If you have to ask you'll never know ! [L.Armstrong]... thats Louis not Lance.

Dec 3, 2009

Sweet dreams.

Christmas morning or Christmas eve. That’s when we exchange sweets. In plates or trays or boxes. Sweets that till last week were just items on a shopping list. Cashews for marzipan. Adulterated with just a smattering of peanuts if the bonus was not as large as Jo-boy thought it would be. Or if he bought the bottle of Chivas instead of the RC. [ No not Roman catholic , that’s for when you’re talking about religious persuasions.When it’s liquor RC is Royal Challenge. ] No one will know the difference. Ha. In your dreams Joboy. In your dreams. Because they will.
If there were less than ten different types on the plate the missus would be getting sympathetic glances for months. And diplomatic Aunty Mabel might even ask if everything was okay at work. If the count for variety reached double digits, quality would then be inspected. And if she tasted peanuts in the marzipan Mabel would condescendingly sympathise about no bonus in these recessionary times. While she handed over her plate of sweets. Wrapped up in serviettes that had Christmas scenes printed on them in gold leaf. Under the mattress with that. It’s too good to throw away.
Two types of cake. Fruit and sponge. Hell theres more rum in her cake than there was in my glass last night. Show off. All JoBoy had were two slices from the bar cake from Venus bakery. Which were trying hard to masquerade as home-made.
Dos. Dos that Jo Boy calls gram sweet. And to cut a fine point there is a 0.000097 % difference in the amount of sugar that differentiates East Indian gram sweet from Goan dos. JoBoy does’nt know or care. The courier who came to the door is why the milkcream is not the pristine white it should be. And poor misguided Joboy again thinks that milkcream by any other color is still milkcream. But the missus knows that if its not virginal snowy white it might as well be chikki. Enough with the sweets as she tries to steer Mabel towards how midnight mass if not held at midnight can’t be called midnight mass. But Mabel insists she tries her marshmallows. So soft . So pink. So nice. And her date roll, and her kul kuls
Oh fudge Aunty Mabel. What I said was Oh Fudge. Chocolate is’nt it?
She looks at the missus funnily as she heads back up the stairs with our plate from Cheap Jack covered up with a serviette that came out of a box that had a picture of a Sardarji a Mussalman, a Brahmin pandit and other characters that proclaimed Jackson Tissues and National Integration in the same breath, while visions of sugar plums danced in our heads.


Dean said...

I absolutely hate midnight mass that starts at 8:00 pm!

Floyd said...

Wow on a roll, I got to read 3 posts today. I am gald I am comming back to Bandra in 2 weeks.

savio ramos said...

Wowee.Yeah dead right about the sweets.Hey no mention of the Neuri which also has precision & puffiness also directed towards the Bonus!!!

The Cloudcutter said...

Aaah! Nice to read this on the day I started baking my fruit cakes for Christmas. One down, 24 more to go!
Btw, have you tried Bermuda rum? (a local brand I mean, not rum from Bermuda!) If you have, what do you think?

The Cloudcutter said...

And this Jo Boy sounds nice. Where can he be found?

patrice said...

hey clement, you describe everything about Bandra so accurately, that I'm sure we've passed each other at some time or the other!!
Especially when you mention Venus bakery!!

Anonymous said...

Hahahaha better introduce Cloudcutter to Jo Boy. Only I get one of the 24 cakes as commission for seconding the request!!!
And I say Oh Fudge too - a lot - right through the year, not just Christmas time!!

日月神教-任我行 said...