Snacking Is India’s Favourite Pastime Right After Outrage

Courtesy - Google Images

Hunger is one of our most primal needs, because it’s food that sustains and comforts us, and gives us joy. Sometimes we get into such an intense relationship with food that it borders on obsession. This kind of relationship usually ends up in heartbreak. I mean what can be more sorrowful than seeing the needle on your weighing scale cross unchartered territories! Which is why the most dangerous type of hunger is the one that has more to do with your state of mind and very little to do with the rumblings inside your stomach. It starts as a little voice inside your head, soft at first, coaxing you to reach for that pack of crisps that you’ve hidden inside a 60-feet pit you dug a few hours back. The one that you were not supposed to buy but still bought it. The one whose existence you were supposed to forget like the promises politicians make just before elections. But damn, it’s stuck inside your head like a fly in a pot of jam! The more you try to ignore that bloody voice, the louder it becomes. It has now installed monster sized amplifiers inside your head. Your hands are now feeling clammy and you can hardly breathe. And that voice is now sounding like a chorus of crazy cricket fans chanting – just eat it, dammit!

You start clawing at the mud with your fingers, sweating with desperation, eager to reach to the bottom of the pit to that green and orange pack that you bought from Kalu ki dukan. You tear open the pack and gobble its contents in 10 seconds flat. Your face is now smeared with the orange spice that’s making your nose gush like sewage during monsoons.

Crispy roundels of heaven, packed with absolutely no nutrients, hollow claims, lots of guilt and 100% guaranteed satisfaction. These devious things cast a hypnotic spell on you. You know it’s bad for your waistline, yet you keep digging in for more and more like a greedy politician.

Eyes half closed in ecstasy, your breathing is now slow and languorous and then you take a deep sigh of regret.

It’s not as if Karni Sena will come running after me to behead me if I choose to snack on carrot sticks and a handful of chia seeds instead. But having a healthy snack is against Indian culture, no? Especially when you are born in a country that takes its munchies as seriously as not a doing a thing about toxic air that the capital is forced to breathe.

A mind-boggling variety of farsans, chop, jhal-muri, bhelpuri, phuchka, dahi bhalla, momos to choose from. Uff! It’s like you are Vishwamitra and these apsaras are out to wreak havoc on your carefully laid out diet plans.

Sweet, savoury, crunchy, chewy, there’s something to suit everyone’s palate.

We love our snacks so much that we even invent occasions to give us an excuse to indulge ourselves.

When we were kids, winters would mean picnics and picnics would mean taking breaks between munching on peanuts, puri-aloo, gajaar halwa, pakora and chai to play the mandatory game of badminton and losing yet another Frisbee. If you are a Bengali you’d have the added bonanza of having cold boiled egg sandwich with banana. If you crinkled your nose in refusal, you’d be rewarded with the sight of Bhutoo kakima rolling her eyes like a windshield wiper on a rainy day. And rainy days mean that veggies have no option but to dip themselves in a batter of gram-flour and jump in a karhai of hot oil. God made winters so that we could get fat and content consuming kilos of gajjaks, revdis and chikkis.

Celebrities are as liable for endorsing anti-health products as healthy

Courtesy - Google images

Also published on Huffington Post, India

Even as Maggi’s credibility sank faster than the Titanic, complete with sound effects of outrage and anguish of millions of tastebuds hooked on to this gooey mishmash of maida and garam-masala, its ambassador in leotards, Madhuri found herself unceremoniously thrown in freezing waters.

While Maggi was crucified for having MSG and lead above permissible limits (many of us are still convinced it’s a rival-engineered conspiracy to dislodge it from its cult status), an FIR was also filed against Amitabh Bachchan, Madhuri Dixit and Preity Zinta who appeared in the Maggi ads, for misleading their fans. Madhuri has been served a notice where she has to explain how Maggi is good for our health.

In India filmstars, unlike their Western counterparts, are not merely actors who get paid to do their job. The ones who attain superstardom are regarded as deities meant to be worshipped. They make our fantasies of fighting corruption, beating up crooked cops, wooing unattainable women, dancing and singing while looking like a glamorous diva, come true on the silver screen. They make us sing, dance and laugh and provide respite from the mundane. We revere them, blindly follow them and express our adulation by getting our local darzi to stitch the same Anarkali that Deepika wore at an awards night, hoping that some of her stardust will rub off on us.

The bigger the superstardom, the brighter the halo and the firmer our belief that they can do no wrong.

