Matcha, Meat Market & A Teenage Curfew

 

By now, if you've been reading my blogs, you'll have realised that Cafe De Lema is right up there on our favourite café list. So when my wife's friend Gudya came calling and said she wasn't really in the mood for a restaurant and would much rather do a café and something light for dinner, the decision was almost made for us.

Cafe De Lema it was!

She had already been out for lunch at Sienna Cafe, so a relaxed café dinner was perfect. And, as usual, once we settled in, the orders almost placed themselves.

You guessed right.

Matcha for my wife. Lotus Biscoff Shake for me. Cold Brew for Gudya.

And then came the food — French Fries, a Meat Market Pizza, Chicken Wings with Buffalo Sauce and a Cannelloni which, I have to say, they do perfectly. So much for "something light"! But then again, when have we ever been particularly good at keeping dinner light?

Of course, one round of drinks wasn't going to be enough.

My wife went for a Strawberry Matcha this time, while I switched gears completely and ordered a Vietnamese Iced Coffee. Because apparently, one can never have too many coffees in an evening!

After dinner, we did something that we had somehow stopped doing a while ago. I have absolutely no idea why. So, I insisted.

We stood outside the café and took a selfie together.

Nothing fancy. Nothing particularly significant. Just the three of us standing outside, smiling at the camera. But sometimes it's these little things that you realise you've stopped doing without even noticing.

And then, because the evening wasn't quite over yet, we took Gudya to Bonne Creme, which is just around the corner. This was meant to be a little surprise for her.

And surprise her it did!

She was pleasantly taken aback by the place and, more importantly, by the rather tempting selection of ice creams. Naturally, there was no way we were simply going to look at them. We each picked one and, with that final dose of dessert, we were officially done for the evening.

Or so we thought.

On the drive back, Gudya's mother called.

And suddenly, Gudya was transported back to her teenage years!

We couldn't stop laughing as she told us what was going on. She had forgotten to take her house keys with her, and her mother and the maid were actually staying awake waiting to open the door for her.

It brought back memories of those days when we'd stay out practically the entire night and our parents would be sitting at home wondering when we'd finally return.

Except this time, it wasn't some wild night out.

It was just café dinner, ice cream and a selfie.

Apparently, adulthood doesn't necessarily mean you've outgrown getting a phone call from your mother asking when you're coming home!

And just like that, another perfectly ordinary evening became one worth remembering.

Jashn-e-Masti: Because Life Needs a Little Music

 

We got invited to an evening of music at the SRFTI Auditorium and, to be honest, the first thing that intrigued us wasn't even the music!

Having lived practically across the road from the Satyajit Ray Film & Television Institute for years, we had somehow never set foot inside the campus. In fact, we didn't even know that their auditoriums could be rented out by outsiders. I guess it's a rather sensible way for the institute to generate some revenue towards its upkeep. Whatever the reason, it finally gave us an excuse to cross the road and discover what had been sitting right under our noses all these years.

The evening was called Jashn-e-Masti, organised by Roof Stage — an organisation of amateur singers who, like many of us, probably grew up singing into imaginary microphones and dreaming of one day performing on a real stage.

And this was their stage.

The audience was largely made up of family, friends and acquaintances who had come together simply for the love of music and, I suspect, to cheer loudly for someone they knew on stage. There is something wonderfully infectious about amateur performers. There may not be the polish of a professional concert, but there is plenty of enthusiasm, passion and that unmistakable feeling of “I can't believe I'm actually doing this!”

The show was scheduled to begin at 6 PM.

It eventually got underway a little after 6:30.

Indian Standard Time.

Some things, apparently, remain beautifully consistent wherever you are!

Once it started, however, the wait was quickly forgotten. What followed was a three-hour extravaganza of classic Hindi music, taking us on a nostalgic journey through some of the finest voices and songs from the golden era. Kishore Kumar, Lata Mangeshkar, Manna Dey, Asha Bhosle and many more found their way onto the stage.

For three hours, the auditorium was filled with songs that many of us had grown up listening to — the kind of music that doesn't really need an introduction. One song would bring back a memory, another would have people quietly singing along, and before you knew it, you were transported to another time.

Holding the whole evening together was the brilliant host, Gulshan Nadeem, who managed to keep the audience engaged throughout. His easy interaction with the crowd added plenty of energy between the performances, and he wasn't content with merely introducing the singers.

