The Cake

The Cake

Sridhar Venkatasubramanian

Year 1965

The ringing of the school bell on that particularly cool Saturday afternoon was followed by the usual melee of kids running out of the school gates and hurrying home.

Standing at the gate was an 8-year school girl who was waiting for her younger brother to come out. As soon she spotted him she caught hold of his hand and said, “Quick!! Let us go home. Did you forget today is Saturday?”.

Together they ran towards their home which was barely 200 metres away from the school. Their faces were bright with anticipation and joy. The reason for this was not only because the next day was a Sunday and there would be no school. They were looking forward eagerly to some delightful surprise.

As they reached their house, the boy knocked on the door and shouted, “Mother! We are back.”

They could hear their mother’s voice coming from the kitchen.

The boy being impatient kept banging on the door, while the sister kept shushing him.

As their mother opened the door they both rushed inside shouting, “Where is our Saturday treat?”

Their mother smiled and produced a box which she was holding behind her back, like a magician conjuring a rabbit out of his hat.

“What colour is it today” they asked in chorus.

“See for yourselves dears,” the mother said as she opened the box.

Inside the box were two rich, gooey pastries. There were delicious layers of creamy dark chocolate and whipped cream. There was also a luscious red cherry jauntily perched on top of each creamy delight.

“Yippee! “shouted the kids as they took one each in their hand and sank their teeth into the chocolate pastry, rolling their eyes and making smacking sounds, in justified appreciation of their treat.

Their mother’s face was bright with love and laughter, as she watched her children enjoying the treat.

The boy finished his share very quickly while his sister was savouring it slowly, prolonging the sweet moments for as long as possible.

Their mother said,” Now go and change out of your uniforms and wash. Then you can go to the park and play with your friends.”

Year 1985

Ramesh was quite a different character in comparison to other colleagues of his age, at the office. He had joined the office only six months back, as a trainee assistant along with 4 other young men. All of them were in their early twenties, a carefree age, when there is not much responsibility at home but at the same time one has enough money to indulge in frivolous pleasures.

Every weekend, Ramesh’s colleagues had the habit of going to some fancy restaurant or nightclub to enjoy to their heart’s content. But Ramesh did not believe in spending time or money on these activities. He spent money on books, especially English Classics, as reading was his passion. He also went to movies that carried favourable reviews.

But Ramesh’s enduring passion was for sweets. His desire lay in relishing not just any sweet but in eating cakes, pastries and other such baked confections. He would spend every weekend exploring the various bakeries and confectioners of the city, sampling goodies of various types.

Every Saturday he returned home carrying a box of pastries from one of the best bakeries of the city. He knew it was overpriced and had made a dent in his pocket too, but somehow, he could not give up his addiction for the chocolate pastries of that particular shop.

On reaching home, he opened the box and took out one pastry for himself and gave the box containing the rest of the delectable pastries to his mother who was smiling at him expectantly.

For some time, there was no sound except for an occasional murmur of approval as mother and son relished the cake.

Ramesh finished the cake and went to wash his hands. When he came back he found his mother licking the pastry cream that was stuck to the bottom of the box. Then she started running her tongue over the wrapping paper too so as not to leave any crumb or cream.

“Mother, please don’t do that. It is not nice. If you want more I will bring you more pastries next time.”

“Oh! You silly boy. I enjoy this and you know these scraps taste wonderful. You should try this too.” She laughed and winked at him naughtily.

Ramesh shook his head irritably, unable to rid her of this habit. But he could not bear to stay angry with her for long..

But on one day, even Ramesh lost his cool.

His Christian neighbour had invited him for the X-MAS Party at their home. Ramesh usually stayed away from such social gatherings. But they were very nice people and of course they always served sumptuous food and not least, lovely cakes and pastries too.

At the party the dessert was a large plate of delicious chocolate pastries. Ramesh was enjoying his share when he heard a of couple of girls who were his fellow guests giggling at his side,“ See that old lady. She is licking the wrapping paper too. How disgusting.”