When Madhuri, the dhak-dhak of millions, trapezes all over her kitchen while she serves new Maggi Oats to her hungry family, insisting it’s healthy, we promptly add it to our shopping basket. Corporate giants pay crores to celebrities because they add brand equity to their products. When Cabdury’s credibility saw a downward spiral when live worms were discovered in their milk chocolate, they promptly hired Amitabh Bachchan to restore their lost glory (Cadbury’s, not theworms’) and it worked!

Is it right to hold Madhuri responsible after it was discovered that Maggi is not only unhealthy but also a health risk?

The Obsessive Foodie

Image Courtesy  - Google

All these years I used to fancy myself as a foodie. Not anymore. It appears that rubbing your belly in satisfaction after an enjoyable and describing it simply as good only qualifies you as lazy. You are not a true blue foodie till the mellifluous notes of hand ground spices in the bhutta korma makes you want to run down the hills singing – the hills are alive with the aroma of cumin! Experience heartbreak when the much hyped restaurant churns out mediocre fare and write scathing reviews to warn your foodie brethren. Happily brave traffic rush, smelly markets to scout for exotic ingredients, and always have a camera along with your cutlery.

The only thing I can come up with after a spectacular meal is – Oh shit, I should have clicked a pic!

Till a decade back I don’t think the term ‘foodie’ even existed! Or maybe it did but we were too busy burping our approval for a dish well cooked and preferred licking our fingers clean rather than reaching out for the camera to click the chicken corn soup with enough cornflour to bind the world. If you loved your food, you didn’t have to shout from rooftops and you definitely didn’t have to click your meal from different angles to get the perfect lighting and shot. If you did, you’d risk getting laughed at by strangers.

We didn’t mind having chicken curry cooked the same way meal after meal. Experimenting was something that was confined to Chemistry labs. Eating out was a monthly, low-key affair and ambience was still a word in the dictionary. Having fun was something we did in moderation. If we were watching a movie, there’s no way we could follow it up with dinner at a restaurant because according to your Maa, too much fun was akin to corruption. Our parents never failed to make us feel guilty by regaling us with their frugal living stories. A childhood denied of luxuries, where they had to wait for birthdays and Durga Pujo to get their two sets of clothes and eating out was an alien concept.

Modern living is out to prove that our parents were wrong and boring. It has seen a quantum shift towards a lifestyle which is all about excess. One look at Facebook and Twitter feeds and you’re inundated with images and vivid descriptions of exotic vacations, fun-filled evenings and gourmet meals your friends are having, while you stab miserably at your bowl of chopped papaya.

The new age foodie is now a gastronome, chef extraordinaire, food critic, photographer rolled into one. His taste buds have a high emotional quotient that can feel the butter-laden, cognac-kissed suavity in the pumpkin soup and sheds tears of ecstasy as he bites into a juicy, succulent, bursting with flavours tangdi kabab.

Eclairs Diaries

Once upon a time when I had no fear of calories and embraced them with open arms, Eclairs used to be one of my favourites. Not the hard to crack version by Cadbury but the elegant French dessert. This oblong pastry with a coating of chocolate looks pretty innocent till you bite into it and your mouth is filled with sweetened thick cream...orgasmic!

When I got the invite to attend a special event that would explore new perspectives on éclairs with celebrated pastry chef Johnny Iuzzini at Le Meridien, I decided to let my taste buds do the thinking.

As part of the hotel's culinary program, Eclairs Diaries, Chef Iuzinni has been creating eclairs inspired by locations all around the world. From the maple and bacon to Texan honey pecan to the Dulce de leche eclair,Iuzinni fuses local flavours into his unique creations.



It's not everyday you have a good looking, tattooed, motorcycle-riding chef give you a masterclass on how to create the perfect Eclair with blueberry compote and thickened honey cream that filled the pastry shell from end to end. We also got to sample Chef Iuzinni's Indian inspired creations created in partnership with Le Meridien. I especially loved the Ginger Jaggery version - the sharpness of the ginger beautifully complimenting the sweet earthiness of jaggery. Another favourite of mine was the Hazelnut Tamarind Eclair, even though I couldn't taste the tartness of the tamarind, I loved its smooth chocolatey taste infused with the smokiness of hazelnut.


Le Meridien Delhi will now feature Clotted Cream Kalakand, Coconut Jaggery Cardamom and Rose Cardamom to unlock the flavours of Delhi and Kochi respectively.

