Baked for Love

Saturday mornings are for change, experimentation, to add multitudes of color to the monochromatic life between Monday and Friday. Like a pure corporate, agendas and lists are written for this day too, not ones that you are compelled to act on, but the little things that would add a smile on your face.

This weeks mission had been ‘Bake a cake’.The Croissant and the Danish Pastry have always delighted me at every Big ticket corporate lunches I attend. I wanted to recreate those beauties at home and the first step being the humble chocolate cake.

I looked upon the recipe online and went out for an early morning walk, buying supplies and enjoying a walk in the cool breezy morning.

I  dusted the oven and brought out, what seemed like ancient,  mold plate. Initially, whilst mixing, the dough seemed resistant to my commands, making me anxious about the outcome. I convinced myself that the first attempt always yields unexpected results.

After an hours work and a kitchen to be cleaned, I carefully took out the cake out of the mold. It seemed a little harder than it ought to be , but nevertheless it smelt fabulous, just like I imagined it would. I was proud of my effort.

I took a small piece for my sister. The late riser with her disheveled hair took a few moments to look away from her mobile screen. She wondered why I would bake a cake when we had a nice bakery outside. Before even taking a bite, she  took a picture, created a few tags, posted it on Instagram claiming it to be her handiwork. Attending to all the #chococake threads, the cake lay untouched.

Mother was busy planning a social meet in the evening. Evidently dismayed by my interruptions, she pinched my cake and tasted a few crumbs. She paused, looked up and said,
‘Well its tastes good. Never expected. You must offer it to the aunties in the evenings. Maybe one of them would tell their lovely daughter about you. Wait Ill post this on the event page’

For Deserts, special Chocolate cake by my son.

I felt a little disappointed, starting to get skeptical of my creation. As I stepped inside the kitchen, I felt someone clinging on to my right leg. My maid’s son, who had powerful olfactory senses and people skills too. The four-year old knew whom to approach for his different needs. For his coffee craving, weird for a child of his age, he would tug my grandmothers saree; for a chocolate,he would plead to my father and for a book and pen, it was my sister who got a peck on her cheek. On weekends, I became his favorite person, I would grant him just about anything he asked.

I cut out a small piece for him on a plate and placed it in front of him.
‘Is it a Chocolate cake?’, he asked as he carefully surveyed the piece and took in its aroma.

With a single gulp, the piece vanished and he pushed the empty plate in front of me.

‘Do you like it?’

I want two big pieces. It is very nice‘ he replied in chaste Marathi.

I made him sit on the table and gave him two big pieces like he ordered. He did not look at me, neither did he utter a word. With a sparkle in his round eyes, excitement on his cherubic face, he devoured the pieces slowly, using both his small hands. As the plate got emptier and the table messier, I cut one more big piece for him. The joy he expressed could only have been displayed out of pure innocence. This joy was the reason I had baked the cake.

For three pieces of cake, I received a wide smile and a moment I would cherish for years to come.


PS:  I could have shared his snap on Instagram or Facebook. I can’t share the feeling though.


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