. . . . Then Bikramjit suggested: Why don’t you guys check out ‘Pure Indulgence’?
No, this is not my classmate that I’m talking about. This Bikram is Tuhin’s room-mate at the house where he stays as a paying guest.
It was the sunny afternoon of 25th December. But inside Tuhin’s room it was dark enough for the tube lights to be switched on. Tuhin, Shayan, Anupam and I were gathered around the bed listening to Bikram’s idea. Actually I had read somewhere that during Christmas, some ladies over at Bow Barracks sell home-made cakes that are quite delicious. When I revealed my wish, Tuhin replied that may be Bikram had an even better idea. . . .
. . . . Once he had attended a party where the hosts had arranged for some mouth-watering chocolate treats, which they had bought from some lady who used to make them at her home. May be she wouldn’t mind selling a few pieces to us too. Well, when the source of information was so authentic, this matter definitely required some first-hand investigation!
. . . . After coming out of Flurys that evening, Tuhin suddenly remembered our plan and called up Bikramjit. As he repeated a phone number from Bikram, I typed it in my mobile. Then I called the number. The lady on the other end was probably non-Bengali, with a good control of her English and perhaps nearing her forties. She said the chocolates are not sold over at the counter; they have to be ordered from beforehand. But we could come and check out the different types of cakes, and buy some if we wanted to. However, we had to reach her house within 6.30 pm, because after that customers are not allowed to come and see the goodies for themselves before ordering. Then they can place their orders over phone and pick it up later, even late into the night.
Anyway, it was only about 5.30 in the clock. Since we were at Park Street and her home was near Elgin Road, the Metro would have easily taken us there in no time at all. So it was finalised – mission ‘Pure Indulgence’ was officially flagged off.
When we reached near Forum I called our mystery lady again. She said to continue towards Sharat Bose Road, cross it and resume following the road until we came to a shop called ‘Clothes Rack’. Then she would give us further directions.
We did so. We followed Rowland Road to reach ‘Clothes Rack’. The neighbourhood was posh, with a strong air of Bhawaniporian elitism. Big residential buildings were on both sides, with high security walls overgrowing with bougainvillea vines and costly cars. Tuhin, Bodhisattwa and me could sense the adventure, and loved it!
Following the last set of directions, we took a left from in front of ‘Clothes Rack’ and started down a dark lane. Bodhi took out his wallet and tried to see in the dim light whether the Rs.100/- note that he hoped he was carrying was really there or not! Somehow, with this feeling of people with money living all around this neighbourhood, I began to wonder whether Rs.100/- would be enough for our purpose this evening. . . .
. . . . Where the lane ended, an iron gate stood opened. The nameplate declared ‘Nopany’ in gold-plated letters. Beyond it a big house was visible, quite still and silent. It certainly seemed far off from a place where people came to buy cakes and chocolates. So we asked the old security guard at the gate whether somewhere in here they sell cakes, half-expecting him to stare at us and then burst out laughing!
But instead he asked us to come with him. In front of the house there was a green lawn, with a badminton court recently made in it. The court lights were on, a sign that a match was about to begin. A gentleman and a lady were there, with a child with them and probably one or two servants. The security guard called out to the lady and said we were here. She acknowledged.
My eyes became rasogollas! This is the person who was giving me directions over the phone? She was wearing three-quarter jeans, with snickers without socks. And she was nowhere near her forties. Things just took a turn for an intriguing mystery story. . . .
. . . . She welcomed us. Then she spoke with the gentleman and said to us: This is my husband. He will take you upstairs. Please follow him. I will join you in a couple of minutes.
So we did. The house was probably four storied, and it surrounded the lawn from two sides. There were three or four cars parked inside. Bodhi pointed out that one was a Mercedes. Nice, we thought!
The gentleman took us up on an elevator to the second floor. There he led us to a balcony. The ceiling was surely one and a half times as high as in modern homes. Two ceiling fans were hanging from long poles, like the ones that you saw inside the Parliament. We sat in three cane chairs around a marble-top round table. As we did, I looked at the room behind us. My jaw fell open. It was like a set from a movie depicting a zamindar bari. We looked at each other and grinned! This was going to be one Christmas evening like none before. . . .