If this has gotten your tastebuds tickling, you know where to head!

A Fishy Affair

Like most Indian kids, I was brought up in a family that constantly ‘encouraged’ me to study harder and do well enough to make our relatives jealous. Marriage, love, boyfriends were taboo subjects, so much so that I was convinced that my parents had no intention of getting me married and would make me study for the rest of my wretched life. The only time my Mom did mention marriage was when I refused to eat fish. She’d bemoan my un-Bengali like habits and prophesy that I’d get married to a rice and fish loving typical Bengali boy.   


I did get hitched to a guy who loves his fish as much as he loves me. Since marriage is all about trying to change each other for the ‘better’, I have now evolved into a fish loving person and he has his baigan ka bharta without a murmur of protest.

Over two years of having the freshest seafood of all sizes and shapes from the seas of Australia, so under-spiced that you can taste the salt water that your dish ingested, I consider myself a sort of connoisseur. In fact, the last time when the husband kept the Salmon almost raw, because it was so fresh, I forked it into my mouth without going blue in the face.

Whole Red Snapper

Last week, when Sangeeta Khanna, a friend I admire and whose food blog is the holy grail of healthy eating asked me to join her for a fish degustation lunch hosted by Le Meredien, New Delhi, I promptly accepted her gracious offer.

We were a cosy group of six including Anasuya Basu, Le Meredien’s Director of Marketing Communications, high on shared camaraderie and a belly full of expectations, once we had gone through the menu for our luncheon. The restaurant, Le Belvedere, on the 20th floor of the hotel, gives a panoramic view of Lutyen’s Delhi. Despite the smog, we couldn’t help but admire the view. 

Singapore on your plate

It’s not every day that you get a call from a blogger friend asking if you’d like to accompany him to a Singapore themed culinary fest at ITC Maurya,New Delhi.  And when he does, you drop all your plans (even that lunch date with your school buddies), like a hot potato and say yes-yes-yes. 

The Travelling Pop-out Kitchen

Singapore-Takeout, a one of a kind concept is a travelling pop out kitchen with more visa stamps on its passport that you and I can manage in a lifetime.  This multi-city, international culinary show organized by Singapore Tourism brings the country’s famed diverse cuisine to your doorstep.   Even though it’s been over three years since my last visit to the island country, my taste buds still tingle with the memory of Chilli crabs at Jumbo, the pungent Nyonya curries, spicy Laksa, Hainanese chicken rice and baskets of dimsums we sampled at the many restaurants and Hawker centres.  The lion city is a cornucopia of flavours with Malay, Chinese, Indian and Perankan influences and leaves you spoilt for choice. 

Hun Kwee Jagong- coconut corn jelly. 

Chatpati Batein

Delhizen is the typical Punjabi kurhi from the city of Chandigarh.  Fearless, passionate, she speaks her mind and writes from her heart.  A busy career woman who has now shifted her loyalties to Delhi, she lives to eat and in this post lets her taste buds do the talking.....

 

There are few things Purba and I  have in common; our names start with the letter ‘P’, we are Virgos, we can ‘talk’ and most of you who know her would know what I mean. We also share our love for writing, (though I am not half as good as her) Delhi and of course FOOD!  

Since no celebration is complete without good food and to keep up with the spicy content of A-Musing, my post is dedicated to ‘Street Food of Dillli’.  I read this ode, a 55er actually written by someone who is a foodie by heart & soul and thought it’s the right recipe to start my post which being with food and ends with it too.

“People eat out for various reasons: hunger pangs or for a change,

Some want to try what’s new while for a few it’s about taste,

There are also God’s chosen ones ‘who eat because it makes them happy’,

Food to live or food for mind; I chose the latter which adds zing to my life!”

Google Images

First draft of this post was trashed, so was the second and third. I realized its time to bunk the gym and instead walk down to Sriram Sweets, Malviya Nagar (btw they have the best Gol Gappas or GGs in South Delhi) for some inspiration.

Six gol guppas, 2 deep fried aloo tikkis and a plate of shakarkandi ki chat later I was ready to write about the second love of my life, food!

Just like a wine connoisseur can differentiate between a Sula and a Vintage. A gg Gulper can tell a good guppa from a regular one… Take the whole filled-up to the brim guppa to your mouth, bite into it, did you hear the pucchak sound? A burst of flavors, sweet followed by tangy and then the teekha-pan tingles the throat and you have just sampled a perfect gg, go on don’t stop at one!

