My trips to Belgaum as a kid are vague memories, but there are some things I will never forget.
My grandfather, sitting in his favourite armchair in the living room, speaking into not one but two rotary-dial telephone receivers. To an awe-struck child, he looked like the busiest man on Earth. But as I would walk in through the door, his bushy eyebrows (which I have unfortunately inherited) would rise and wiggle as he crack a smile. Never mind that he was more often than not yelling out instructions in a stream of Marathi to whichever poor souls happened to be on the other end(s) of the phone(s)
His attire was always the same — safari suits. And I knew that when I reached into the front pocket of his safari suit, there would always be a green-and-gold or red-and-gold chocolate bar waiting there for me.
Yesterday, as stood in the 6-person long queue at Food World, I looked to my right at the aisle that stocked chocolates. And there, looking suspiciously like a famous American brand of chocolate, lay a slab with a familiar name. I bought it, out of curiosity, and you know what?
It tastes just the same, all these years later.
I’m thinking of you and Papa today, Ajjoba. And I know that you’ll are probably arguing, as always!