A leaf out of my memory book and cupcakes!

It was the summer of 1992 during my 8-week break before moving to the ninth grade. Since my family had suffered a traumatic loss just a couple years prior to the time frame that had driven us to despondency, my dad decided the time was ripe to splurge on a long-awaited vacation. The choice of places was easy - our beloved Delhi and my dad's personal favorite - Kanpur. I was more than thrilled because it was to be my first visit to Kanpur and I couldn't wait to get back to Delhi to meet all the familiar and much-loved faces of my childhood. The multitude of Uncles, Aunties, Bhaiyyas, Didis compounded with the friends I had from school, made it an impressive number of people to meet in the fifteen days we were going to spend there. The itinerary was all charted out and ready by the end of March and I could barely manage to stay composed during the austere annual exam season. Do you happen to remember the feeling that washes over you, the moment you finish penning down the answer to the very last question, on the very last day of the very last exam, in the very last half hour? You are so relieved that your mind almost forgets to nag you that you are pretty worried over how that History exam from two days ago is going to turn out. (History exams were my worst nightmares in those days, you see. I could never reconcile with the fact that you had to memorize and remember mundane details with precise timing of when they happened and what repercussions followed. In retrospect, I attribute that middle school paranoia to being taught by an intimidatingly stickler duo – Ms. S and Ms. F.) I had been subjected to a fairly big change very early in life when we moved from North India to South India. If you remember the India of the 80’s and 90’s, this was a huge deal; analogous to moving to a different country because everything changed overnight. Delhi – a swanky city I was immoderately fond of – was too hard to let go and it continued to haunt my dreams in a pleading way. So when my dad proposed this trip, I was jumping with joy thinking of the happy reunion with my favorite city after three long arduous years.

On the day of departure, I was dizzy with happiness with the only sad part being parting from my three little sweethearts – Revathi, Bharathi and Madhu aged 3, 3 and 6 respectively. The trio sisters and I literally lived under the same roof and regarded each other as 4 happy sisters. I could wax eloquent about the relationship I shared with their parents (R Uncle and G Auntie) but I should save that up for later. I will never know what it is like to have an Uncle of my own but I sure do know what it felt like to be treated as one of his own. G Auntie was more sibling-like and I adored her for everything she was. After hugs and kisses with R Uncle’s family, my dad and I reached Chennai Central. We were greeted by the characteristic unpleasant odors of the railway station that brought back a lot of memories from our tryst with the station in the 80’s. Nevertheless it was a heartwarming feeling in spite of spotting rats scuffling around near the tracks. We had a coupe sleeper to ourselves for a whole two days and two nights and no sooner had the engine tugged at the coaches, than I buried my nose in one of the bunch of books I had specially brought along for the long journey. Ah! Paradise found! Today, I would give anything to being able to do something like that – be a kid on a summer trip with no worries nagging at your mind that you can actually finish reading books in the peace and quiet of a train’s coupe compartment with its multifarious rocking motions, gently caressing you to sleep. After a panoramic journey punctuated with many picturesque sights, we alighted from the train on to the Kanpur Station when the night was still young. A minor glitch in the colossal travel system caused a mere couple hours of delay. But we were still living in the sans-mobile-phones era and little did we know that that would cause this glitch to mutate itself into a mini-volcano. Here’s how that came about.