Bring On The Thali

There are many things unique about our cuisine and one of them is the thaali. The word plate doesn’t do justice to the thaali – a gigantic steel tray with a smorgasbord of tiny bowls, each holding a tantalizing promise. You gleefully rub your hands, dying to dip your fingers in the glistening curries just to get a taste. You find out much toyour dismay, not all of them are lip-smacking, you screw your nose and put away the offending bowls. And then you brace yourself for the non-stop indulgence. The constant buzz of the attendants, imploring you to eat some more, insisting you are such a frugal eater. Then out of nowhere someone gives you an extra helping of rice, some more curries, you are now cursing your snug fit jeans and wheezing with exhaustion.

Has anyone of you been to the Andhra Bhawan canteen for their thali? This no frills, Udipi style restaurant has an epic following and finds a mention in Frommer’s travel guide. My first visit was aeons ago, as a newly-wed. The husband was way more compliant back then, ready to indulge the whims and fancies of his brand new wife. I have a faint recollection of that place, but what I distinctly remember is the taste- furiously spicy (the one that makes your nose runny) and delectably delicious. The husband’s delicate palate didn’t share my feelings of ecstasy though. Ever since our fiery experience, he has refused to even look at that direction despite my many entreaties. Not the type who gives up easily, I finally managed another trip nineteen years later, this time with my 16 year daughter and a close friend of mine.



The first thing you notice about the place is the mass of humanity determinedly walking towards the canteen. You realize, nearly the whole world seems to share your love for the Andhra thali. You bravely overcome your fear of crowds, the promise of a good meal being the overpowering emotion. Thankfully one doesn’t have to play musical chairs to get seated- there is a token system that takes care of it. The service is very no-nonsense, but brisk and you can forget about …Madam, you hardly eat...entreaties. They couldn’t be less bothered. The attendant literally bangs the pre plated thaali on your table. My eyes literally lit up at the array of mean-looking curries – a selection of sambhar, rasam, veggies and two non-veg dishes. The word ‘hot’ gets redefined at the Andhra Bhawan canteen. We literally collapsed half way through and had to swig cola to battle the fiery assault. But the meal is scrumptious, even a food snob like my daughter gave it a hearty thumbs up. She was a trifle disappointed though at the lack of cool guys to check out in the vicinity. Nopes, not a single dishy looking guy – even the Mum agreed. We could barely finish our meal and I walked out swaying like a drunk, a big grin pasted on my face. Yes, it is possible to get high on Rasam and all things zesty.

I have a weak spot for the Gujarati thali they serve at Rajdhani as well. Thankfully I don’t have to wait nineteen years between each visit, even though it’s just me in the Ray family who is gushy about this eatery. Every time we go to the mall I look wistfully in the direction of Rajdhani and start walking towards the restaurant as if in a trance. Baby Ray and Papa Ray exchange meaningful glances and shake their heads in mock dismay. Once in a while they do succumb or perhaps my imploring puppy look gets too much for them to bear.




Image courtesy - trekearth.com

What to do, I can’t help but love their delectable savories, the simple vegetarian fare and an assortment of karhis. And what makes the experience unique is their selection of fresh-from-the-tawa mini rotis. But that doesn’t mean I adhere to their stuff yourself to the gills motto. During the meal my hand is mostly over my thali moving in clockwise and anticlockwise direction. And if that doesn’t work I resort to a loud, emphatic nahiiin much to the amusement of the attendants. It always works- the ladles of ghee disappear magically.

It’s not as if all my experiences with the thali have been divine – some of them have been gastronomic disasters. Like the Hyderabadi thali I had in Agra in a much recommended restaurant…under salted and unspiced to suit the firang palate yet floating in kilos of oil. After my last trip to Rajasthan and having nothing but ker sangri and gatte ki sabzi I’ve sworn off Rajasthani cuisine. I steer clear of the North Indian version with its mandatory shahi paneer and dal makhani. Despite my many years in Delhi I have a special aversion to the dairy-fat fixated North Indian cuisine.

Yet it is these thalis that bring out the earthy taste of Indian cuisine. A cornucopia of delights, it’s easy on your pocket and is truly the aam admi’s meal. And for me is not just a meal but an experience that represents the true essence of our country - chaotic as hell, diverse yet immensely satisfying.

