Gone Girl

I read this review by author Scott Smith:

'I cannot say this urgently enough: you have to read Gone Girl. It’s as if Gillian Flynn has mixed us a martini using battery acid instead of vermouth and somehow managed to make it taste really, really good. Gone Girl is delicious and intoxicating and delightfully poisonous. It’s smart (brilliant, actually). It’s funny (in the darkest possible way). The writing is jarringly good, and the story is, well…amazing.  Read the book and you'll discover—among many other treasures—just how much freight (and fright) that last adjective can bear.'

and I thought, just how psychotic can this book be?

I can tell you now, things get pretty intense in Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl.

A husband and wife play the most terrifying mind games with each other, and stop at nothing to ensure that their partner is just where they need them (read terrified, obsessed and against the wall delirious with the stress of anticipating the next move). 

I realize this may not be the most inviting pitch when looking to read for pleasure, but the plot and narrative structure make this book exciting. The writing is clever and inventive, and keeps you hooked. It’s an easy read; definitely one you could try if you feel like reading a book/watching a film at the same time. Gone Girl feels like a well-shot, well-acted thriller.

If nothing else, it’ll make you more interested in the inner workings of your partner’s mind. Was that really him asking to have toast for breakfast or . . . 

Outside

Design Files: Friday Gawkfest

Come Friday and the world is a beautiful place. Maybe it's the weekend around the corner that helps? Whatever the case may be, here's some inspiration/eye candy because obviously you can't focus on that pile of work sitting on your desk.

8 Spruce Street, a 76-storey skyscraper designed by Frank Gehry in New York. 

Want to live here? You can now - it's up for sale.

Lovely, creative packaging for honey by Ah and Oh Studio. 

Nuevo's Kieren counter stool in walnut. Need this in my life.

The 'Emergence' sculpture by Sakaya Ganz. Stunning. More so because it's made with reclaimed materials.

A geometric pendant light by Finnish designer Weekday Carnival. So modern and elegant.

I love the stone holder.

If there ever was a desk on which to get your work done - it is John Reeve's handmade cobalt laquer and walnut desk.

No idea who designed this, but what a way to sell tea bags. 

I love brightly coloured doors and this citrine yellow one would make me stop in my tracks every time I saw it. This is from American Street Houses, a townhouse development in Pennsylvania designed by Materiality Office.

In the spirit of inspiring design and creativity, have a great weekend!

Ciao Bella!

It helps to have an elder brother who shares your enthusiasm for wine. Mine took me to an incredible wine tasting hosted by bio-dynamic winemakers Querciabella last month at The Imperial in Delhi. Founded in 1974, Querciabella is an Italian winery with vineyards throughout the Chianti Classico and Maremma areas of Tuscany. It's famous for its completely natural, bio-dynamic wines and we drank three of the most acclaimed: the 2008 Batar, the 2008 Chianti Classico, and the 2007 Camartina.
The Imperial is always a pleasure to visit, I for one can spend my time just looking at their gorgeous marble floors. Luckily for me, this evening there was more fun to be had.
As we walked into 1911 where the tasting was, we were greeted with chilled flutes of champagne. Our host for the evening, Giorgio Fragiacomo, went around meeting the 20 of us present, telling us a little bit about the wines we were to try. When it was finally time to stop the chit chat and sit down for the tasting, we were led to our tables. Who wouldn't be happy to see this?

Present, sir.

The butter was calling out to me.

So I answered with the help of the bread basket.

The 2008 Batar - this blew my mind. Definitely my favourite of the evening - a chewy, crisp blend of Chardonnay and Pinot Blanc. So good. I may have had 2 glasses.

The antipasto - a hot cheese galette with honey, mint and melon pearls. 

A good match with the Batar.

The Chianti Classico - did not enjoy this. Too robust and tannic for me.

We paired the Chianti with minestrone ticinese.

Giorgio introduced each wine, and then hopped from table to table asking us what we thought (it was so nice to describe wine and not have someone roll their eyes at you). He then sat down with us - I guess he thought we really needed his guidance. 

A fennel palette cleanser.

Wild mushroom crespelli with asparagus. Mushroom heaven.

The Super Tuscan and star of the Querciabella winery: the Camartina. This is only produced in the best vintages. All I can say is, it lived up to the hype. And look at that ruby hue! I think this would pair well with a lot of Indian food as well. Kebabs and Camartina.

Giorgio got extremely excited when the Camartina came out. He made us smell and taste and spit a whole lot before we could drink the wine. 

The last wine of the evening. This though, was a rather boring Riesling from a different winery. 

In all, a really great night - my brother even stopped to explain to two tourists the history of the ambassador cab in great detail. Take me drunk I'm home.

The Dognapping of Sultan

Sultan was the first dog we had as a pet; a gorgeous black and gold double-coated German Shepherd that might as well have been a wolf. He was a massive dog with a mane like a lion – truly a beautiful specimen. Sultan, much like his name, was a very dignified, regal creature who took no nonsense from anyone, especially random people/animals that were foolish enough to walk down our street or stand in front of our house. The nerve.
He was decidedly my mother’s dog. He followed her all over the house, sat outside the bathroom door when she went in, and protected her like his life depended on it. My father, sister and I got similar treatment, but he really thought my mom was his mom. She was in fact, since we got Sultan home when he was only 2 months old.

