As a child, I loved eating stir-fried bananas.
The recipe was probably simple, the bananas were steamed, peeled and then stir-fried in a pan with an array of spices.
The steaming had to be perfect. It meant that the banana had to remain firm, yet soft. The stir fry was an art in itself. Choosing the right spices, adjusting the right temperature to get a mildly sweet and spicy flavour was tricky.
There was only one shop in the whole of the city I lived in that it made it perfect. I would travel on two buses, walk for about half an hour from the bus stop to reach this place.
The shop was ensconced in the busy bylanes of the city.
More often than not, it was heavily crowded.
The minions would attend to the customers while the chef would be baked over the stove, expertly transferring the steamed bananas to the pan with spices.
There would also be a queue when it got clogged.
Someone who never stood in a ration queue to get supplies, stood in a queue to eat a local delicacy.
I waited patiently for my turn and every time I took a bite of that banana, it made me forget the arduous journey or the taxing walk.
I made me realize that I was still craving small pleasures. Even if I had to walk through the lanes under the scorching sun, I was willing to overlook them to satiate my tastebuds.
As time moved ahead, I moved to a different city. My job and other priorities kept me busy.
I forgot my tryst with the stir-fried bananas till one day a colleague mentioned about it.
He went on to explain how he discovered a place which sold this and it was delectable.
His vivid description instantly reminded me of my sweaty bus journeys.
I was piqued. I took the details and was determined to go there.
The following Saturday, I woke up early and drove to the location. I wanted to reach before it got too crowded.
The place was quite upscale.
There was music blaring from the speakers.
The wall was vividly coloured with pictures of bananas and their history. Delicious pictures of this dish adorned the kitchen walls.
There were chairs and the smoke from the kitchen was controlled by exhaust fans placed at strategic locations.
In addition to this, the door of the kitchen was closed and the chimney was directed to the backyard.
So, the customers never really felt hot or asphyxiated.
I placed my order.
I was asked to wait for a few minutes.
I grew impatient. I kept shifting in my chair, keeping my eyes fixed on the kitchen.
Finally, my order arrived. It looked the same. The waiter brought it to me on an expensive plate with tiny flowers. He also gave me a complimentary mug of steaming tea.
He placed it on my table and wished that I had a pleasant experience.
He then came back with a jug of water and glass. He stood guard at my table in case I wanted anything else.
I signalled him a thumbs up to release him from his duty.
He smiled and went to attend to the next customer.
I poked the banana with a fork and dipped it into the fancy chutney of honey and secret ingredients.
It tasted delicious.
The stir fry and the spices were tasty.
This place was clean, close to the current apartment and they treated customers so well.
I also had a cup of warm ginger tea that would absolutely compliment my meal.
Yet, the longing of the previous place continued to haunt me.
The shop had more customers than the whole street itself. It was always crowded and some times when they ran out of plates, they used to wrap this in a banana leaf or a newspaper.
They also had rationed it to one plate per person since some customers complained of people misusing the queue system to buy more.
I had been on the receiving end of stares, groping and bad-mouthing since this crowd consisted of mostly men.
Despite the dingy surroundings, the oil covered walls and the grime-covered floor filled with chatter and smoke, every time I took a bite of that banana, it made me believe in life.
It had given me hope, filled my heart with joy and added music to my life.
I always walked back from that store with my stomach full and mind light.
I danced back to the bus stop with a song on my lips.
It never bothered me that it took me almost three hours to get home.
That one bite that took away the stress from my life was the missing ingredient in my meal today.
The recipe was probably simple, the bananas were steamed, peeled and then stir-fried in a pan with an array of spices.
The steaming had to be perfect. It meant that the banana had to remain firm, yet soft. The stir fry was an art in itself. Choosing the right spices, adjusting the right temperature to get a mildly sweet and spicy flavour was tricky.
There was only one shop in the whole of the city I lived in that it made it perfect. I would travel on two buses, walk for about half an hour from the bus stop to reach this place.
The shop was ensconced in the busy bylanes of the city.
More often than not, it was heavily crowded.
The minions would attend to the customers while the chef would be baked over the stove, expertly transferring the steamed bananas to the pan with spices.
There would also be a queue when it got clogged.
Someone who never stood in a ration queue to get supplies, stood in a queue to eat a local delicacy.
I waited patiently for my turn and every time I took a bite of that banana, it made me forget the arduous journey or the taxing walk.
I made me realize that I was still craving small pleasures. Even if I had to walk through the lanes under the scorching sun, I was willing to overlook them to satiate my tastebuds.
As time moved ahead, I moved to a different city. My job and other priorities kept me busy.
I forgot my tryst with the stir-fried bananas till one day a colleague mentioned about it.
He went on to explain how he discovered a place which sold this and it was delectable.
His vivid description instantly reminded me of my sweaty bus journeys.
I was piqued. I took the details and was determined to go there.
The following Saturday, I woke up early and drove to the location. I wanted to reach before it got too crowded.
The place was quite upscale.
There was music blaring from the speakers.
The wall was vividly coloured with pictures of bananas and their history. Delicious pictures of this dish adorned the kitchen walls.
There were chairs and the smoke from the kitchen was controlled by exhaust fans placed at strategic locations.
In addition to this, the door of the kitchen was closed and the chimney was directed to the backyard.
So, the customers never really felt hot or asphyxiated.
I placed my order.
I was asked to wait for a few minutes.
I grew impatient. I kept shifting in my chair, keeping my eyes fixed on the kitchen.
Finally, my order arrived. It looked the same. The waiter brought it to me on an expensive plate with tiny flowers. He also gave me a complimentary mug of steaming tea.
He placed it on my table and wished that I had a pleasant experience.
He then came back with a jug of water and glass. He stood guard at my table in case I wanted anything else.
I signalled him a thumbs up to release him from his duty.
He smiled and went to attend to the next customer.
I poked the banana with a fork and dipped it into the fancy chutney of honey and secret ingredients.
It tasted delicious.
The stir fry and the spices were tasty.
This place was clean, close to the current apartment and they treated customers so well.
I also had a cup of warm ginger tea that would absolutely compliment my meal.
Yet, the longing of the previous place continued to haunt me.
The shop had more customers than the whole street itself. It was always crowded and some times when they ran out of plates, they used to wrap this in a banana leaf or a newspaper.
They also had rationed it to one plate per person since some customers complained of people misusing the queue system to buy more.
I had been on the receiving end of stares, groping and bad-mouthing since this crowd consisted of mostly men.
Despite the dingy surroundings, the oil covered walls and the grime-covered floor filled with chatter and smoke, every time I took a bite of that banana, it made me believe in life.
It had given me hope, filled my heart with joy and added music to my life.
I always walked back from that store with my stomach full and mind light.
I danced back to the bus stop with a song on my lips.
It never bothered me that it took me almost three hours to get home.
That one bite that took away the stress from my life was the missing ingredient in my meal today.
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