On A Foodie's Trail

The husband and I like any self respecting “bong” have a discerning palate and take the art of gastronomy rather seriously. Weekends are dedicated mostly to the onerous task of deciding where to eat what. We love trying out new eateries and have opinions galore on who serves the best crab in town, which restaurant has the best Teppanyaki , who does the best “Goshtaba” Eating out guides are meant for the un informed, after all who knows better than the Rays!!

Dare an unsuspecting maître d suggest salmon to the husband, we know exactly what the unsuspecting fellow has in store for him. The poor fellow is asked to furnish the credentials of the long dead fish. And before he can mumble an unconvincing reply he will be dismissed with a “I’ve had the best, don’t try to pass of the farmed variety as the real thing” We have a rare expertise in giving “honest” feedbacks at the end of a meal. So honest that we often have the manager scurrying up to us with a worried frown on his face. And yes, I have been woken up from my afternoon siesta only to explain patiently on the phone why we thought that the enchiladas were not up to the mark.

Travelling is another passion of ours (in fact I could write a whole blog on our varied passions). Trying out local cuisines more often than not takes top priority in our itinerary. After all we need fodder for feedbacks.

While planning a trip to Bangkok nearly a decade back, we were quite enthused about sampling authentic Thai cuisine. On landing in Bangkok we set off on a trail to sample the famed Thai curries. We came across Sushi , bubbling cauldrons of soup in which you could dunk ingredients of your choice and even more sushi, but mysteriously Thai cuisine was missing from most of the menus. Of course there was the famed street food of Bangkok that we could have sampled for that authentic taste. But suspicious looking creatures floating in oil or propped on sticks was not exactly our idea of culinary heaven. We eventually did have a few memorable Thai meals. The curries were sweet, subtle and bursting with flavors. The ingredients including the vegetables were the freshest, a far cry from what gets passed off as Thai cuisine in the many restaurants dotting Delhi. And now we have a hearty contempt for the red/yellow/green curry variety and can turn up our nose in the air and proclaim “This is not authentic!!!” After all we can now claim to know our “Nam Pla” from “Nam Phrik”

Confessions Of A Chocoholic

God bless the Aztecs who discovered Cacao. Surprisingly, they didn’t want to eat it. They knew how to grind up the beans, boil them to a froth with water and sweeten the drink with vanilla and honey. So why didn’t the Aztecs drink this yummy stuff? Because Cacao beans were too precious and for an Aztec drinking a cup of chocolate was a sheer waste of money. Of course rich people liked to show off by drinking chocolate, they could afford it after all! At least now we have documented proof that mankind has been showing off since 1300 A.D. And thank god that you can now buy a tall glass of foamy chocolate drink at Theobroma (which is chilled melted chocolate btw), scrape the chocolate off from the bottom with your tongue sticking out and nobody will accuse you of being rich, although they might think you forgot to grow up.

I don’t have a sweet tooth, I have sweet teeth, all 32 of them. I have to end my meals on a sweet note. I like my mishtees, mousse, tarts, tiramisu and marzipans but I what I can’t absolutely live without is chocolates. In fact I’ve had a lifelong affair with them and why not, they have been my best friends through thick and thin, through my highs and lows.

Picture this scenario....You’ve had a crappy day, you have tired everybody out with your cribathon, you are stressed and feeling low. All you have to do is open the refrigerator, take out that box of pralines. Your brows are knit in concentration trying to decide between Irish cream and blueberry, you pick up one up, it feels slightly moist, ready to melt any minute. You quickly pop into your mouth, close your eyes and let the familiar chocolatey aroma envelop you with its warmth. Each taste bud of yours comes to life wanting to soak in its silky smoothness, its bitter sweet taste. You smile a lazy smile, your day just got better.

I grew up on Cadbury’s and it tasted far better back then - now it’s waxy, tastes less chocolatey and looks as if it’s on a perpetual diet (it keeps shrinking every few months). During my kiddie days, my favourite used to be Double Decker. It was this thick bar with layers of crispy cereals and nougatine wrapped in chocolate. One bite into the caramel nougat layer and I would be transported to the world of enchanted woods, elves and magical castles, my mind conjuring up childish fantasies. A book with my favourite bar of chocolate used to be my idea of Utopia.

