The Shimla Affair – Chapter I

I hadn’t realized how close we were to our hostel. I looked at my watch, it was around 7:30 PM, but it felt like it was 11 already. The Shiv Temple which stood brightly shining in the morning sunlight looked a bit dull now. The only shops which seemed busy were the two liquor stores selling Desi Liquor. Kasumpti tends to be this way, much more humbler compared to the happenings at the mall. And even colder. Actually the hunger made me feel extremely cold.

I spotted a few eateries, a set of shady ones serving gas inducing pulses and cold flaky jalebis. I just entered one of them, followed sheepishly by my friend, who had been busy talking to a series of brain-dead girls since an hour, or so I assume.

A stout-looking, grumpily smiling aunty welcomed us and asked us to take a seat. The place was empty, and dimly lit, with walls having those smoky oil spots with flaky distemper,  a trait common across so many small-town eateries. The tables were dirty-white, enhancing the grimness of the place. The grimness was equally reflected on aunty’s face, wrinkled around the edges, but still carrying that rose-tainted Himachali charm.

I asked the clichéd question, “What’s there to eat?”, she came back with an equally clichéd response, “Dinner!!!”. I didn’t think much and asked her to layout dinner for two. My friend was still on phone, the hmms and long pauses quite indicative of his boredom. Talking on phone to girls has never been my thing. Never will be.

She cleaned the table using a dirty rag, then using the same one to clean our compartmentalized steel plates. These plates reminded me of the plates used in langar, or my favorite plate at home as a kid. I used my T-Shirt to give my plates another decent wipe. T-Shirt had a coating of cold sweat on it, but atleast it was my own sweat.

Kadhi Pakoda and Maa Ki Daal were served first, along with some stale-looking chopped-yesterday kind off onion and green chillies  I took a spoon and started sampling stuff, the daal was hot and fresh, and minimal usage of Garlic provided a confirmatory evidence of its freshness. Kadhi felt stale, like really stale, with a strong whiff of Hing (Asafoetida) in it.

I started looking around to kill time till the rotis arrived. There were pictures of gods and goddesses and few cut outs of Filmstars from the region’s favorite Punjab Kesari editions. There was huge blue drum next to an old creaky door, an off-color blue drum, the shades of the place giving it a rather Instagrammed feel.  Maybe it was used to store water. Maybe that’s where aunty stored this awful Kadhi, and recycled it for guests like us.

To add insult to injury, she got some Pakodas made in evening and popped them in the Kadhi served on our dishes, as if that would help? I reminded her about the rotis. She asked me to wait for couple of minutes.

I heard a slight creak of the door behind me, I felt someone entered the main eatery area and started walking towards us. I didn’t bother as all I had on my mind were the impending rotis. I felt a touch on my elbow, a touch of warmth on my cold elbow, a soft and special touch. I smelt a freshness in the air, it had replaced the Asafoetida smell, and all my tiredness had disappeared at that very moment. She stopped, I looked at her, and at that very moment things became exciting yet silent. The gaze of those rich brown eyes was superbly complemented with a sharp, rather pointy noise. Her complexion was clear, and the rosy Himachali sheen on her cheeks exuded freshness. Her faint green kurta and the deep blue head scarf just went so well with her beautiful face. That amazingly beautiful pahadi face.

She walked towards the stove and started rolling the dough. Her long slender fingers rolled the dough and then divided it precisely into separate balls. She started rolling the dough balls and lighted the stove. I saw a few small drops of sweat flowing down her cold white face. It was all so beautiful. I wish I could have been a painter and captured that moment.

The rolling seemed so seamless, and in a smooth action that dull off-white colored dough had transformed to a spotty white colored, hot air filled Roti. She piled on a 3-4 rotis in a basket and then dabbed a bit a of Ghee on it. The dab was accompanied with a smile, ghee does represent love in some way for sure. Aunty walked towards her probably to pick up the basket, but she shut the stove, picked the basket before aunty reached it and came towards our table. As I shamelessly watched her face, she served me  and my still talking-on-phone friend. How the hell can he miss this? In a way it was good that he was missing all this. I don’t think he could have appreciated it the way I did.

The rotis kept on coming, the boring kadhi developed a lovely flavor, daal felt like the one from the Golden Temple at Amritsar, it is strange how love, or the thought of it can completely change your life. Or at least the flavors in it.

Read part II here.