1 May 2007


I'm really sorry that I didn't update my blog in so many weeks, for those of you who have been waiting for a new article. I was busy with my Checkpoint Exams [Maths, Science and English] and with countless tests....

Anyway, back to the point, my science project last year was on creating a healthy, fat free cheese, which could add extra zing if sprinkled on food without add extra inches to your stomach. I made this by squeezing orange in milk to make it curdle, rather than using lemons to do so. The result was orange paneer [cottage cheese] or PANEERANGE.

I also wrote a zany fibonacci sequence poem to supplement it. A fibonacci sequence goes like 1-1-2-3-5-8 and so on....adding the numbers before, to get another number. A fibonacci sequence poem is a real challenge to a writer's ability, as there can't be a word more or less. there has to be one word on the first line, one on the second line, two on the third line, three on the fourth line and so on.....

This poem is about how Paneerange came to be. It's really long, so I'll be putting it on three continuous blog posts.....



Cottage cheese

Are his names

Hails originally from north India

As we often claim, but do you know

Do you know he is made by sieving hot milk as it curdles?

Soft, fresh paneer, with gravy makes a lip-smacking curry, and eaten with Indian bread, it’s a meal no one could dread.




The weirdo

The orange freak

“Who’s she? Could she be….

Our sister paneer?” Asked old flabbergasted banana bread.

“what happened, I dread to think? Filthy water? An escapade from the sink?”

“Nay, old fellow, something way better” the orange freak cooed, “ I was mixed with orange juice, dude” she laughed haughtily.

And so, she began her story. “I was kept in a huge bowl.” she mooed, “ part of me was used when I was cool, and the orange, fool! Jumped into me too soon.”

“go on,” the foods cried, much to haughty paneer’s delight. “ the second part of me was a waste, thanks to old orange’s haste. Orange juice was squeezed, and the squeezed orange segment jumped in too, to wave his beloved good bye, but he only turned up, making me taste like a spoilt hairy-fibred ball!”

“Continue.” They pleaded and Paneer waited till the noise subdued.“The third time.” she bursted with pride, “I came out all right. I was heated, just like the second time. The orange juice was squeezed, and the segment stayed in his place, but, because of the fusspot, silly orange juice, who refused to make me curdle, even after I abused. A day and a half she took, then, I was sieved, and tied on a hook, and out I came, orange and little, with an unusual title, ‘Paneerange’

to be continued....