Sweet Nostalgia

Guess what comes to my mind when I think of Belgaum?

 Not the clean, well-paved roads, not the lush greenery, not the ecclesiastical quiet, and not even the much-talked-about rain. What I miss more than anything else is the heady smell of freshly baked bread. It might sound silly to some, but hey don’t we all live to eat!

I guess I have turned into something of a bread snob, but I’d say that’s what Belgaum does to you. You’d be in for a hard time, if you went looking for Belgaum-quality bread here in Pune. There are very few places that stock freshly baked bread. Most places you’d get bread baked God-knows-when, wrapped in plastic, and crumbling in your hands. It’s enough to put one off bread! Didn’t Julia Child say- How can a nation be great if its bread tastes like Kleenex? True indeed.  Pune has got to do something about its bread! Really!

As kids we used to take morning walks only to walk past Swamy’s and gorge on fresh quiches and pastries. Evenings we often cycled to Akbar’s , on Mom's errands, to buy our daily bread. White or brown, both were equally delicious. There are many such bakeries in Belgaum. Small establishments handed over from generation to generation, baking only so much bread, so that it never goes stale. Back then, bread was always wrapped in paper, and tied together with a thread. No expiry dates either, because they never sold stale stuff anyway.

The bakers usually had a personal equation with their customers. I remember this one time, when our oven had broken down, and it was my birthday. My grandma couldn’t bake my birthday cake. But we couldn’t break the family tradition and buy a birthday cake. Could we? So the bakery pitched in. My granny gave them the unbaked cake and they baked it for us. That way I got grandma’s home-made cake just like I used to every single year. Wasn’t that sweet? 

That’s the kind of thing that happens only in a small town like Belgaum. Everybody knows you, just as you know everybody. Everybody helps everybody else. Everybody from the baker to the mechanic is your dad’s schoolmate or childhood buddy. So if your cycle gets a flat tire, there’s always the friendly mechanic to help you out.

Years after we moved to Pune, I visited Belgaum and I made it a point to buy some of Akbar’s delicious bread, buns and biscuits. Surprisingly, after all these years, the baker recognized me. After the inevitable – “Oh you were so little then!”  , we had a pleasant chat, and he showed me his newly revamped bakery. Amidst the fragrance of hot baking bread, sweet memories of childhood wafted in.

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FC Road !!

My friend and me, after an afternoon spent in shopping for those crazy knickknacks at the stalls at FC, retired to Chocolate room. Sipping hot chocolate and sharing gossip steamier than hot chocolate held our attention for quite some time. But there’s only so much news (and gossip) to share! And soon our gaze and conversation turned to the window, and to the view outside. What a medley of people FC road has!

From our vantage point, it really was fun looking at (and criticizing) the varied people passing by. FC is a place where you see people in a big variety of attire. Girls dressed in cool casuals, denims and a tee (v.nice for a casual stroll), some dressed in snazzy outfits, some in summery shorts, and some trying to dress classy (and failing miserably!).

Here’s what we thought:

6 inch animal print heels are sexy, yes! But there is a place and time! And the place is definitely not FC road! There is nothing that spells “Wannabe” more than wearing sleazy heels on FC road! Some even pair it up with bright red glossy lipstick! Really girl! Why would you want to emulate a vampire! I mean even Angelina Jolie barely carries off the look!

Then again there are some who wear jeans and weird chunky jewellery that would probably go well only on a sari! And others are dressed in heavily embroidered and embellished salwar kameezes on a sweltering noon. You can almost see the sunrays bouncing off on those sparkly shimmery sequins. What an eyesore! It is soo not a place to take on the role of a clothes horse and wear all your jewellery at once!

More fashion faux pas than you could count!

And then there are these really cute old ladies come out for their evening walk or a snack at Vaishali. In fresh, well tailored salwarsuits, feet clad in running shoes, and a neat bun of hair, these wonderful ladies of the older generation cut a truly classy figure! Simplicity is beauty, they say. Amongst the ostentatious college crowd, these lovely ladies are a big comfort. True Parisian chic on the streets of FC. This, my friends is fashion! Dress for the occasion, dress for comfort! Dress in what best becomes you! Fashion, after all is a state of mind! We would all do good to learn from this elegant generation of crisp cotton sarees, who have adapted themselves, so seamlessly, to today’s fashion! Hats off to them!

A Valentine Story!

Beautiful long stemmed pink roses - the exact color that appears on her cheeks when she blushes, a candlelight dinner for two, followed by dessert -(blueberry cheese cake, to be specific) and lots and lots of chocolates. The perfect recipe for the first Valentine's day of their relationship. This was what she had wished for .

She knew however, that there was a very slim chance of them actually meeting on the day of Valentine's.They both lived in different towns. Due to work commitments, they couldn't leave. Still she had hoped against hope that they would meet. She hadn't even told him how much it meant to her. But in a tiny corner of her heart she wanted to store the memory of her first Valentine with him. To be looked at, in happy moments and sad. Something to tell her grandchildren about.

And then he told her that he wouldn't be coming after all.  She tried to console herself and him too. She knew she must understand. It wasn't his mistake after all. She knew he had tried his best, and was just as disappointed as her. But now Valentine's had ceased to be special for her. Confetti and balloons and roses. It is all pretty stupid, she thought. And yet she felt morose and miserable. Her tantrums were always directed towards him. But this time instead of sarcasm and cribbing she just stopped talking.

He texted, he called, but to no avail. She hardly spoke. She knew she was wrong. But at that moment her love for him was clouded by her emotions. She was a little self obsessed, and that sometimes made her indifferent to others. So different from him. Had he been in her place he would have understood in a jiffy. He surely wouldn't behave in such a childish fashion, thought she. He was always so strong, so dependable, always a source of comfort. She reminisced about all the beautiful memories they had had together-- The way he tried to make every single day special for her, the magic he brought into her life every moment, how he pampered her, coddled her, treated her like a princess. He always brushed away the stray lock of her on her face, before she even realized it was irritating her. The way he hugged her and patted her head when she was upset. Their special lullaby that he sang to her every night. Her conviction that she would never have bad dreams when he sang her to sleep. So many little things he did, that together made a wonderful mosaic. She did not even have to spell out her wishes to him. He always knew. He was her very own Prince Charming.

Suddenly it didn't matter. What was one Valentine day after all? They had an entire lifetime of Valentine's to look forward to. Besides for them every day was a Valentine's day.