The gentleman took the little girl, who had jogged up faster by the stairs than apparently her father could by the elevator, and went to a side-room. The lady of the house had arrived by this time. From close, she looked even less like the head of a confectionery manufacturer! She spoke fluent English and she spoke with honesty and frankness. Instead of our initial plans of coming here, looking at cakes displayed in some glass showcase, picking a few, paying for them, taking the packet and leaving, we sat comfortably in cane chairs in a second floor balcony of an old and lovely house, overlooking a badminton court where a match began after a while. And we listened to the story of this lady, and ‘Pure Indulgence’. . . .
Mridulika Nopany came to this house ten or eleven years ago, when she got married at the young age of twenty-one. Her husband was something of a maverick. He had been in the Commerce stream till the 10th standard in school; switched over to Science for his 11th and 12th classes; studied English at St. Xavier’s College for his B.A. degree because he loved the language; then he flew off to the USA to study textile management at Cornell University. When I asked Mrs. Nopany what he would jump over to in the future, she smiled and assured us that he was settled now.
Anyway, in the beginning Mrs. Nopany had this big house, lots of time, a rich inheritance, but nothing to do! She got fed up and frustrated. So she made up her mind to do something worthwhile. She took up classes and learned not only making cakes and chocolates, but also glass painting and some other stuff (one was probably stitching).
‘Pure Indulgence’ took off four years ago. Now her sister and she jointly run it. They have their own bakery, where they make on average five thousand items per day! But the funny thing is the absence of publicity. You won’t get their products in any confectionery shop. You won’t see their advertisement in any newspaper or bill-board. If you want to have them, you must come to this house and buy it. Mrs. Nopany went as far as to state that she is actively against any sort of advertising. Her logic is that if people see an ad in a roadside hoarding, they might come just to check the place out, not necessarily out of a direct interest to buy anything. However, without advertising, people come here like the way we did – by hearing about it from a friend or a friend of a friend who has actually tasted the products and liked it. That way, the customers are much more genuine with regards to their intentions. Well I can’t speak for everyone else but at least I haven’t ever heard of a food business, that too run by a Marwari family, which operates solely based on word-of-mouth publicity. She has plans to ultimately open a coffee shop, which would also serve you good food at affordable prices. She told us with a smile: I get sick of the filthy rich customers thronging the filthy expensive restaurants!
To be fare to the other side of the coin, when I first saw the cakes I was disappointed. The brownies are two inch by two inch square, about half-an-inch thick and cost an average of Rs.45/- per piece. We had pastries at Rs. 55/- a piece at Flurys, which were double the size. But Mrs. Nopany was very sporting. When we told her that this was a unique experience for all three of us and wanted to share it through our blog with our friends, she commented: First eat them and see!
I have. Tuhin and me both bought two Shortbread Chocolate brownies and two Macroon Shells (cup cake) at Rs.210/-, while Bodhi took home two Hazelnut brownies at Rs.100/-. The cup cake was okay, better than your average Monginis or Kathleen variety; but the Shortbread was excellent! With about eighty different items – covering brownies, tarts, cup cakes, cakes, cookies and chocolates – I guess there are bound to be many more excellent treats hiding in the bakery shelves.
We stayed for about an hour. It didn’t feel like time spent on buying foodstuffs, but rather taking a guided tour riding on the pots and pans through a kitchen built by hard work and dedication. When we had first told her about our desire to write about our experience in our blog, Mrs. Nopany said that she would have to ask her husband. But she warned us: Don’t be disheartened though. His first reaction is always a “no”. He says that is the mark of an organised and careful mind.
On our way out, we stopped by the badminton court where Mr. Nopany was busy playing with three of his friends. Mrs. Nopany told him about our idea, and he said: Well, if it is their personal blog and their personal opinion, then it’s fine. Mrs. Nopany turned to us with big eyes and said: Hmmm, now this was a first for me!
We wished them “Merry Christmas” and started walking towards the main road. I was thinking: here in this eighty-year old house (Bodhi had almost got it when he placed it at around the ’40-s; then Mrs. Nopany spoiled his excitement) lives a Marwari family with perhaps dozens of other Marwari families living in such grand, old houses around this locality. But I’m sure none of them will be like the Nopany’s. So where is the difference? One obvious answer was education. And with it were mixed the aspiration to make good use of the opportunities that only some of us are gifted with. As Mrs. Nopany told us some minutes ago: To be only rich is not enough. I did not want to sit on it idly just twiddling my legs! It is a bold statement coming from a member of a community that is not generally known for abandoning the well-trodden path followed by the rest, in search of a more meaningful one. . . .
. . . . I guess this city has many more wonderful secrets to share, if you’re willing to look hard enough!