He surprised everyone by stepping onto the stage himself and performing a song!

Clearly, this was one evening where the MC wasn't going to let the singers have all the fun.

Three hours later, the show finally came to an end. By then, it was considerably past my normal dinner time and my stomach was beginning to remind me that music, however soulful, unfortunately isn't edible.

Thankfully, we didn't have to go very far.

We stepped out, walked over to Tandoor Park, which is right next to our place, and picked up a couple of Egg Chicken Rolls.

And just like that, the perfect Kolkata evening came to an end — three hours of Kishore, Lata, Manna Dey and Asha Bhosle, followed by an Egg Chicken Roll.

Music for the soul. Rolls for the stomach.

A pretty good evening, if you ask me.

And of Course, There Had to Be Coffee!

 

Now, if you've been reading my blogs, you have probably realised by now that a Saturday outing — especially one involving food — is never really complete without Coffee.

And sure enough, the moment we got back into the car after our Pizza lunch, my wife announced that she wanted to try out this new coffee place she had discovered. It wasn't very far away and, as luck would have it, it was on our way back home anyway.

Well, there really wasn't much to discuss.

The name went into Google Maps and off we went.

The place is just around the corner from one of our favourite restaurants, Cafe De Lema. In fact, I have often thought that the Lake Terrace–Purna Das Road stretch could quite easily become Kolkata's very own Cafe District.

There are enough cafés popping up in the area to make it a perfect walking neighbourhood — wander around, stop at one café for coffee, another for dessert, perhaps another for a quick bite and, if you're sufficiently motivated, repeat the exercise.

I rather like the idea.

Anyway, we soon found ourselves outside Aura Coffee.

The first thing that caught my attention was the signage outside. Simple, stylish and quite unlike the usual coffee-shop clutter. And once inside, the place lived up to its name.

There really was an aura.

It is tiny, but has that wonderfully understated feel of a little coffee shop you might stumble upon on a side street somewhere in London. Nothing pretentious, nothing overdone. Just a small, thoughtfully designed space that gets the essentials right.

Even the menu caught my attention.

Tight. Neat. Limited.

I love menus like these.

There is something reassuring about a place that doesn't feel the need to serve you 47 different things just because it has a kitchen.

In my experience, when a restaurant or café has a small menu, there is a good chance that they actually care about what they put on it.

And Aura Coffee certainly seemed to prove the point.

I ordered their Aura Cloud Latte, while my wife, predictably, went straight for the Kyoto Strawberry Matcha.

Yes.

Matcha.

My wife has developed an uncanny ability to detect Matcha from several kilometres away. Put her anywhere in Kolkata and tell her there is a new café, and within minutes she'll know whether they serve Matcha.

I'm beginning to suspect she has a Matcha radar.

The drinks were excellent. My Cloud Latte was beautifully done, while her Strawberry Matcha seemed to meet the very high standards of the resident Matcha Inspector.

What impressed me even more, though, was the young boy managing the café.

He was handling the entire place by himself, yet everything seemed to be running like clockwork. Efficient, hospitable and professional, he managed the orders, the coffee and the customers without making it look like he was juggling half a dozen things at once.

That's not always easy to do.

And then there is the logo.

The Aura Coffee logo features a Husky — apparently because one of the partners has one.

And, as I discovered, the same partner is also into Nike shoes.

So there you have it.

A Husky.

Nike.

Coffee.

Good design.

Great taste.

That's the Aura!

By now, you can probably guess that we left rather pleased with our little coffee stop.

What started as a simple Saturday lunch outing had turned into a Pizza followed by Coffee, with a little Italian flavour followed by a touch of London street-café charm.

And honestly, what more does one need from a Saturday afternoon?

So, if you're around Lake Terrace or Purna Das Road and looking for some good coffee in a tiny little café with plenty of character, Aura Coffee is definitely worth a visit.

Just remember — if you're going with my wife, check the Matcha availability first.

Apparently, that's the more important question.

Pizza, Rain & a Slice of Italy

How does a week disappear so quickly? One minute it is Monday and you are wondering how you are going to survive the week, and the next thing you know, it is Saturday noon and you are wondering how you are going to survive making lunch.

We were feeling particularly lazy that Saturday and the thought of entering the kitchen, deciding what to cook, actually cooking it and then, worst of all, cleaning up afterwards, seemed like far too much of an undertaking.

My wife, therefore, came up with the perfect solution.

