The Simple Life

For once I will let something remotely related to Paris Hilton enter my blog. But it stops at remotely of course.

A few weeks back I chanced upon an offer to eat a butter biscuit. I'm not really saying that its a big thing, but a lot like the butteryfly (no pun intended) effect, it caused extreme chaos.
Now circumstances were such that my wish to take another biscuit from the kind offer-er would be cruel. So I set up on a Frodo-like quest to find the original butter biscuits.

As soon as I got back from work on that fateful day I walked into the closest bakery I found. Adyar it was. About 7 PM. This place had a decently young and seemingly active crowd (blame it on the IT). And as soon as I entered this place a whiff of virgin, just born biscuits absolutely permeated my senses. Its like the smell of someone you love, and how you'd identify it. I really never thought I love butter biscuits, till that day of course.

I hurried to the man behind the counter, bought a box of cookies that were labelled butter and ran out of the shop, my preciouses tucked under the arm. And then I awaited that special moment. When the little box of biscuits is first shown the world. And although my hungry,  barbaric (actually guy-ish) instincts slighlt tainted the beauty of it all, when I had my cookie it was a certain let down. Nothing happened.

I did not regret spending the 35 Rupees. It was the anti-climax that troubled me. Quite annoying in fact. I looked around for something that would amuse or entertain me, quitely observing my exceeding self centricity. Hmm... I guess I'm growing old.

The next door tea shop provided a peaceful retreat, and just as I finished my masterful rendition of Anna, onn tea! I saw them. In all their glory. In a burly glass jar that was their eye to the world. No fancy boxes. No seducing smell. I asked him how much they cost. He said a ruppee each. I got one. And even before its genuine and almost known flavour chanced upon my taste buds I knew I had found them.