also provides me the opportunity to step outside my usual lifestyle and slow down - to get off the teeter-totter of my must-do and want-to-do lists and to simply sit and be. It's always at my parents' home that I fully understand this old Zen koan:

"Sitting quietly, doing nothing,
Spring comes,
and the grass grows by itself."

It was to home I returned for long spells when I needed respite from cancer treatment, it was to home I returned when I was going through a particularly bad heartbreak, it was to home I returned when I wanted to finish writing a novel.

And I go home to remember who I used to be - as a child, as a teenager, as a young adult just starting out with all my hopes and dreams and preconceptions of life. For my mother refuses to clean out my bedroom - though we moved innumerable times growing up, all my books and music and notebooks are still there bearing witness to my evolving passions through time.

Engineering works on the tracks meant I spent half my journey back to London today on a coach. M.I.A. and Gwen and Madonna kept me company on my iPod coming back just as the Chilli Peppers and Bowie had kept me entertained on my journey there yesterday. And then the coach turned a corner and there was the Gherkin and Canary Wharf and all those cranes glinting in the soft, dusky sunshine and M rang to say he was waiting to meet me at Liverpool Street Station having finished his day at the office, and my heart sang.

M made steak with frites and a tomato salad again for dinner and I'm now going to eat fresh peaches and drink Sparrow's Tongue green tea while M continues to work and I settle in with a novel.

Sad to have left them; glad to be back with him.

Lunchtime treats

My office is minutes away from some fantastic modern art galleries but it's rare that I have time to visit during a work week. Usually I get my art fix on the weekend with my husband, but as I knew I would be away this weekend visiting my parents in the suburbs while M worked, I couldn't let these shows go on without me. So I grabbed a half hour here and there throughout the busy week and escaped into other worlds.


Lucy Williams' mixed media, low relief collages of mid-20th century Modernist architecture at the Timothy Taylor Gallery on Dering Street - the minute rendering of every single detail from paper leaves to tapestry skies, from Perspex walls to mesh shadows is exquisite.


Anthony Caro's new sculptures made from galvanised steel - like hulking great beasts barging their way into the Annely Juda Fine Art Gallery on Dering Street. Words completely fail me on this one, I was so overwhelmed by how amazing these pieces were. I have to return again, and again, and hopefully will be able to write about it better the next time.

Less engaging but still worth leaving the office for this week were Paul Graham's filmic, lo-fi colour photos of working class American life at the Anthony Reynolds Gallery, David Lamelas' 1972 looped 16mm film projection of a young woman engaged in a number of mundane activities such as walking in the park, doing some paperwork and mopping up a spilled glass of water, at the Spruth & Magers Gallery, and New York feminist artist the late Hannah Wilke at the Alison Jacques Gallery

Better than shopping and wreaking havoc with my bank balance during my lunch break. Though this week I did still manage to also pop into John Smedley for another cardigan, into DKNY for another ti-shirt, and into the Sanderson for a Very Cherry cocktail (but luckily the latter was with a client and it was on expenses).

It's Friday night and M is on his way home and we're going to snuggle up with a good movie and a plate full of fish and chips! I've barely seen him these past few weeks, I miss him terribly, and really all I can do is make the most of my time without him and cherish any chance I get to be with him.

Have a lovely weekend all!

Friday on my mind

The end of another busy but productive and stimulating work week. I thrive on weeks like this one, when I am called to juggle a million and one different things at once and things still get done and get done well. Slowing or paring down is not an option in my job. I've found that the key to getting it all done at the same time is to focus on just one thing at a time even if it's only for one minute. Even a minute of my time is worth devoting my attention fully to something, if that makes sense.

Stress is unavoidable of course and sometimes you simply have to let off steam. But I've found that most times the public expression of stress at work aggravates and escalates problems rather than solves them. I try my best to keep stress from affecting my behaviour with my colleagues. I don't always succeed in hiding it but when I do it's almost always worth it. Everyone becomes a little calmer, heads clear and solutions to things surface more readily as a result I think.

Anyway, my Friday began with breakfast with my husband in the Garden Cafe in the middle of Russell Square, chatting about each other's work, watching people cross the Square to the university or their offices, sharing a bland croissant and sipping weak coffees. Then we went our separate ways, not quite sure whether we'd see each other again before bedtime or even before Saturday morning.

After work, I browsed the womenswear in Liberty and the books in Waterstone's in Piccadilly, dined on stir-fried beef with chillies and black bean sauce plus egg fried rice in HK Diner in Chinatown, then strolled through a heaving Soho to pick up la tarte aux framboises from Paul on Old Compton Street to take home with me.

