Once upon a time, there was a girl named Mini. She was the most cheerful and fun-loving out of all her friends, always finding life and happiness in little things. She was extraordinary in her own way of carrying her simplistic self all the time. She was not complex like other human beings, she had the heart of steel as she would go about spreading positivity and happiness but she always hid her fears, inhibitions, insecurities, problems, and sorrows. She was genuine in the most profound of ways. Also, there’s one more significant thing about her that she was a big foodie. She loved eating out and splurging on food, be it expensive cafes or roadside thelas, she would try every kind of dish at every nook and corner, at every embellished gully. Even though the girls of her age were more interested in buying sequined dresses, backless blouses, and mini skirts, she was happy in her loose top and baggy trousers as long as she gets her favourite food. She was an equal lover of homemade food too, that her mother would cook for her on weekends, but as they say, “Things change with time.” Mini was also getting bigger, mature and the burden of responsibilities was coming on her. She had started with her new job and there used to be so much work that she would be glued on her laptop even after returning home, doing something or the other to cater to the commitments in her job. Hers was not an easy job, she was a news analyst at a popular private firm, but in all this hustle-bustle what Mini missed the most was Cholle-Bhature. Just like people of her age would think about their boyfriends and miss them for not being able to meet for long, she would long to have a plate of cholle-bhature from her favourite spot nearby her home. She would think of the mouth- savouring dish a lot of times, how the piping hot masaledaar cholle tasted and how the steamy and crunchy bhaturas served with some achaar would add an undying temptation in her heart, but those days were gone for Mini, not only because the burden of responsibilities had come over her, but also that the same charm of cholle- bhature was no more there, not because she had grown up and given up on such food stuff and also not because the cholle- bhature shop had vanished, but there was a deep-seated reason for that, not the reason many could think of or understand. Even if her best friend would ask her to accompany her to the place, she would avoid going, she would just not go there. The smile that used to come on her face thinking about having those cholle bhature, had gone. She would rather make a shy, a little sad face and would say a ‘no’ straight away. That was not natural for Mini to do so. The same Mini who had been so cheerful and fun-loving had stopped doing the things that made her happy. She would not go out frequently for eating out. A lot of other joints had opened in the vicinity but she didn’t even know if they had opened. She used to miss going out, but would still not go. Her parents also grew worrisome of her behaviour now. The Mini who had to be stopped from going out with her friends on weekends had to be asked to go somewhere and enjoy her life. She had turned 24 and her parents would always say, “This is the time of your life. You’re free and independent. You should go more often.” For Mini, now this thing was not new to hear, she had been hearing it for some months now, but she couldn’t help getting that feeling of not going out, not that she had lost her self- confidence, not that she was in depression or maybe she was but she would always deny and she never had a break-up. As genuine as she was, she was secretive too. She would keep the deepest, darkest of things to her heart.

Long ago, when Mini was, say, 4 or 5 years old, she was accompanied by her grandfather to nearby eateries as he would take her for a treat almost every day in the evening and that was a very big reason that she had turned into a foodie at an early age and knew all about the food joints surrounding nearby. Even though her parents would scold her or ask her grandfather to not take her for such eating sprees every day, she would still want to go with him, nonetheless. She would look up for the evening to commence so that her grandfather would take her to the nearby joints. As the clock used to strike 5, she would just be there at the main door of her house, eagerly waiting for daddy to accompany her. He would tenderly hold her hand and excitingly take her to her favourite place. The cholle- bhature shop had become the most admirable, the most delectable over the years. The familiar smell of fried flour tortillas and spicy, chunky cholle would melt her heart like the hot oil in the cauldron. She would keep licking her fingers till the taste was gone and her daddy would look more satisfied than her. She had developed a deep, intense connection with the dish over the years and she had a different kind of love for her grandfather because he was her favourite, the best dadu in the world because no one understood her love for food as her daddy did and it was only he who took her to treat her to tasty food.

Now, every time she passes that shop, she just goes back into her memories, never wanting to return, not even wanting to have her favourite dish, in her grandfather’s memory as if it is an ode to her grandfather. Maybe, he won’t like to see her like that, but she has stopped to be that chubby, smiling girl since she lost her daddy, although cholle- bhature is still her favourite.