Chocolate, The Elixir of Life

Chocolate, the reason to live. Chocolate, the mood enhancer. Chocolate, the stress buster. Chocolate, the saviour. Chocolate, dreamy chocolate. Creamy, gooey, molten, solid, dark, milk - whatever be it's form, the impact it has on the individual devouring it, remains the same. Pure undiluted joy. There can be no greater love, than the love for chocolate. Wars, marital disputes, familial disharmony, whatever be the problem, chocolate and only chocolate can save the day. 

There was a time (not too long ago) when my husband would not enter the house, sans a box of chocolate in hand. He would religiously buy a gigantic slice of white chocolate coated, red velvet cake and a bag of chocolate coated almonds from Starbucks. "For you my dearest", he would croon lovingly. I would go to sleep instantly with white chocolate dreams in my head, only to wake up to an empty icing ravaged box, stuffed unceremoniously in the fridge, the next morning.

Then there were mornings, I would wake up with a mad desire to drown my soul with copious amounts of molten, hot dark chocolate. We would head out the door, faster than lightening and drive for close to an hour, sometimes more, to reach Chocolateria San Churro in Bandra. We would invariably be the first and only customers so early in the morning. The server behind the counter, would give us a dubious stare, as we placed our orders for black coffee and hot chocolate at 10am in the morning. 

On one particular Friday night, the husband landed in Bombay at 10pm and wanted to head out immediately. I resisted at first, but he lured me with the promise of chocolate. He would soon eat his words, as we drove for close to 3 hours, to reach Sweetish House Mafia in Lower Parel. By the time we reached the joint, half their decadent cookies were over and the servers looked at us in astonishment, as we placed our cookie and coffee orders at 1 am in the morning. 

I celebrate Easter every year, just to gorge on a gigantic chocolate Easter egg. Not the marzipan one, the thick chocolate coated one, that can be broken in half. But of course I never broke it in half, I would always stuff the whole thing inside my mouth and then attempt to break it, with a  mighty crunch. One time I almost broke my teeth and dislocated my jaw, but it was absolutely worth it.

Is this normal behaviour? Without a speck of doubt in my mind, I'd say a resounding yes. All is fair in love, war and chocolate. If you don't eat that delicious looking piece of chocolate, someone else will. Embrace it, celebrate it, drown yourself in it. Chocolate is your best friend. Always was, always will be. 

Bad day at work? Stuff your face with some chocolate. Crazy fight with your better half? Grab that spoon of Nutella. Can’t loose weight? Eat some dark chocolate and then go for a run. Can’t wake up in the morning? Grab a piece of Ooty chocolate already with a steaming hot cup of black coffee and get moving!

(Image Source : https://www.google.co.in/search?q=chocolate&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwidwpWEvZ7bAhWBq48KHT_SAFYQ_AUICigB&biw=1280&bih=611#imgrc=1Y65lrutcwulvM:) 

Konna Poovu

There are certain aromas, food items, music and inanimate objects that have the magical ability to throw you right back into your childhood. Some of these memories are happy, some nostalgic and some bitter. The happy, nostalgic ones are the best. You're taken in back in time and your eyes instantly get that hazy, faraway look that most often, puzzles people.

The Konna Poovu (Cassia Fistula, in Malayalam) does this job for me. Each time I see a Konna Poovu in full bloom, my heart does a happy flip-flop and my brain goes into a nostalgia overdrive. I'm overcome with a mixture of happiness and sadness, all at the same time. I'm happy, because it reminds me of my ammumma (grandmother in malayalam) and the gorgeous Vishu Kani (Vishu arrangement) she would meticulously set up in the prayer room, every single Vishu season. I'm sad, because I can never be that carefree, overweight kid again. 

Vishu is the Malayalee new year. Every year on Vishu day, I would be woken up between 4 and 5 am, with a blind-fold on my eyes and only my grandmother's hands, to guide me into the prayer room. The minute I enter the prayer room, she would remove the blind-fold, whereby allowing me to feast my eyes, on the beautifully arranged Vishu Kani. A typical Vishu Kani, comprises of copious amounts of Konna Poovu, decorated imaginatively around the idols of the Gods, along with  offerings of fruits, flowers and money. 

When the start of the day is so beautiful, you just know that you're going to have a splendid day. The rest of the day, post the Vishu Kani goes by in a blur activity, comprising largely of eating a senseless amount of food and receiving clothes and money from all the elders in the house. A couple of visits to relatives are also squeezed in, depending on the amount of Sadhya (a large celebratory Kerala meal, typically eaten on a Banana leaf) you've thulped down. 

Each year on Vishu, I would roll around proudly with a large leather handbag, stuffed with notes of money. Just for that one day, I would feel like an important banker, who had the responsibility of safeguarding, collecting, counting and re-counting the notes, to ensure that no-one pinched anything from the precious bundle, each time I took a pee, lunch or siesta break. 

I would dream of all the burgers, medu vadas, Kerala fried chicken and Sharjah shakes I would devour with my Vishu loot. Unfortunately, that dream would only remain a dream, because my clever mother would lure me into her bedroom by nightfall and tempt me with shiny, jiggly coins. She would convince me that Re 1 equates to a Rs 100/- note. I readily believed her each year, because coins anyway had more weight than untidy, smelly notes. I would quickly shove the bag of notes towards her and greedily bring out my pink piggy bank, from the hiding spot in my closet. I would watch her like a hawk, to ensure that she puts me in the right number of Re 1 coins into my piggy bank. Rs 5000/- meant she had to put in fifty Re 1 coins and Rs 10,000 meant she had to put in a hundred Re 1 coins, and so on. After counting and re-counting the notes and coins, I would have a sound sleep with my piggy bag, placed next to my pillow.

Unfortunately all good things come to an end. So does Vishu. I would wake up the next morning, with my Vishu hangover blaring in full blast in my head, and try on all the clothes I would have received from my family, only to discover that they would all invariably be either too tight or too lose for me. Typical fat kid problems. Sigh! 

(Image Source : http://decodingeswari.blogspot.in/2018/04/blog-post_27.html)