Abandoned it once,
older, I reached out again,
seized this time. Good book.
Tag: postaday
A Chocolate Haven
Call me old fashioned but I fancy chocolate over any other fancy flavours. Whether it’s a hot drink or an iced treat, I’d always go for chocolate. And no matter how much of mint, white chocolate chips, slivered nuts, or trickles of orange you blend with it, plain chocolate (coated with chocolate) has an unmatched taste of its own.
That’s why I felt like stepping into paradise when I stepped into Zuka. It’s a cafe in Pondicherry that celebrates chocolate as much as I do. Even as you walk towards the entrance, a whiff of fresh chocolate reaches out to you, teasing your most determined dietary restriction.
Well, that may be an exaggeration, but you get the idea.
Stamped on the door was a seal of their brand, in an unsurprising shade of chocolate. And on the inside, they display a shameless amount of chocolate treats, pastries, and cakes. From flavoured tarts to dark-nut truffles, marbled candy to marvelling cakes, every inch of the cafe’s offering reeks chocolate.
It was beautiful.
In various shapes and colours, they sell shortcuts to diabetes. All around me were cars, bunnies, chunks, disks, and brownies—all of them chocolate. And as if that wasn’t enough, there were even melting pots of chocolate. I couldn’t have been happier.
And for the caffeine addict in me, they even had chocolate-espresso mousse, topped with a coffee bean made of chocolate. And to go with that, a coffee-flavoured cake, with a coating of chocolate goodness.
The place wasn’t large. But it was cosy. As soon as you walk in, you’d know you want to grab a chair and spend all day staring at the goodies behind the glass. From its plaided walls to its polished posters, the cafe would’ve made anyone liven up their moods and lighten their wallets. Such artistic interior with everything paying homage to a miracle bean.
I had found paradise in that little cafe. And to add chocolate to chocolate, they seemed to agree with what I profess:
Zuka has made it to my list. The next time I’m in town—heck, I’d go into town just for this place.
Lost
At Peace
Whether it had been a long day at work or a longer day with no work, there’s one thing that always calms my nerves. It’s coffee, of course.
But when you’re at the Lé Café in Pondicherry, the coffee arrives just as the sun begins to rise. Now that’s more than relaxing. It’s divine peace.
What’s the Point of News?
It was Wednesday, the middle of a wet, clammy, and death-filled week. The sun had almost set outside my window at work and I was too bored to continue. I opened a new tab and typed, “F” — the first letter that came to my mind. And trusty Safari pre-filled my most-visited website, Facebook. Scrolling through weather forecasts, sneaky confessions, Netflix trailers, and random acts of kindness, I paused at one peculiar post.
A news item about the chief minister of my home state. She died a couple of days ago, and ever since, people talk about nothing else, whether at work or at dinner. This post, an opinion piece judging by its title, suggested a conspiracy against the dead CM. And it had appeared on my feed, courtesy of my cousin. I stopped to read the headline; the author believed that one of the CM’s closest allies—we’ll call her S—had turned against her and taken over the party’s reins.
It’s absurd, I know. But for years, our media celebrated their friendship. The friend, S, was the CM’s trusted advisor and remained so until, one fine day, a news channel reported that S was corrupt.
The party’s tables turned too soon for their liking, and the CM cut all ties with her friend. The media went crazy and people wrote articles about how the CM’s decision favoured her in the next election. It was all about winning the election. The friend never came into the spotlight until at the CM’s funeral, where she redefined the word, “weepy.” Sound like House of Cards? Welcome to its creepy Indian version.
All these details rushed into my head as I looked at the article’s headline.
I remember thinking we’d never know the truth about the CM and S. Their friendship was a mystery to everyone outside their circle. Nevertheless, we had news pieces and opinions about them, we heard from young college girls who wanted to be BFFs like the CM and S. And now, a few years later, we have wild theories and 12 things we never knew about the CM’s death.
I felt repulsed. I understand the media’s uncontrollable urge to print sensational news, and yet, I can’t accept their proof-less allegations. All these newspapers flew around me hoping I’d buy the one that features the most exciting gossip.
And that’s why I couldn’t digest the article my cousin shared. My cousin doesn’t understand political talks. I know she shared it only because it has an exciting new thing to talk about over dinner. And that only strengthened my waning interest in politics.
I don’t care who killed whom or who’s conspiring against whom. Because at the end of the day, who knows what’s true? We all live in a society that thinks it knows the truth but knows only what others think is the truth. We may guess, but we’ll never know. There are more than 20 television channels in my state that political parties own. Whichever party (or individual) owns the channel has all the power to create, warp, or kill a news item.
And I don’t see the point of revelling in other people’s convoluted version of reality.
The Chaos Within 