A Slice OF Heaven

As I cruised down busy MG Road a tantalizing smell tempted me to slow down. The aroma of freshly baked bread and buns, mixed with the crisp early morning air, made me lose my senses and take a sharp left turn, --oblivious of the steady stream of traffic flowing by--- and stop in front of  an innocuous looking blue  painted, tile roofed, rickety double storied building. The Royal Bakery is an institution which has withstood the ravages of time. 

It sells the famous Milko-Vita Bread. Hand wrapped in custom designed orange and white butter paper. These delicious breads, which promise to last for 100 hours and keep one fit for hundred years- are priced at a nominal Re. 10. No true blue Puneites breakfast would be complete without a slice of this delicious milky bread.

This humble bakery is also home to such delights like the charming little glass cakes, the wine cake, a variety of biscuits and the super scrumptious plum cake.

This quaint little establishment could be easily missed, had it not been for its pea green facade and wooden shutters which roll back to reveal a very homely interior. An antique glass topped cabinet and glass fronted cupboard houses the precious delights. We were served by a bespectacled, kindly looking gentle man, even as the previous owners of this Parsee establishment looked down munificently from their high garlanded perch on the walls.

An open doorway over which a picture of Ahura Mazda hangs, afforded me a peek into the way this grand old lady functioned. Busy workers rolled out dough on a huge wooden table.

The various delectable items sold in this bakery were still baked in a huge wood fired oven. Workers scooped out trays of freshly baked golden cakes and buns from the oven with long wooden paddles. The grey stone floors were stacked high with trays of delectable goodies.

Outside the bakery loyal customers crowded around for a loaf of the nutritious Milko-Vita bread or a rich plum cake. A visit to Royal Bakery has become a way of life for many Puneites. 

RAMADAN MUBARAK

KALEIDOSCOPIC VIEW OF PUNE- PART3

These pictures were taken in and around Shivaji Market.

Horse Carriages

A HAUNTING

I lay in bed listening to the soft footfalls overhead. It was two in the morning. This was not the first time I had heard them. I was scared because I knew there was nobody upstairs. Yet the pacing continued. The unbroken tread of a tortured soul.

In 2000 we were desperately hunting for a house in Sharjah. In the short space of a month we had viewed many houses, both flats and villas. But not a single one appealed to us. Finally, we stumbled upon a tiny, dilapidated villa, in a quiet residential section of Sharjah. No high rises here, but only sprawling Arab style villas.

Hemmed in by two massive houses was this little forgotten place, straight out of a storybook. We settled for it.

About a hundred yards from our new home was a vast empty lot. Enclosed by a high wall it was covered with thorny desert brush. We later realized that it was an ancient graveyard.

The first couple of months were spent in a whirl of delightful activities - doing up our home, visiting the nearby beach, having alfresco meals on the terrace – but slowly a sense of foreboding crept into our otherwise happy home.

Initially it was the small insignificant things. But it was there, just enough to catch our attention. The pictures came crashing down from the walls, spoons fell off the tables of their own accord , vibrations were felt in the furniture and there was a strong sweet smell pervading the rooms in an overpowering manner.

Gradually the activity increased. We could now distinctly hear heavy breathing from a particular corner of the bedroom. The raspy, labored breathing was pronounced, when someone was alone in the room.

On several occasions our two cats were seen crouching at the foot of the stairs. They would intently watch the stairway, and follow with their eyes the progress of something unseen, making its way down. The moment their eyes leveled with the last step, their soft growls would be transformed into full throated screams, and their fur would stand on end.

We did not feel safe any longer in the house. One particular night there was an upsurge of activity. The footsteps grew louder and louder till the house seemed to fill with it. That night was spent with a friend

There was definitely some paranormal activity going on in the house. But during our stay, it never harmed us in any way. All that the spirit wanted was to let us know of its existence.

The moment we acknowledged its presence, our fear slowly vanished but the activity never really stopped.

