On my way home from weaver's centre walked passed baked and fried. Like I have before. Only this time, I stopped and ordered 4 chicken cutlets. Ah what an experience. That little shop in a garage, that bhishon bangali owner and staff, the regular clientele, that auto ride home with the cutlets warm in their box, against my legs, ah the aroma as I sat sandwiched between two commuters - fellow savorers I imagine. And then home and ma's carefully concealed delight and baba's extremely mild curiousity (!!), Ah the cutlets, those slim sticks of cucumber, carrot and onions and pungent Kasundi. Tea. Life if good.