Some how she always came to know, before hand , that we are about to pay a visit . In retrospect , I think Baba(my father) rang her up to tell that he is descending on her small flat with his ample brood .
She stood on the narrow , dimly lit staircase , with a broad grin , and said “come on in .” Then each of us would be hugged , in turns , and commented upon our height and girth , before ascending the steps. Her flat was close to a Britannia biscuit factory . It was redolent with the smell of caramelised sugar , roasted coconut and baking cookies . The factory specialised in “Nice” biscuits ,containing coconut and with a sprinkling of sugar on top . Heavenly !!
She kept her small red Godrej fridge stocked with pastries and sweetmeats . Lots of delicious aromas arose from her tiny kitchen as she cooked vast amounts of other-worldly chicken curry , fried fish and biryani for us .
That was the only place on earth we could stuff ourselves silly , and then roll off to sleep on mats in her tiny balconies (she had three of them , each leading from a bed room ).
I am yet to meet a person residing in such a miniscule flat as hers, but in possession of such a voluminous heart.