At home, sprawled out on the sofa, I savoured the tarte and a novel and periodic phone conversations with M as he worked through the night in his office in the City.

Goodnight M, I love you!

Missing him

I get irritated by those people who are at a loss as to what to do when their significant others are not around; whose lives seem to collapse and who have no clue as to how to entertain themselves alone. It particularly annoys me when these people are usually such capable, intelligent and independent people in their working lives.

However, this week I got a taste of how easy it is to become such a person.

M's been working some very long hours and it's likely to continue for most if not all of September. We've barely seen each other and I was looking forward to this weekend - the chance to catch up with him, to spend some quality time together, to simply be around him and have him close to me. So I was disappointed to discover he had to work all weekend too. My gut reaction was, "Oh, I'm going to miss you" and "What am I going to do?" And I felt rather sorry for myself.

When I was single, I used to make long lists of all the things I wanted to do over the weekend - the art shows I wanted to catch, the movies I wanted to see, the restaurants and cafes I wanted to try, the concerts or plays I wanted to check out. Deep down I missed having a significant other in my life, but I made the most of my life in the capital city and lived it to its fullest. Since I've met M, my life is even busier and more stimulating and all that has changed is that the feeling of existential loneliness has disappeared.

I so much relish having M in my life now that I panic a little when he's not around to have fun with. I forget that before him I also had a great life. Nothing can compare to doing things with the person you love, but life doesn't have to stop just because he's not around!

So on Saturday, I opened up my Time Out, got out my pen, started circling the things I wanted to do, and headed into town on my own.

I browsed books of paintings by Peter Doig and Balthus in Koenig Books on Charing Cross Road; I laughed out loud at the quirky yet biting Julie Delphy romantic comedy Two Days In Paris at the Odeon Covent Garden; and I saw some really great art by 45 young contemporary painters from different regions of India at the Emerging India show at the Royal College of Art.

The latter was invariably a mixed show as modern Indian art is as diverse and as varied as its artists. Though it is convenient to talk of a "contemporary Indian art movement", critics shouldn't fall into the trap of judging such art against a single yardstick. As this show demonstrated, contemporary Indian art cuts across a wide range of styles, influences, techniques, frameworks and meanings.

As a Bengali, I was particularly fascinated, though not surprised, by the abundance of art still pouring out of Santiniketan and Kolkata, especially Chandrima Bhattacharyya, Gautam Mukherjii, Uday Mondal, and Somenath Maity (above) whose paintings bring alive the urban sprawl of Kolkata and who says, "In a big city, I feel the vibration of an abstraction, and the colors red, blue, brown, black and olive green come alive in a meaningful way".

Apart from Somenath Maity, my favourite artists from the show were M Pravat (above) and the dynamic, invigorating Murali Cheeroth (top and below).

In all I had a great time. And the icing on the cake? Meeting M in the evening for rock oysters, langoustines and crab at the very camp Randall & Aubin on Brewer Street and desserts of millefeuille and plum tart from Paul on Old Compton Street.


And today it is Sunday and M's at work again, but I'm staying in this time to settle into the sofa with a good novel or two, the weekend FT and a stack of recipe books to plan out this week's meals. I've already been out grocery shopping as later this afternoon I will start making a slow-cook spicy lamb curry for tonight's dinner along with a vegetable upma made from semolina. Recipes for these no doubt will follow tomorrow.

Ruby

We were with my parents in East Anglia for the weekend celebrating their ruby wedding anniversary. 40 years of marriage is such a long time in this day and age. They have been through highs and lows, ups and downs, but they're still the best of friends and they still love each other. Perhaps like many other Indian couples of their generation, their philosophy of a strong and lengthy marriage is simply, "Get on with it and enjoy, don't overthink your relationship, and don't bail out so quickly" though perhaps not using those words. Happy anniversary Mum and Dad - you are my role models and the gold standard for M and I. I love you!

This weekend in East Anglia:

• We took my parents out to Delia Smith's Restaurant on the grounds of Norwich City Football Club where she is director. For starters we ate: a plate of Suffolk salami, Parma ham and chorizo served with marinated mushrooms and tomatoes; baked salmon with green herb mayonnaise; and caramelised onion and goats cheese tartlet. For mains we ate: Greek lamb with gigantes beans and pilau rice served with Greek salad; roast chicken breast with grape and herb stuffing served with buttery new potatoes with green beans and glazed carrots; and grilled haddock fillet with a topping of coriander and lime tartare sauce and melted cheese served with minted new potatoes and green beans. We finished it all off with: vanilla cream terrine with raspberries and blackcurrent coulis; peaches baked in Marsala with mascarpone cream; and creamy sheeps' milk cheese - Berkswell - from Neal's Yard Dairy served with quince paste, homemade walnut bread and biscuits.
  