Echoes from The Past

It was a cold November evening towards the end of Ramadan and we were strolling along the dew drenched lawns bounding the Al Buhaira Corniche in Sharjah. The whole place had been magically transformed with fairy lights and resembled a scene straight out of a children’s fairytale story.

Every year during Ramadan, Buhaira Corniche wore a festive air. After following a rigorous fasting regimen throughout the day, the faithful liked to break their fast and have their ‘Iftar’ meals on the lawns edging Buhaira Corniche. Towards evening just before the ‘Maghreb’ prayers whole families used to spill out of large SUV’s, unfurling reed mats out on the lawns and unpacking large baskets overflowing with food.

Soon lawn chairs and BBQ grills would to be set up along the spots which promised the best views of the fireworks display slotted for the night. After settling down on their little patch of lawn, the men would roll out their prayer mats and offer Maghreb prayers. The ladies meanwhile were busy laying out the Iftar meal. Children could be seen playing tag with each other, or roller skating along the cement pathways next to the lawns.

Soon the lone thread of a muezzins call for prayer could be heard above the general din. This was soon followed by a chorus of prayer calls from the surrounding mosques. Once the Maghreb prayers were completed the fast was broken with a couple of dates. This was followed by watermelon juice after which people tucked into a sumptuous feast replete with mezzeh, hareez, rice and meat dishes and sweets like baklawa and kunafa.

After their Iftar meals people could be seen milling around gaily decorated ice cream vans parked at regular intervals throughout the Corniche. Walking under the date palms festooned with green and blue fairy light people would stop by cloth tents selling jewelry, knick knacks and toys. Balloon sellers dotted the lawns with their vivid helium balloons.

Finally a spectacular fireworks display lit up the heavens and marked the end of another wonderful evening spent on the Corniche lawns enjoying an Iftar meal with our global family.

Pic Courtesy : Gulf News / aus.edu

Pataleshwar - The Cave Temple

The Entrance Door












Pataleshwar Temple














Nandi Bull

Inside The Cave Temple

A WHIFF OF NOSTALGIA

One day, walking down the road, I was suddenly stopped in my tracks by a heavenly scent that teased my olfactory senses and opened the floodgates of memory. A few quick gulps of that sweet; scent laden air, and I continued my journey with a swirl of bittersweet memories floating in my head.

I remember the exact moment when my love affair with perfumes began. I was 4 years old and starting school. A burbling mass of misery, I suffered from a case of severe separation anxiety. To calm myself down and be reassured, that we would meet again in a few hours time, my mother sprayed a bit of her favorite Elizabeth Arden Blue Grass perfume on my tiny hanky. I spent that first day in school; my eyes screwed tightly shut and taking little sniffs of that reassuring smell, visualizing my mother sitting next to me. Soon this became a ritual. If there was no perfume on my hankie, then going to school was out of the question.

During my growing up years, I would often surreptitiously raid my mother’s cupboard for a spritz of her cherished Christian Dior, Poison perfume. I loved admiring the purple color of the bottle and inhaling deeply; the fruit, flower and spice mixture of the scent. Along with it, those stolen moments of wearing my mom’s makeup, high heels and perfume made me feel all grown up.

My signature perfume in college was a Lancome perfume called Oui Oui. A present from my dad, my personal preference was to wear this perfume strong. Although I was enveloped in a heavenly cloud of honeysuckle it invariably gave me a massive headache each morning, sitting in the close confines of the car on my way to college.

Two of my personal favorites in men’s perfume were Farenheit by CD and Monsieur Balmain. I loved the clean citrus notes of the latter. Over time my perfume collection has slowly increased. From a Fendi to a FCUK to a Van Cleef and Arpels………………….. But the one perfume that I will always treasure was the one that my best friend gave me as a parting gift an L'air Du Temps Perfume by Nina Ricci.

Memories fade but certain scents remain embedded in our minds. The scent of nostalgia is strong, pure and beautiful.