Cakes 8216;n8217; stuff

Revisiting a much-frequented marketplace of a city which one has left can be quite nostalgic an exercise. So it is with me in the Sector ...

Revisiting a much-frequented marketplace of a city which one has left can be quite nostalgic an exercise. So it is with me in the Sector 8 market at Chandigarh. Our house there was so close to the market that one could stand at the gate and shout out to Sanjay, the paan-shop wallah: 8220;Do thande bhej deo8221; send two cold drinks across. And if some guest arrived unexpectedly, a fine meal could be arranged by just slipping out of the back door and returning with barbecue chicken from Pick 8216;n8217; Move and dal makhani and tandoori roti from Om Vaishno Dhaba.

It was quite an interesting market with almost everything available in the complex from cloth to jewellery; stationery to shoes; groceries to cosmetics. Of course, everything a wee bit more expensive than the larger markets of say a Sector 19 or 22. For the Sector 8 market catered to the rather elite citizenry of the northern part of the city with its huge bungalows. So Thakur, the vegetable and fruit shop owner, made aprofitable business indeed. It was said he owned three houses in the city. Thakur prided himself on his high prices. 8220;Jaisa maal vaisi keemat8221; the quality of the wares is reflected in the prices.

Having lived by this market for some 15 years, returning to it occasionally now is quite a social visit. Thakur will make it a point to ask after my mother and then insist that I buy mousambi from him for her. 8220;Nowhere will you find them so full of juice,8221; he adds. Of course, the citric beauties cost twice as much than what they would in the mandi. The old rogue seems determined to add yet another house to his name in the City Beautiful. The STD booth wallah never fails to remind me that I was one big fool not to have sold my telephone to him when I left the place. The Kohinoor tailor avoids my eye. The nasty fight we had, when he stitched a suit which would have fitted me only if I had shed some 20 pounds, is still remembered.

This shopping centre grew rather slowly for thenorthern part of the city is somewhat thinly populated. But the emergence here of soup parlours in the eighties made it it quite an in8217; place. These parlours, besides selling chicken soup for body and soul, sold dear delights of the Punjabis: tandoori chicken, butter chicken, chicken masala et al. The nineties saw the coming up of cakes and puddings outlets. The Punjabi sweet tooth was seeking more than the traditional jalebi or gajar ka halwa. So the old and new happily co-existed here.

Reveling in the familiar buzz of the old aluminum electric churner and enjoying a glass of frothy lassi outside Om Dhaba, I was suddenly struck by something unfamiliar in the neighbourhood. Yes, the shop next door was all changed. It used to belong to the surly peethi wallah. Now peethi is a north Indian word for gram soaked overnight and ground finely. This is the stuff vadas and bhallas are made of. In the decade and half that we lived by this market, peethi wasput to optimum use. My mother could turn it into pakodis, gulgulas and even use it as stuffing for parathas.

But the shabby joint had disappeared and in its place was a fancy brown-and-beige shop called Cakes 8216;n8217; Stuff. I walked in and found the old owner8217;s son, now a well-dressed young man, proudly sitting amidst showcases full of chocolate truffle, meringue nuts, pineapple souffles, pizzas and stick-jaws. The old order seemed to have been revised for good. But then my eyes met something familiar below this menu displayed on the wall. It was a notice saying: 8220;All kinds of peethi available here.8221;