There are days when you have a lunch and a dinner date. And days when you feel locked-in in your suburban apartment, looking out at the traffic on the highway, clogged up as far as your eyes can see.

There are years when there are plum cakes, and years when there are none.

Last year, Polu, Golu, Teja, Dhanno, Ira, Mom and me drove around Pune Camp, looking for a plum cake that would satisfy me.  Kayanis were sold out, Royal said they made them only in the Christmas week. Crown said we were a week late. We bought a couple of cakes from a couple of other bakeries, me desperate, the others fed up. One was dry, both were just dark in color, without flavor, the way atta breads are, just brown in color, not really brown bread.

Polu, Golu, Teja, Dhanno, Ira, Mom, looked at my disgust with amusement. None of them care about plum cakes the way I do.

This year I made up my mind not to look for any. This year, I thought I would be stoic, who needs plum cakes anyway? When I really want to eat one, I will learn to make one.

So life of course, threw a gift hamper Polu’s way, with a perfect plum cake from Mariott, enough rum in it, to spin you into New Year with happy cheer. And we got more bite sized plum cakes as Christmas gifts from Jimmy Hu.

Back in Bumm-Bumm-Bhole-Land, we watched this.


Bhagwan Dada is going to see me through the new year, because 2014 is going to be like that. Kabhi naram, kabhi garam.

And the same to all of you.