My half-Punjabi cousins who meant to receive us, showed up much earlier than the train’s arrival and to their chagrin, got informed by the Information Desk that the train was running late by 4 or so hours. Hence when we arrived just a couple hours late, there was no familiar face that we caught a glimpse of. Well…they still had the PCOs (Public Call Office a.k.a payphone) at the station, right. All one had to do was tender some change into the device and make a call for rides. Off we went, in search of a PCO and soon managed to find one which was flanked by a seemingly odd bunch of four guys, hanging out together. We decided to wait up behind them but no, that was not meant to be. The man who was the biggest of all, wore a yellow silk shirt with black trousers and had sunglasses perched atop his head. A few beads of sweat glistened on his temples which had caked the excess talcum powder there, giving his face a white outline. My memory has faded a little but I will not be exaggerating if I added he had a red cloth tied like a scarf loosely around his neck which partially concealed a few heavy gold chains. The corner of his mouth was adorned with irregularly shaped tiny red blotches – marks left by red drool while chewing on paan (betel leaf). The other three guys fit the bill of stooges and looked like the sorts that wasted time piddling around at public places. My womanly instincts flared up the very instant the Yellow Shirt guy started giving us undue attention and I looked askance at him. My dad, I was sure, didn’t smell anything rotten but I had a funny feeling in my tummy. Anyway, this dubious chap greeted us cheerily and offered to help us out by getting us a cab. We declined his offer politely by stating all we had to do was to make the call. He not-so-lightly patted the back of one of the stooges’ heads and asked him to rush an order of soft drinks for us. We refused again but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. To paint an accurate picture, he was weaving the word “Sir-ji” a lot in his conversation as in --> Aap Bolo Sir-ji, Hum aapko taxi pakadvadeyngey sir-ji, Aap chinta math keejiye, sirji, Aap number bolo, hum mila key deyngey sir-ji. (Translation --> Do not worry my respected sir; we’ll get you on a cab in no time; I will dial the number for you, sire, just let me know the phone number.) The number was dialed and the message conveyed, which ensured the waiting cousins left for the station immediately after. As we sat making small talk with this shady bunch sipping our drinks in the waiting area, two things happened. 1- I felt a hand graze my back a couple times; the first time I was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt but the second time, my heart was in my mouth. 2 - We were attracting a lot of stares from the folks in the waiting area. The gang promised to bring us something more (dinner may be!?), for which they momentarily disappeared and lo behold, two families approached us and told us to get the hell out of the place. I distinctly remember what one good lady, clad in a crisp saree and big bindi with a perfect pedicure, had to say to my dad – In Kanpur, there is no paucity of Goondahs (crooks) in the current times; they target naïve tourists and you have a young daughter; so please take care and leave while you still can. If my dad had slight doubts lingering in his head after the first gentleman had warned him, he had none left, after the lady made her statement. Seizing the opportunity and praying that we lose them, my dad and I scurried away into the teeming masses of people gathered near the exit. I was praying we would miraculously melt away and within five minutes, we were in a cab, speeding towards the cousins’ place. Adrenaline rush is an understatement; it felt like a great escape, akin to the ones in the Hindi movies. My dad must have been deeply disturbed by the events that had transpired surely, because he never once brought this up with me again. The eventful night came to an end, with us being welcomed warmly by the friendly and lovable Lab Retriever at my Aunt’s. The poor cousins returned in due course after the second futile trip to the Station that night. As we were cozily huddled together with the family on the couch after being plied with delish hot parathas and subzi, the phone rang. Wondering aloud who it could be at that hour, my aunt answered the call. It scared the living daylights out of me when I heard the Yellow Shirt guy on the other end of the line asking for me!?! How in the world had he gotten the number? Of course he had memorized it, when he had fleetingly dialed the number, feigning concern for us. Oops! Butterflies fluttered around in the nooks and crannies of my anatomy. I was determined to not let the inner fear belie the stern note in my voice telling him to not call up again. The irksome calls would not stop for a couple days at which point, we enlisted the help of a specific someone to convey in a brusque way (read with the use of threatening/intimidating/curse jargon) to leave us alone. That did the trick…sure enough, the stalker did abandon us after that.

Contrary to the lousy manner in which the much awaited holiday had commenced, the rest of that trip went fairly well, interlaced (not particularly in that order) with - extended family reunions, sightseeing expeditions, Lucknow forts, shopping for Lucknowi Kurtas, Punjabi weddings, IIT Delhi Campus parties, childhood BFFs (Manjula and Preethi) meet-ups, primary school visit, authentic Delhi khaana and the likes. Today, many years later, whenever I reminisce about the days long gone, the Yellow Shirt guy unfailingly makes an appearance in the Kanpur Station scene playing out in my head. :o Interesting, it is, how certain people inadvertently end up getting locked in memories forever of some unlikely others.

As far as a recipe for this post goes, I wanted to write about some cupcakes I made for Vee’s birthday last year. Vee and Kzee (the new addition to the Blushing Basil household who turned two recently) chowed the entire batch down in less than two days. I followed the recipe for these Real Strawberry Cupcakes, verbatim from All Recipes here. The only change I made, was to reduce the pudding mix to 2 tbspns instead of 3 tbspns to give it less of an artificial flavor. The cupcakes turned out delightfully soft and very moist.

Frosted Real Strawberry Cupcakes

All right, signing off now! :)