tales of Suchita

For as long as I can remember, food has been my lifeline. It’s been a source of comfort and joy. Nothing lights me up from the inside like when I am thinking, talking or eating food. Not surprisingly, I am surrounded by people who share my love for food.

Thanks to papa’s transferable job, I have lived in many different cities in India. As a writer, the cities I have lived in or travel to become raw materials for my projects. I am fascinated with how things are constructed and pay special attention to the landscapes, geography, roads, lanes, people, etc. I carry memories of them with me and they randomly resurface when I’m writing something.

As a food lover though, almost every place has a distinct food memory for me. Like Bangalore is not so much about the city, its pubs, its traffic or its random distances. But it is about the rava idli and chutney a friend painstakingly made from scratch when we had gone to visit. It is about all the meals a cousin has cooked as her way of showing her love.

It is about a friend’s husband giving specific instructions to their cook so the matar paneer comes exactly right for the friends who would be visiting. It’s also about my friends trying to turn me into a Magnolia Bakery’s patron. Sadly, I remain unconvinced. Maybe I need to try out more of their menu?

Dehradun has so, so many memories. It’s where I grew up, found my friends and my love for literature and writing. But one thing always stands out – litchi ke ped. The house we used to live in had litchi ke ped in the vicinity and every year, during the season, papa would get a bunch right from the trees.

Now, every time I see litchi in Bombay, I remember Dehradun, and that time in 2017 when we visited to attend a friend’s wedding. How we sat in her parent’s hotel room, with newspapers and a bunch of litchis.

I will not talk about Ellora’s or Kumar ki falooda kulfi or President Hotel that served the best butter chicken and dal makhni. I will also not talk about the first McDonald’s that opened in Astley Hall and the way we went crazy over this small sign of civilization. 

I will always associate Shiv Sagar ki pav bhaji, chaat and Natural’s ki malai ice cream with Bombay. This was back in the 90s when we would visit during school holidays. Nana would take us to bandstand for some rides and then would treat us to either ice cream or some paan.

Nani used to live in Bandra (near Mount Merry Church) and we used to get this chaat waale uncle who would make the best sev puri with kachi keri. Bombay sandwich, vada pav, Energee ka elaichi doodh…uff Bombay isn’t just about food but about childhood as well.

I spent 9 months in Singapore – I find that number hilarious and joke that it was like a rebirth for me since I was living alone in the city, studying and also trying to be a less serious 23-year-old.

Around May, I was horrified that I may not get to eat the year’s alphonso mangoes. I went on a scouring spree of Little India, looking for mangoes. I still don’t know what breed, brand, genre of mango I found but they were delicious and I was happy.

This was also the time when I roomed with an 18-year-old who took it upon herself to take this recluse outside of her dorm room. She introduced me to the most amazing red velvet cake, glazed donut, lemon tart and toffee pudding. Yeah, I still remember what I ate. There were many more adventures with her but I’ll never forget how she made me take a bath (the horror) on a Sunday evening so we could go for a toffee pudding in Clarke Quay.

Ma ke haath ke khaane ki baat agar ki maine toh this blog post will never end. Suffice it to say, I once met a graphologist who looked at my handwriting and told me my mother was an excellent cook.

There are so many more memories I missed talking about. The chana bhatura and besan barfee from my school’s mess in Baroda. Shama ki Chaat from Moradabad, a favourite childhood haunt. But I also acknowledge I cannot possibly talk about everything.

All I can say, I find parts of myself through these memories. It’s like a bridge that connects a past self to a current self and in those moments, everything feels alive with sweet anticipation. And good food. Always.

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Written as part of #BlogchatterFoodFest.

Header Photo by Anna Guerrero