“Fancy Pizza for lunch?”

Now, I may deliberate over many things in life, but when presented with a cuisine, I know better than to disagree.

So we put the name of the restaurant into Google Maps and off we went.

As we were climbing Sukanta Setu, just before the bend, we noticed a bunch of bikers who had pulled over to the side. Some were busy putting on raincoats. As we got closer, we could see that the road ahead was wet and there were raindrops falling.

Clearly, these gentlemen had seen what was coming.

We, however, decided to exercise the superior judgement afforded to people sitting inside an air-conditioned car and drove straight past them.

Barely 200 feet later, we reached the top of the curve.

Completely dry.

Not a drop.

As we descended, I looked into the rear-view mirror and saw three of the bikers riding along, laughing and chatting with each other. They had obviously decided to brave the weather and take their chances.

And, at that moment, it appeared they had won.

Unfortunately for them, their victory celebration was somewhat premature.

We reached the T-junction and stopped at the traffic signal. The same bikers came weaving through the traffic and made their way to the front.

And then...

The heavens opened.

Properly.

The poor fellows were now sitting there, exposed to the elements, with nowhere to go until the signal changed. I watched them from the comfort of my car as they waited patiently for the green light, presumably wondering why they had been so optimistic just a few minutes earlier.

When the light finally changed, they disappeared in search of shelter.

Karma, apparently, travels on two wheels.

The rest of the drive was thankfully uneventful and we soon reached the restaurant.

Outside was a rather portly gentleman in a T-shirt and shorts, hurriedly smoking a cigarette. As I began parking the car, he spotted us and immediately dashed inside.

I thought nothing of it.

Until I saw the same gentleman a few moments later behind the counter, shovelling a Pizza into the Dome Woodfire Oven.

Ah! The Chef.

That explained the urgency.

The restaurant, Olio & Sale, is run by a Bengali lady married to an Italian Chef, and the Italian influence is evident as soon as you walk in. The interiors have a lovely Mediterranean feel, with blue walls and white highlights giving the place a distinctly European character.

And, thanks to the rain, there was another bonus.

Apart from one occupied table, we had the restaurant pretty much to ourselves.

We settled down and called one of the boys over to take our order.

We were surprised to find that Pork wasn't actually on the menu. When we asked about it, we were told that although it wasn't listed, they did make it.

Well, that was hardly a problem.

So we ordered a Ham & Pepperoni Pizza and a Burrata.

The drinks weren't on the menu either because they were apparently still deciding what they were finally going to keep.

Clearly, we had arrived during the restaurant's “menu under construction” phase.

There were some bottled drinks available, but I went for a Mint Mojito while my wife ordered a Spiced Grapefruit Tonic Water, which she loves.

I, on the other hand, have never understood Tonic Water.

It tastes like someone took perfectly good water and decided it needed to be punished.

The Pizza arrived in a jiffy, followed shortly afterwards by the Burrata.

We were pleasantly surprised by the speed of service.

I picked up a quarter slice of the Pizza, folded it and took a bite.

And there it was.

A little slice of Italy.

The Pizza had that lovely wood-fired character and was absolutely delicious.

The Burrata wasn't far behind. Served with Andalusian Gazpacho and cherry tomatoes, along with Garlic Bread, it was fresh, creamy and beautifully put together.

For once, I genuinely couldn't decide which I liked more.

The Burrata was superb.

The Pizza was superb.

It was going to be a difficult decision.

Fortunately, my wife solved the problem by allowing me one slice of her Pizza.

And that one slice was enough.

Pizza won.

By exactly one slice.

As we were finishing, the restaurant was beginning to fill up. We were offered dessert and, much like the drinks, we were told that the dessert menu was also still being finalised.

At this rate, I was beginning to wonder if we were eating at a restaurant or attending a focus group.

Still, when they mentioned Tiramisu, there was no further discussion.

The Tiramisu arrived in a little box with a couple of spoons. We had a few mouthfuls and, unable to finish it, packed the rest to take home.

And that was our lazy Saturday lunch.

No cooking.

No washing up.

A rainstorm that caught a few overconfident bikers by surprise.

A portly Italian Chef disappearing into his kitchen with a Pizza.

A restaurant with half its menu still being “finalised”.

And, finally, a rather delicious little taste of Italy in Kolkata.

Sometimes the best lunches are the ones you never intended to cook.

