For want of a cake....

I, ten-year old Subramaniam Viswanathan, am a Brahmin in the strictest sense. Why, my parents even made me attend a patashaala in the evenings while the other kids in the street would play cricket. Oh! That was too much to bear. You will never understand unless you are in such a muddled situation. To top it all, I had to shave my head completely save a lock of hair. This caused me to become the center of attraction of all the boys (and girls) in the street, and not for favorable reasons. Several times I had argued with my father but to no avail. He is a strict man my father and wouldn’t stand any nonsense. And any suggestion of mine which went against our “customs” was nonsense to him.

Now I had this voracious liking for cakes. Ever since I was introduced to those spongy, creamy sweetmeats by Rahul, my schoolmate (I was strictly forbidden from eating outside food) I never missed an opportunity to secretly buy one from the neighbouring bakery. And till now I had managed escape.

Things changed on Independence Day, 2000.

It was a full five minutes before I even licked the cake. All that time I was thinking of the warm cream filling my mouth and tickling my taste buds. I turned over the cake, as my distended greedy eyes admired the work that had gone into it, ran my hands through the smooth contours of the cream, put my nose near its top and took in the heavenly smell of the chocolate (my personal favorite). I did not want that moment in time to pass. I was so naïve at that age that I even thought “Oh! I would have given even my remaining strands of hair to be able to pause this moment and relive it whenever I want to.”When the tension finally became too much to bear, I broke the cake into half through its middle so that it had a top half and a bottom one. I ran a long index finger over the cream that is usually smeared on the top part of the bottom portion, scooped the black chocolate fluid, extended my tongue, and slowly greased my tongue with the cream. Retracting my tongue inside I painted the insides of my mouth with the cream and vicariously enjoyed the sweet sensations that my taste buds were going through. The bottom portion was all cake and virtually no cream. So I gobbled it up in a hurry. Left with only the top portion - the best of them all - I plucked the cherry off leaving a mini crater on the cream. I opened my mouth and clamped down on the cake and the cream. Slowly, but surely!


“Thirudaa* Thirudaa*” The screams filled the shop as I spun around sharply. I froze like a deer in the line of headlights. As the shopkeeper’s blows rained on my bare back, I could faintly hear peals of laughter as I vainly tried to defend myself from the physical assaults. I had no doubts Rahul’s laughter was among them. As Kandan, the bakery owner (who had had a change of mind and decided to open shop today) pulled me through the street by the locks of my hair, voices rang in my head. They were of my friends telling me about Kandan “who will definitely not open his bakery today as it was Independence Day” and how “you would not get a better opportunity especially since the window is damaged today” and how it “will take a long time before Kandan repairs it.” I do not know whether they really wanted me to get into trouble (in which case they better hide from me for the next two weeks) or it was just an accident. As of now, my only concern was this man standing in front me, his eyes turning a deep crimson as Kandan spewed out all the details of my “robbery.” The man was my father…and he did not like what he heard. Pray for me!

* - Tamil for “Thief”