One evening we couldn’t find him in the house. We looked everywhere in the neighbourhood, but we couldn’t see him in any of his haunts. He didn't come home. All night we waited, searched, but to no avail. By the next morning I was in tears, inconsolable, and by afternoon my sister and mom were too. Where could Sultan have gone? After some detective work in the area thanks to our man Friday, we were told that he had been kidnapped. Because of his pedigree and good looks, our baby had been picked up from the house when everyone was at work, with an intent to sell him to a dog breeder for a high price. I still have no idea how the dognappers managed the task given Sultan's size and ferocity – perhaps they drugged him? We’ll never know. 
My father was told that he should speak to this particular real estate agent who had an office nearby because he was perhaps, involved. Of course my dad went, and point blank asked him. He offered to pay the agent whatever he wanted for some information and the dog back. The agent refused, claiming he knew nothing. My father went again a hour or so later. Again he refused. On his fourth visit, after telling the agent how his daughters were in tears and hadn't even eaten because they were so upset, he was given a number and address of someone who could ‘be of help’. Obviously the agent knew nothing more, and had nothing to do with the whole situation. Obviously.

My parents rushed to the given address. It was early evening, and they were met with a circle of giant Haryanvi men playing cards in the lawn of a newly built, unoccupied house. Sultan was sitting meekly in a corner, tied to a tap with a long piece of rope. My fearless mum jumped out of the car and walked in, calling out to Sultan.

Sultan’s whole stance changed! His mane bristled all around him and he started barking loudly, madly, deafeningly. The men all stood up, shocked at the transformation from mouse to lion. Luckily, right then my father also came in having parked the car in front of the gate for a quick getaway. My mom told the men to back off, warning them that her dog would pounce on them once she opened him, and they better not try anything. They looked amused, since they’d seen a very meek dog who sat quietly in the corner. As soon as my mom untied him, Sultan roared! He lunged for the men, teeth bared. The giant Haryanvi men fled. They ran from the house, leaving my parents to coolly walk Sultan out to the car and come home.

I still ask my mom how she had the courage to face a group of menacing thugs, and rescue her dog. Her answer always makes me happy: ‘Why would I be scared? I had complete faith in Sultan. I knew as soon as he saw us he would get charged up. I felt very safe.’ On his own Sultan sat dejected, but when he saw my parents, his family, he had something worth defending and fighting for again.

If that isn’t fitting tribute to why we love dogs, I don’t know what is.

A young double-coated German Shepherd, just to give you an idea. Sultan had a bigger mane!

Thank You

Blogger does some good things - it tells you how lucky you are and how many people choose to come everyday to your lazily updated blog and read your gibberish. The number keeps growing (how?!) and for that I'm so grateful. Thank you SO much for stopping by.

This motivates me to be much more regular with posting than I have been.

Here's to freedom and happiness!

Wild Heart

I'll save you a lengthy book review of Cheryl Strayed's beautiful memoir about her 3-month solo journey hiking the Pacific Crest Trail in America. Her journey was as much an attempt to understand the events of her life as to find herself in the world and make her way forward. The sentences below should be tantalising enough to make you read this book. Also, if you haven't read Cheryl Strayed's column on The Rumpus, you're in for a serious treat. It was the reason why I pre-ordered and waited so patiently for my international first edition of Wild.

'All through my childhood and adolescence I'd asked and asked, making her describe those scenes and more, wanting to know who said what and how, what she felt inside while it was going on, where so-and-so stood and what time of day it was. And she'd told me, with reluctance or relish, laughing and asking why on earth I wanted to know. I wanted to know. I couldn't explain. But now that she was dying, I knew everything. My mother was in me already. Not just the parts of her that I knew, but the parts of her that had come before me too.'

'Fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so I chose to tell myself a story different from the one women are told. I decided I was safe. I was strong. I was brave. Nothing could vanquish me. Insisting on this story was a form of mind control, but for the most part, it worked. Every time I heard a sound of unknown origin or felt something horrible cohering in my imagination, I pushed it away. I simply did not let myself become afraid. Fear begets fear. Power begets power. I willed myself to beget power.'

'Alone had always felt like an actual place to me, as if it weren't a state of being, but rather a room where I could retreat to be who I really was. The radical aloneness of the PCT had altered that sense. Alone wasn't a room anymore, but the whole wide world, and now I was alone in that world, occupying it in a way I never had before. Living at large like this, without even a roof over my head, made the world feel both bigger and smaller to me.'

'There were so many other amazing things in this world. They opened up inside of me like a river. Like I didn't know I could take a breath and then I breathed. '

I think I'll stop quoting from the book because I don't want to ruin your reading of it, but it's safe to say that this has been the most engaging read; revealing, reflective, funny, sad and triumphant. I hate when good books end. And then when they make a movie that doesn't do it justice so people never bother reading the book (case in point, The Time Traveller's Wife). 

Let's hope you read this before the film version gets out . . .