A Late Lunch, A Strong Beer & A Little Old Calcutta Charm at Chung Wah

After spending the morning cleaning the house, it was way past our usual lunchtime when we finally decided that enough was enough. There was no way we were going to cook now. A late lunch somewhere outside was definitely the better option.

Usually, we would pick a place close to home, but being a Sunday, I decided it was time to head right into the heart of the city and visit one of our favourite Chinese restaurants—Chung Wah on Central Avenue.

I knew that at this late hour on a Sunday, parking wouldn't be an issue. There should be a spot right outside Chung Wah, and sure enough, that was the plan.

After a quick bath, we were ready to go. But not before I plugged my phone into the car and got Google Maps running on the screen.

Now, I know I can drive to Chung Wah with my eyes closed. I've been going there long enough. But after finally getting the navigation working on the car screen, I simply had to show my wife. Six years of wanting to do this and I was going to enjoy my little moment of accomplishment!

My wife promptly muted the navigation voice.

"No, no, I want the voice on," I protested.

She switched it back on and soon we had that familiar voice telling us exactly where we were going—even though we both knew perfectly well where we were going.

Off we went.

At Esplanade, we got stuck behind a bus at the signal, which actually turned out to be a blessing. It gave me a good long look at the recently renovated and freshly painted Esplanade Mansion. The building looked absolutely majestic in its new coat of white. I even managed to get a photograph of it from the car window before the signal finally turned green.

A right, a left, a few pedestrians to dodge and soon we were approaching the Chandi Chowk Metro exit. I pulled up and parked the car right there.

Chung Wah was almost deserted when we walked in.

Perfect!

We settled into one of those familiar cubicles with the curtain. As soon as we sat down, my wife and I did what we always seem to do in these little cubicles—we cleared the table. Glasses, water jug, cutlery, napkin holder and the three-pot sauce holder were all neatly pushed to one side against the wall.

Just then, the curtain parted.

A waiter's head appeared, followed by the rest of him as he reached for the menu from its holder near the entrance. He placed it on the table and then proceeded to put all the things we'd just moved back exactly where they had been.

"We don't need it," we told him. "We know what we want."

I asked for a Kingfisher.

"No Kingfisher. Tuborg."

Fine. Tuborg it was.

"Coke?"

"No Coke. Thums Up."

Fine again. Thums Up it was.

And then came the important part—a Mixed Non-Veg Noodle Soup.

"It has pork."

"Yes. That's okay. We eat everything!"

The rest of the order could wait.

The beer and Thums Up arrived almost immediately. The bottle was opened with a flourish, poured into my mug and I got down to the serious business of enjoying a chilled beer on a late Sunday afternoon.

My wife sipped her Thums Up.

Then came the Chanachur.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is one of the reasons I love old-school Calcutta restaurants.

That little bowl of chanachur—hot grams and all—arriving with your drinks is pure old-world Calcutta charm. And the problem with chanachur is that your fingers simply don't know when to stop. You keep reaching into the bowl, one handful after another, and before you know it, it's gone.

While we enjoyed our drinks and chanachur, we couldn't help overhearing the gentleman in the next cubicle.

He was an elderly gentleman, extremely animated, and apparently had a lot to say. His conversation with the lady sitting with him was hilarious enough, but every now and then his telephone would ring and the entire restaurant would get another instalment of his very loud and entertaining telephone conversations.

Frankly, we were getting our lunch and a free show.

Then the soup arrived.

And so did the Chilli Chicken.

It was around this point that I realised something wasn't quite right.

I picked up the beer bottle and looked at it properly.

Tuborg Strong.

Ah.

That explained the slightly sweetish taste.

And the buzz.

I'm a light-beer drinker, so this Strong business was already making its presence felt.

But by then it was too late.

I was committed.

The waiter appeared and replenished the chanachur! Perfect.

The soup and Chilli Chicken were excellent, and as the afternoon progressed, I could feel my own conversations becoming a little more animated. Perhaps the Tuborg was doing its job.

Perhaps the gentleman in the next cubicle was contagious.

Either way, I was seriously tempted to walk over and introduce myself to the man who had been providing us with such excellent entertainment.

But I resisted.

Eventually, we finished our soup and Chilli Chicken and looked at each other.

We were full.

There was absolutely no way we were going home and cooking dinner.

So, naturally, we ordered dinner.