  We were absolutely stuffed by the end of it but the food was so good, the environment a little like a glossy 5-star Manhattan hotel restaurant, and the service so attentive that the evening was a perfect one. To top it all off, the staff gave my parents a congratulations card hand-signed by Delia herself. My parents were over the moon.
  
  
• We watched the family home movies I'd transferred from Super 8 cine film to DVD as their anniversary present and enjoyed their running commentary.
  
  
• Inspired by these old films, I've started taking little 30 second clips myself using my digital camera and did alot of filming of M and my parents, much to their annoyance!
  
  
• I caught a glimpse of the hundreds of love letters my parents exchanged on wafer thin blue aerogramme paper when my parents were courting long distance during the 60s - my dad in London and my mum in Calcutta. Unfortunately, I can't read them because they are in Bengali, however my father will slowly translate some of them for me. They are private correspondence, so I will have to content myself with a heavily edited few.
  
  
• We enjoyed my mum's home cooking. Usually it's a good curry or four, but this time she made a deliciously aromatic Moroccan lamb and fig tagine with toasted almond couscous.
  
  
• We enjoyed a really long lie-in on Sunday morning as well as several long hours chilling in my parents' garden with conversation and the papers and admiring my dad's perfectly trimmed hedges! The trouble with slowing down and doing nothing is that you allow yourself to realise how damn tired you are! In London, we're so busy racing around we hardly let exhaustion get a peek in.
  
  
• We spent the 2 hour train journey back to London planning our week's meals (this is one of our favourite conversation pieces on a Sunday!) - seafood laksa, Chinese vegetable curry, and Szechuan numbing hot chicken - and watching David Bowie (surely a new album must be due soon?!?) and Red Hot Chili Peppers videos on my iPod.
  
  
• When we returned to our own home, M cooked spaghetti with a tomato, fresh anchovy and caper sauce and we settled in to watch Pen-Ek Ratanaruang's languid yet thrilling Invisible Waves on DVD about a chef's assistant's affair with his boss's restless wife which has deadly consequences. We first saw this Thai movie at last year's London Film Festival and were eager to see it again.
  
  
• Another lovely though a little different weekend over. Sigh...

Midweek musings

• I love the sunshine for many reasons, but the biggest one is having the perfect excuse to buy pretty, short skirts - like the cream and blue patterned cotton skirt I bought from Top Shop recently. I also need to buy some of those incredibly comfortable but trendy Havaianas flip flops. M has a blue pair, bought by his sister's friend from Brazil, and I am very jealous. In fact, they remind me of the blue chapals you can buy for a few rupees in India and that you wear around the house. I should have stocked up in February.
  
  
• No matter how tired we've been this week, M and I have been trying to set out for work a little earlier than usual for a couple of mornings just so we can stroll together in the morning sunshine, catching up with each other before we go our separate ways into work - he to Fleet Street, me to Oxford Street: walking through Fitrovia, through Covent Garden. We've both got some early meetings for the next two days but when we next get the chance we'd like to stroll through the quiet, leafy squares between Russell Square and the British Museum, and through Chinatown too. I can't think of a nicer way to start my day - well, I can, and we do, but... blush.
  
  
• Beth at The Cassandra Pages recently celebrated 26 years of marriage. I asked her to post on what it took to grow a marriage to 26 years; another commenter asked her to post on what not to do in marriage. Beth quoted her grandmother's words of wisdom: "If you and he think you'll always be glad to see each other and have something to say to each other when you wake up in the morning, and don't go to bed angry with each other, you'll be OK." Whole books are written on the subject and yet here is the secret of all good relationships in a nutshell.
  
  On a related note, it annoys me when married people ask me how married life is treating me and then respond with "Oh, just you wait, it's all downhill from here". Some are jesting of course, but not all. So it was refreshing when I was sharing my irritation with a male colleague the other day. He's been married several years and he said marriage is the best thing he's ever done - despite the inevitable low points. He said that when people respond in a consistently negative way he wonders why the hell they got married in the first place. Or why they stay married.
  
  
• Madrasi Chick wrote of her frustration at seeing this on the back cover of George Alagiah's book, where the BBC newscaster is described as "From an immigrant boy to an English man". The phrase wound me up too. As I commented on her blog, I resent the implication of 'progress' being made. I also dislike the implication that identity is linear and straightforward. Most people have many identities residing within them. My own parents, for example, were born and brought up in India, came to the UK as immigrants and in the 1980s became British for a variety of reasons. Today, they see themselves as Indian, as British, as immigrants, as settled British nationals (as parents, as spouses, as professionals, as middle class, as... etc etc).
  
