Childhood had its own secret menu—no recipes, no five-star chefs, just mothers, grandmothers, and their endless pinch of love.
Our first dessert wasn’t a cake, but a warm roti smeared with ghee and sugar sprinkled over it rolled tight in our little hands. The finger fry rings? We wore them like jewelry on all ten fingers before crunching them away.
Summers were scented with mango petis hidden under the bed—ripe ones on top, raw ones below. We would count the days, then race with cousins to see who could eat the most—sticky hands, dripping elbows, and mango-smeared smiles.
How can we forget the Pepsi colas—tall ice sticks in plastic covers for just one rupee, painting our tongues red, green, and purple. A rainbow you could taste, proudly sticking out your tongue to show the color—pure, innocent days.”
Rainy evenings meant hot bhajiyas with family huddled close, while cranky days were healed instantly with bananas sliced into milk and sugar. Dipping Parle-G in tea—only to watch one slip, sink, and disappear—was enough to break our little hearts.
These weren’t just foods but stories. They were emotions—moments packed into flavors that will never come back, yet stay alive in our hearts forever. They were the taste of love, of family, of a time when happiness was measured not in calories but in crumbs left behind.
And today, no matter how much the world offers, nothing tastes the same—because the missing ingredient is the love-filled hands that once fed us. ❤️
💭 What’s your strongest childhood food memory? The mango petis? The Pepsi colas? Or the magic of ghee-sugar roti rolled by your mom’s hands?
Do share❤️
Blessmesai 