A Special Mixed Fried Rice, Hakka Chowmein, Chilli Pork Dry and Chicken Liver Dry—all packed to take home.

Problem solved.

As we paid the bill, the couple from the next cubicle were also leaving. I couldn't resist one last attempt to see the man whose voice had been such an integral part of our afternoon.

I popped my head out of the cubicle just in time to catch a glimpse of him and the lady as they walked out of Chung Wah.

Mission accomplished!

Our packed food took a little while to arrive, but eventually it did, and we walked out of Chung Wah completely satisfied.

It had been worth coming all the way across town for a late lunch.

We got into the car, took the turn at the signal and headed straight into Westside, right across the road from Chung Wah. Their newest Kolkata store is housed in the erstwhile Statesman House and, as I understand it, is possibly their biggest store in the city.

A little shopping later, my wife took over the driving duties and we headed home.

A Sunday that had started with cleaning the house had somehow turned into a drive across Kolkata, a nostalgic Chinese lunch, chanachur, an unexpectedly strong beer, a mystery gentleman providing live entertainment, takeaway dinner and some shopping.

Not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon at all. 

A New Screen, A Crazy Bus & One Very Curious Drive

 

For the past six years, I’ve been meaning to do something about getting Google Maps navigation onto the screen of our car. Six years! And for one reason or another, I just never got around to it.

Today, as I got into the car, I finally decided enough was enough. Five to seven minutes of connecting my phone, downloading a couple of apps and—voilà!—our Wagon R now has Maruti Suzuki SmartPlay working on its infotainment system. Suddenly, I feel like I’m going to get a whole lot more out of a system that has been sitting there all these years!

With my newly upgraded navigation setup, I headed out to Dum Dum Park, which is pretty much on the other side of town from us. As I got onto the E.M. Bypass, I spotted an absolutely amazing bus. I caught up with it at the next signal and managed to click a few photographs from behind. Then I tried getting some shots while driving alongside it.

Near Ruby, I finally overtook it—and that's when I got a glimpse of what the front looked like in my rear-view mirror.

I was tempted.

I seriously considered gaining some distance, pulling over and waiting for the bus to catch up so I could get a proper frontal photograph. But the traffic was heavy, I was already running late, and common sense eventually won. I gave up and continued on my way.

When I got home, I showed the photographs to my wife. She couldn't believe what she was looking at. And when I described the front of the bus, she immediately reached for her phone, convinced that something this bizarre must have already made its way onto some content creator's YouTube channel.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, she was sharing a YouTube video with me!

So, apparently, I wasn't the first person to be fascinated by this crazy-looking bus. 😄

I'm sharing the video here too, because sometimes you come across things on Kolkata's roads that are so bizarre, you simply have to see them to believe them.

And yes, I really wish I had stopped to get that front-facing photograph!

The Last Salute: A Love Letter to a Legend

Having binge-watched Operation Safed Sagar, there was absolutely no way I was going to miss The Last Salute – A Love Letter to MiG-21 on Netflix.

The documentary is a fitting culmination of the 62-year legacy of the MiG-21, the Indian Air Force’s first supersonic fighter, as this legendary aircraft is finally bid farewell by the very people who had the good fortune of flying, maintaining and working around it.

Directed by Kushal Srivastava, the same director behind Operation Safed Sagar, the film does tremendous justice to an aircraft that was far more than just a fighter. For generations of IAF personnel, the MiG-21 was a companion, a workhorse and, in many ways, an inseparable part of their lives.

What makes the documentary special is the emotion. Srivastava brings out the memories and stories of pilots, maintenance crews, air traffic controllers and others whose lives were touched by this remarkable machine. You can feel the pride, affection, nostalgia and, at times, the sadness of saying goodbye.

The MiG-21 was once the backbone of the Indian Air Force, and The Last Salute captures why this temperamental, demanding and legendary fighter earned such a special place in the hearts of those who flew it.

It isn't just a documentary about an aircraft. It is a farewell to a legend—and quite literally, a love letter to the MiG-21.

And what a fitting last salute it is!

From Safed Sagar to South Indian Flavours — And Finally, Ube!

My 15th August celebration had actually started the night before and went well into the wee hours of Independence Day — thanks to Netflix and the final episode of the six-part series Operation Safed Sagar.

The series tells the story of one of the lesser-known chapters of the Kargil War of 1999 — the operations of the Indian Air Force. While most of us know about the Indian Army's Operation Vijay, and remember the iconic images of our soldiers reclaiming the heights around Tiger Hill, the Indian Air Force had its own operation — Operation Safed Sagar.

