Dolly Koghar reminds us to never hesistate to grab a given opportunity.
Well, the June Musings, as were the earlier April and May entries, are yet again based in the pulsating Delhi, which we’d not visited for quite a while. Also, putting up at hubby dear’s friends’ place proved pretty feasible to extend or stay there, but with no specific agenda or purpose, we spent our time pampering ourselves with head and feet massages.
Nevertheless, being a true-blue Punju foodie, hubby dear harboured a keen determination to revisit for ‘old times’ sake, the food joints we’d eaten, at some 40 years or so ago; the tastes of which he still savoured with the locations deeply embedded in his brain’s GPS. This is the same man who normally can’t remember anything.
The hunt started with locating a hole-in-the-wall Chinese joint in the labyrinths of Khan Market, a place we necessarily visited on our occasional trips during our Kobe years for the only TRIUMP store in the city, in the pre-mall era. It ended with a disastrous meal at a different hole-in-the-wall Chinese joint that locals swore by.
But hubby dear wasn’t one to relent, looking for the place whose name we couldn’t even remember. Subsequently, we were back at Khan Market the very next day. Then, under Delhi’s scorching, desert-dry 38 degrees Celsius noon sun, we weaved in and out of lanes and by lanes any shop keeper pointed out; this without the indispensable water bottle that I’d forgotten in the car. Hubby dear, normally a take-it-easy person and considerably slower after last year’s multiple heart issues, walked ahead with an agility and speed I haven’t seen since he was 40.
Finally, a toy shop we’d stepped into to purchase a chess set for my grandson, but moreover, for a respite from the unbearable heat, offered a promising lead. After which, hubby dear literally ran ahead of me, only to find that it had closed down, permanently.
Most things change, but some remain frozen in time; the spectacles shop, where hubby dear bought his one-and-only Ray-Ban shades, still in its original case, stood where it did. Incidentally, Kwality in Connaught Place still serves the best bhatura chana and paneer tikka.
We were sorely disappointed, tired, hot and hungry by the time we reunited with the driver and the water bottle. It was well past our 12-12.30 lunc hour, so without any second thought, we took up the driver’s suggestion for the nearest eatery in the basement of the Chanakya Mall; a small, two-story, super high-end mall.
The prices on the menu of Chinese Royal were eye-popping, but our growling stomachs couldn’t wait and so, we ordered mapo tofu and fried rice and didn’t resist adding on a soup, since Chinese veg soups are hard to come by in Bangkok, and in India, one can request for soups to be divided into two. The food was a let-down from the more authentic around-the-block Indian-Chinese joints. Nonetheless, we literally picked off the last grain of rice.
Lunch done, we’re waiting in the lobby for the car, and on this day, the 3rd of March at precisely 2.47 pm, who do we see walk into Chanakya Mall, but Karan Johar. I hesitated for a moment, but then my quick thinking kicked in. This was a photo-op too rare to miss. I quickly mentally scanned myself and decided that just this once, I was dressed pretty OK; I was also feeling like a million bucks after the morning’s expensive facial. I threw caution to the wind and reverted to a star-struck teenager.
I quickly whipped out my lipstick from my horrible sling-bag, after which I dumped it onto my poor husband, who was still wondering what on earth was going on, while I dashed off after K-Jo into Hermès, shouting, “Mr. Johar, I’m your fan from Bangkok.” He was aloof, but obliged for a photo with me; but this wasn’t before the granny in me took over and I blurted out, “Are you well, you’ve lost so much weight!” Sigh.