They were looking at his mother who, having finished eating her share of the pastry was, as was her habit, licking the crumbs and the cream from the paper, oblivious to the surroundings.

The girls were going around the room and pointing this out to the other guests as well. Soon, quite a few of the guests were shaking their heads and sniggering at Ramesh’s mother.

Ramesh could not bear the embarrassment any more. He took his mother’s hand, mumbled some excuse to his hosts and came out.

He asked his mother to go on to their home and said he would come later.

He then went directly to the neighbourhood bakery and bought half a dozen assorted pastries and cakes and returned home.

His mother was sitting on the sofa watching TV. He threw the box of pastries on her lap. The box opened and some of the pastry cream fell on her clothes. Some even splattered on her face.

In a fit of rage he shouted at the top of his voice which sounded unnatural even to him , “Mother, eat this. If you want more, tell me, I will buy the entire shop for you. But please, please get rid of this filthy habit. I was feeling so insulted in front of those people today, because of you. I felt like dying, rather than watch you doing that thing.”

The silence after that barrage of angry words was quite deafening. Ramesh, after his outburst, noticed that his mother had buried her head in her hands and was weeping silently, her shoulders shaking. .

Ramesh had never seen his mother cry. She was always composed, calm and cheerful. If she ever felt depressed or sad, he never knew it. Or perhaps, she never showed it. ,

His rage suddenly evaporated and he felt ashamed of his show of temper. Ramesh was also horrified that he had spoken to his mother so harshly. He went held her and buried his face on her back and said, “I am so sorry, mother. I did not mean to shout at you. Please forgive me.” Then he started crying in remorse.

At once his mother sat up straight and with a wide smile looked at him and said,” Oh! Son! Don’t you cry. You were right. I am sorry. I promise I will try to get rid of this embarrassing habit of mine."

Year 1965

The mother kept watching as the kids ran to the park that was right in front of their house.

Then she went back inside.. On the table was the box that had contained the pastries that she had bought for the children. She took the box in her hands and ran her fingers over the cream and crumbs sticking to the side of the box and started licking the remains of the pastries off her fingers. She did this slowly, relishing the creamy sweetness of the crumbs and cream. Then she took the wrapping papers and licked them clean till there was not a crumb or cream left on them.

She smiled to herself as she recalled how her husband used to mock her for this habit. He had even told her that if she loved pastries so much she should get one piece for herself too once a while. After all, a pastry cost only one Rupee, he would say.

But she knew the financial condition of their household. That one Rupee would provide bus fare for her husband for at least 3 days, or he would have had to walk 4 kms to his office daily. With that one Rupee she could also get a reasonable quantity of school stationery for her children from the fair price shop. She pondered on the many essential things that could be bought with that one Rupee. It seemed a waste to spend it on her indulgence for pastries.

Shaking her head, she threw the empty cake box in the dust bin after ensuring that there were no more crumbs left inside.

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Author's Personal Note : My mother loves pastries. Strawberry flavoured ones are her favourite. But now-a-days she hesitates to have them, as she is wary of her high blood sugar levels. But I reassure her that , there is no need to worry , if one indulges in sweets once in a while. A few days back , I brought home some pastries , from “Flury’s” a reputed bakery outlet in Calcutta, specially for her. As she ate them I could see a glow of satisfaction light up her face. But, having been brought up to be thrifty and careful all her life, her first question after finishing the pastry was how much money I had spent on them. When I told her that I had paid Rs.60/- a piece , she was shocked . Then she laughed and said that decades back, she used to buy pastries for one rupee a piece, regularly from the local cake-wala (Calcuttans might recall the cake vendor , carrying a black tin box on his head and going from house to house calling out 'cake wala') . She said that she used to buy only two pastries (one each for my sister and myself) as there used to be no spare money for the third. I was deeply moved by her account . I kept thinking about how our parents had denied themselves for our sake. Thus , the story ‘The Cake’ was born. I dedicate this story to my parents and all other parents for their countless sacrifices.