The series follows the escapades, missions and personal stories of the men of one particular IAF squadron, the legendary Golden Arrows. And, as expected, once we started the final episode, there was absolutely no question of going to bed at a sensible hour. Independence Day could wait. The Golden Arrows couldn't!

So, after getting up rather late on Independence Day — patriotism apparently requires its beauty sleep — we decided to head out for lunch.

I was in the mood for something light, but more importantly, something different from our usual culinary excursions. We often tend to reduce South Indian cuisine to the familiar quartet of Idli, Dosa, Vada and Sambar, accompanied by a coconut chutney that seems to have achieved diplomatic immunity on every South Indian menu.

But South India is considerably larger than one state, and its food is far more diverse.

So we decided to explore a different side of it.

We headed to Uncle Tomz, a place whose food we had first sampled many moons ago when they had done a pop-up at The Tollygunge Club. Back then, they were operating as a cloud kitchen, so seeing them now with their own restaurant was rather satisfying. Clearly, the food had done enough convincing to graduate from the cloud to terra firma!

Getting there involved the usual Kolkata adventure. The lanes were narrow and parking was, predictably, a matter of "park wherever you can and pray." We eventually left the car around the corner and walked in.

The place is inviting right from the outside. A bamboo-ceilinged passage leads you in, and the restaurant itself is simple, classic and practical without trying too hard. The back wall has a lovely mural which adds a nice splash of character.

By now, we were hungry.

And when you're hungry, contemplation is overrated.

We got straight to business.

First came Pork Vindaloo with Appams — a beautiful combination of spicy, tangy pork with those soft, lacy appams that are practically designed to mop up every last bit of gravy.

Then came Chicken Roast with Idiyappams, another wonderful combination. The idiyappams were delicate and light, while the roast packed in plenty of flavour.

We had originally set our hearts on the Netholi Fry, but unfortunately they had run out. So we settled for the Ayala Fry — Mackerel instead.

Not exactly what we had planned, but the fish was a very respectable substitute.

Halfway through the meal, the appams mysteriously started disappearing.

So we ordered some more.

At this stage, our definition of "light lunch" had already left the building.

Eventually, we finished our meal and decided to skip dessert.

And that's when the restaurant decided to ambush us.

The young lad serving us suddenly appeared with a bowl of Filter Coffee Mousse, compliments of the owner.

Now, this was unexpected.

And more importantly, it was bloody good!

The mousse was light, creamy and packed with that unmistakable South Indian filter coffee flavour. Just the sort of dessert that makes you wonder why you had the wisdom to say "No dessert."

So much for wisdom.

After lunch, we headed home, crossing the Café Coffee Day in our neighbourhood on the way.

My wife suddenly announced that she wanted to come back in the evening because CCD had just introduced some new flavours.

I knew exactly where this was going.

We went home for a much-needed siesta.

But, as expected, my wife did not forget.

By evening, I was reminded that we had a coffee date.

So off we went.

Café Coffee Day had a limited-edition Iced Ube, which she ordered, along with a Tropical Iceberg Coffee.

I, of course, had to participate in the mandatory tasting process.

Which means I ended up drinking the Ube anyway.

The Iced Ube is a purple-yam-flavoured, creamy iced beverage with a sweet, almost vanilla-like profile. It was interesting, different and certainly not something I would have associated with my old-school image of Café Coffee Day.

It was also, by my standards, a tad bit pricey.

But then again, I seem to have completely lost touch with what coffee costs these days.

The Tropical Iceberg, meanwhile, was much more familiar territory — an icy, slushy cold coffee with cocoa and coffee flavours. It has that nostalgic CCD character which has been around long enough to remind many of us of an era when going to Café Coffee Day was practically a social event.

And so ended my Independence Day.

It began with the Indian Air Force flying missions over Kargil, moved on to Pork Vindaloo, Appams, Idiyappams and Mackerel, took an unexpected detour through Filter Coffee Mousse, and finally landed on purple yam and cold coffee.

From Safed Sagar to South Indian food to Ube.

Quite a flight path for one Independence Day!

And somewhere between the Golden Arrows and the Filter Coffee Mousse, I realised that perhaps this is what celebrating independence is really about — having the freedom to eat whatever the hell you want!

Jai Hind!