  
• This month's Good Food magazine has some lovely recipes for us to try this week: last night we made teriyaki beef and lettuce cups, tonight we're having pasta with parsley and hazelnut pesto, and tomorrow we'll most probably make the halloumi salad with orange and mint.
  
  
• Tommy has bought an old Cranks vegetarian recipe book and has blogged a wonderful recipe for wholemeal cheese bread. I once owned this book and her posts on it took me right back to my teenage years as a vegetarian and then as a vegan. I often used to eat at Cranks in London - their branch off Carnaby Street had an amazing help yourself buffet counter with phenomenal sprouted bean salads, lentils, smelly cheeses and wholemeal baps. Masala Zone is there now. I was an ethical vegetarian back then and I wonder now if I would have needed to give up meat had there been the abundance of free-range, organic and "humanely" slaughtered meat there is today. I resumed eating meat because my uncle tempted me with Italian salami and bacon at a New Year party in New Delhi - but I think I was ready after 11 years to eat meat again.
  
  
• I never have time to watch as much TV as I'd like, but I've been catching some Indian-related programmes on Replay: Anjum Anand's Indian Food Made Easy. I hate to compare, but it's difficult not to, but she's just a little bit more down-to-earth than Nigella Lawson. She wears an awful lot of makeup though. I want to see more of her family - especially her little girl. Sanjeev Bhaskar's trip through India. It's annoying when he makes comments such as how he experiences "a million exotic smells and colours" and how he finds it "unbelievably chaotic" but it's great seeing India behind the flacid commentary. And a documentary on the changes taking place in Calcutta. All part of the BBC's India & Pakistan 07 series. India should "turn 60" more often.

Quality

I only popped into DKNY on Old Bond Street during my lunch break to buy a throw to wear over my sleeveless dress at my husband's company party this week. The weather is all over the place - one minute it is bright and sunny and literally the next minute it is raining hard. But then I saw "Sale" emblazoned across the windows of nearby Nicole Farhi and couldn't resist. I came away with three more tops. An expensive lunch break and I feel a little guilty at having flexed my credit card so vigorously. I try and tell myself, "Their clothes fit me so perfectly and the material feels so great against my skin!" and repeat it like a mantra. Then I tell myself, "I'm a grown woman, I earn my own money, I work hard." Now work is over and I'm back home trying on my purchases and showing them off to my husband and I feel great. I used to spend loads on clothes that rarely lasted out the year. A false economy. Then I met my husband whose wardrobe is filled with designer clothes that have lasted years. Nowadays, I rarely splurge on clothes but when I do, I do so in the knowledge that they'll keep a long, long time.

Here's an interesting article I read today:
Bridget Jones? She's got it easy
"Since when did skin shade, religion and the prospect of living with your in-laws become a concern for educated, career women looking for Mr Right? For British Asian females, who are facing a shrinking pool of eligible men, Bridget Jones had it easy."

I'm lucky in that I had little pressure, both from myself or my parents, as to whom I should settle down with. My parents are non-religious and at no time did they stipulate I should marry "within my culture". There were pressures of course - as I had a PhD and a good job, they wanted me to marry someone who was my equal academically and professionally. However, I know in my heart they would have accepted my husband even if he hadn't been a lawyer with a science PhD from Oxford - so long as he was "a good boy".

But a friend of mine is really struggling to find a boyfriend let alone a husband. She's from a strict Muslim family and although she is a Cambridge PhD, a scientist and living away from home, she is completely obsessed and stressed out by her pursuit for the ideal man. She grills every man she meets and assesses him for marriage potential. He must be a Muslim, he must be Bengali, he must be highly educated, he must come from a good family, he must want children, he must have a good job, he must, he must, he must... She can never relax not even for a second. She is always fighting with her parents but at the same time she wants to please them. Moreover, she agrees with them that marrying within her faith and culture is important. It means the pool of men available to her is very narrow and shallow indeed. It amazes me she hasn't broken down with a nervous breakdown yet.

A Google nobody

Before I got married, anyone could Google my maiden name and be presented with several pages of me, me, me: my publications record, the websites I had worked on, contributions to industry forums or conferences - in short, my entire career.

Now I've changed my surname, I've dropped out of Google sight. If I apply for a new job or want to be headhunted, undoubtedly I will be Googled by prospective employers and recruitment agencies whose searches will turn up nothing.

There are immediate things I can do of course - set up a new professional website in my new name and redirect my old site to the new one. But the rest of it is lost because I can't go back and append my new name to each and every bibliographic and website mention.

I really am starting over...