Memory and the Taste Buds

I stayed in Mumbai (then Bombay) for a few months in 1980. I liked its architecture and high-rise buildings; was impressed by the efficiency of local trains and the discipline of the people; and relished the chai and bun maska (bread and butter) in the Irani cafes. It was a mesmerising experience for a youth from the small city of Dehradun.

Once, curiosity led me to visit the restaurant of a 5-star hotel located at Nariman Point, beside the sea. The gracefully designed restaurant had huge glass panes on the exterior walls, and one could enjoy the scenic view of Marine Drive, the Arabian Sea, and the distant Malabar Hill while savouring delicacies. I ordered tea, the cheapest item available on the menu. It was served by a well-dressed young waiter. The tea had a wonderful taste and aroma. I desired to have another cup, but the cost of Rs 5, a huge amount at the time, became a deterrent.

A couple of months later, destiny brought me to Chandigarh. It was very different in style and architecture in comparison to Mumbai. At first, Chandigarh didn’t fascinate me, but gradually, I developed a liking for its greenery and landscape. In the meantime, an acquaintance asked me to give home tuition to two siblings (brother and sister) who were back at home for a 3-month winter break from the boarding school. The siblings were cute and well-mannered, but they considered me a spoiler for their holidays and, hence, were initially less receptive. However, subsequently, they started enjoying the lessons.

During the first day on the job, while I was getting familiar with the siblings and talking about their interests, the maid emerged with a cup of tea. As I picked it up to have a sip, I could sense a familiar aroma emanating from it that I had experienced in the Mumbai restaurant. It was an unanticipated delicacy, a windfall. The fragrant tea served daily worked as a stimulant, and I hardly missed a day with the children. Once, the maid forgot to serve the tea, and that day I had a recurring sense of something missing.

The three-month period passed fast, and the time neared to say goodbye to the tea and the children with a heavy heart. While taking leave, I enquired about the tea leaf from the parents of the siblings. They said, “We get it from London.” I made no further queries and took leave.

About 25 years later, I visited Mumbai again along with my young son. I told him about the tea that I had relished in the Mumbai restaurant. He also wished to accompany me to the restaurant the next day. We travelled by crowded local train to Churchgate and then walked along Marine Drive to make it to the restaurant, enjoying the cool breeze and rhythmic motion of the waves on the way.

It was a pleasant, nostalgic feeling to be in the elegant restaurant once again. We ordered tea and some snacks. This time, the cost of the tea had inflated to Rs 150. The tea was served; however, the aroma and taste that I longed for were missing. My son enjoyed it. But I could not, as taste buds and memories have strong links.