The Chai Story

My day begins with a cup of tea; well actually it begins with the ritual of fixing that perfect cuppa. Out come the tea set and the tea-cosy. Boiling water is poured over tea leaves and allowed to soak in the tea pot to bring out the flavour, not a minute more, not a minute less. Not too milky, a dash of sugar and the perfect brew is ready. For the husband and me, it is almost like an initiation of the long day ahead. Sipping our tea, we pore over the newspapers (we read three of them), have a good laugh or a heated debate as we leaf through the news.

We make it a point to wake up early, just so that we have enough time to luxuriate in the stillness of the morning. It is our moment together, before the day comes crashing on to us, submerging us with its breathless pace and sometimes its unexpectedness.

Most of us have an almost symbiotic relationship with our cup of beverage. As the hot liquid surges through our insides, it energizes us and awakens us nerve by nerve. An early wintry morning and chances are you will spot roadside tea vendors surrounded by the odd rickshaw-wallah or a mason on their way to work. They sit hunched on the pavement, with their hands wrapped around the steaming glass, sipping the hot frothy tea in respectful silence, as if paying obeisance.

Quite a few of us are addicted to our cup of chai – a splitting headache and you reach out for it to unclog your nerves. It rains incessantly, the temperature dips and you yearn for adrak ki chai with assorted savouries. If your nagging cough and cold is making you feel wretched, buss ek cup chai is expected to do wonders.

Remember travelling by train and having tea in khullars? Even if the tea was mostly ghastly, the earthen khullars made it special. And now thanks to modernisation courtesy our ex Railway minister Laloo Prasad Yadav, we get to have our tea in Styrofoam cups. It’s still as ghastly and I can barely take a sip. Chai in Styrofoam cups is not chai!!!!

A Recipe For Success

Photo credit:eatingtheroad.wordpress.com

You first set your eyes on her in your neighbour’s apartment. You couldn’t help but get seduced by the aromas wafting out of the kitchen. You knew you wanted her for yourself and wooed her like you had never wooed before, she finally succumbed. There had been many before her, but she held out a rare promise.....

You were patient and waited for her for months and the day she joined was one of the happiest days of your life. Silently you had borne the heat, the sweaty back, the exhaustion all in the fond hope of a brighter future. Finally, the smile was back on your face. The evenings were yours at last; you could now snuggle up with that book you had purchased from the book fair last year, listen to Farida Khanum croon in that throaty voice of hers; watch your long forgotten DVD collection. You now felt like a free bird ready to spread her wings.

Unfortunately the honeymoon period was short lived. She was not what you expected, the subzis were mostly overcooked, the dal lumpy and the chappatis cardboard stiff. Even though you did wonder about the absence of her much anticipated culinary expertise, you were careful not to hurt her feelings. You would try and tell her in the gentlest possible way that the spices always smelt raw, the gravy too runny. She made you think longingly about K, his cool efficiency, his melt in mouth paneer koftas. You had him for two years, life was so rosy then, each meal was a celebration. You had to leave him behind, in life you have to move on.

A Foodie In Exile

I was standing patiently, awaiting my turn at the neighbourhood veggie outlet. The woman ahead had just purchased nearly all the mangoes that were on display, much to my annoyance. It was then I overheard her friend announce “I stopped having mangoes yaa, too fattening”. My head did a 180 degree turn  and took one long look at her. Weight is such a petty reason to give up one of nature’s most delicious treats. Aren’t mangoes the sole reason of existence for many of us, nearly dying in the scorching summer heat? The sweet aroma that wafts from ripening mangoes, the sticky juice that trickles down as you devour big chunky pieces, ah sheer bliss. This passionate diatribe thankfully remained within the safe confines of my head.

I am a fairly reasonable person and my emotional outbursts are inevitably followed by deep introspection. A few minutes later I was sheepishly saying to myself, who am I kidding, don’t I suffer from food paranoia myself? Chole Bhatura? You must be kidding. How about paranthas...only if it’s sans oil...Ice cream? A teeny-weeny scoop please! Steamed broccoli, sushi? ...yummy, yummy,yummy. Was I always like that? Not really.

As kids, my brother and I would love coming home with Baba from school. It was not something that happened often. But on days luck favoured us; the three of us would make a customary stop for an ice-cream treat. I always managed to finish my portion first while my brother would take his own sweet time to finish his. He would scoop out the ice cream lovingly in slow motion, devouring each molecule, teasing me, prolonging the agony of my by now ice cream-less existence. And now when Baba asks us whether we would like to have ice cream, both of us let out a vehement NO- you don’t want us to get fat, do you? He still likes to think of us as kids, even though both of us are much married with kids of our own.