September 13, 2024
Recently, when I visited a popular buffet restaurant in Bangalore with my office friends, I was quite taken aback to see a large group of children occupying seats a few rows away from us. There were about ten of them, girls and boys aged around 8 to 10 years old. They were all laughing, talking loudly, and munching on the starters. I looked around for someone older supervising them but couldn't spot anyone. Deciding to focus on my own meal, I tried to put them out of my mind.
After a few minutes, on enquiry I understood that they were having a birthday party. The birthday boy's dad had presumably paid for the lavish dinner and left the children to enjoy themselves. This struck me as surprising since I recall only venturing into restaurants without my parents when I entered college. Even then, my visits were limited to places like Darshinis, Udupi’s, and McDonald's.
Reflecting on the children today, it stirred a mixture of emotions within me. On one hand, there's a sense of joy witnessing how many parents of this generation are more established, educated, and capable of offering their children abundant provisions. Yet, there's also a tinge of apprehension. I can't help but wonder if this abundance from an early age might obscure their appreciation for the value of patience and the satisfaction of earning through effort.
As I thought about it, I remembered when I was just 5 or 6 years old. My dad had a bicycle, and he'd added a little seat for me. He'd take me on rides all over the place. We didn't have much money because we were a lower middle-class family. My parents could just manage to pay for our home and my schooling. Anything extra was tough for us. Eating out was a rare treat for us; indulging in chocolates or cake only happened occasionally, typically reserved for special occasions or when generously gifted by others.
One food item I cherished above all was the egg puff. Though it was a rare indulgence, my desire to Savour it daily was never fully accommodated. Every day, as I rode on the back of my dad's cycle, my gaze unfailingly landed on the bakery. I'd eagerly plead with my dad to halt so I could quickly snatch a puff. Initially, he'd promise to buy me one later, only to forget. However, over time, my dad devised a new tactic: he vowed to craft an egg puff for me at home. Somehow, he managed to acquire the recipe, and from then on, whenever we passed by a bakery, he'd recount the steps to me, reassuring me of his homemade version.
In my innocence, I fantasized about enjoying numerous egg puffs together and eagerly awaited them for months and years. Now in my 30s, neither has my dad baked an egg puff nor has my love for them diminished.
As I pondered this, a smile tugged at my lips. If my dad had caved to my demands and bought me that egg puff, I wouldn't cherish this delightful memory of it. Even now, as I playfully tease my dad about the countless egg puffs, he still owes me, a flood of sweet recollections rushes in — the bicycle rides, his patient recipe explanations, the eager anticipation of each bite, and above all, the pure, childlike love from my dad. These memories give me the satisfaction of eating more than 100 egg puffs at once.
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