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Tuesday, December 10, 2013

What is your taste of winter?

For me, it tastes like spicy Pudina and muted Paalak. 

The winter has finally (FINALLY) started in Mumbai. In a la Ratatouille scene, the first chilly wind that hit my face immediately transported me back by 23 years, to a December morning in Delhi. The chills had just set in then, and my sister and I wanted to soak in the heat (Sigh!The Sardi ki Dhoop). So, we had set up two chairs in our terrace and encapsulated it in a huge bed-sheet to form a tent. We had settled in and were reading our comics, when our mother came in with the lunch: Pudina Thuvaiyal (Chutney) and Paalak kootu (Daal).  
I can still recall the steamy combination and the exact taste of the lunch – and the memory is crystal clear everytime the winter sets in. None of us would have foreseen that more than the big things, the smaller events would remain indelible in our minds; that without warning, we would get hit strongly by a wave of nostalgia so unexpected in its vividness that it would require a literal stopping in tracks and a moment of appreciation! My most significantly insignificant memories include- 

  • The keerai koottu; 
  • Paati telling the story of Ahalya while giving us lunch;
  • The tasty (and as yet, unbeatable) Delhi’s shani bazaar’s chole bhature, and the accompanying carrot pickle; 
  • The first scooty accident with sister, while I was having ice-cream; 
  • The first trip to Chills-Thrills-Frills and having a thick shake with sister;
  • Eating Mumbai Masala Sandwich with sister for the first time at Egmore;
  • Having Spring rolls with Suba at Raahat Plaza;
  • Seeing the completed Katipara junction from an Airplane; 
  • The first ice-cream outing with the person I eventually ended up marrying; 
  • The first view of Mumbai; 
  • The first time my son (and niece for that matter) came running to give a hug; 
  • and the first time he finished his lunch and said “Amma? Nalla irundhudhu” (It was good.). 
I wonder if I am creating an equal amount of good big and small memories for my son – the kind that would hit him 23 years later, tug his heart, and make him smile wistfully like nothing else can.