The city I used to call "home" is now a resident in my mind. It´s not easy to forget the first time I walked as a mere toddler on the endless stretch called Marine Drive holding my father´s hand or the evenings spent on Worli seaface wondering where my life was going as I stared at the waves crashing against the wall.
Why, the smell that still tantalises me is the fragrance of corn being fried on coal, mixed with the salty, humid smell of the sea. This fragrance lingers on in my mind unlike any perfume I have ever purchased.
The next few posts are going to be about remembering the haunts that once captivated me. The jewels in the crown that shall in my mind, always be the best ones.
1. Wayside Inn:
The first time that I ever tasted mutton cutlets was when I was about 5 years old. I remember being carried into this homely, European styled cafe that had round tables and chequered table clothes in red and white. My dad was carrying me while my mother intently studied the menu card. I remember a distinguished old gentleman taking our order as we sat at a corner table. My bother, two years more quieter than me dug into his plate right away while my father was debating where he should place me while he relished his meal. My mom was already way ahead. She was relishing the gravy that seeped out of the cutlets every time that she dug her spoon in. My father finally placed me on his lap so that I could also admire the contents as his fork made contact with the cutlets. I still remember how close I was to his plate. Just inches away from the rim. Suddenly, I found the fork coming towards me and a morsel entering my ignorant mouth.
I remember the mix of flavours that greeted me. I remember licking my lips and looking up at him with glee. I ate my full cutlet that day. I will never forget the day, the time or the server. His eyes crinkled as he saw yet another young girl being introduced to the legendary mutton cutlets they proudly served their customers daily.
Wayside Inn sadly doesn´t have a cafe anymore. They do have a carry-home service operating out of the same place but it feels different now. There are no chequered table cloths, the whirring of the overhead fans or kind servers who offer you delicious custard. I can´t help but feel sorry for the next generation. They will never get to understand what it feels like to be seated on a beautiful old wooden chair in this quaint cafe with the overhead fan whirring away the afternoon heat as you savour a mutton cutlet.
