Sweet Indian Memories

My grandmother, Cecilia Petronella Cronje, is definitely a reincarnation of some extravagant Indian lady that, in her previous life, didn't do enough dancing, socializing and always wanted to have red hair. My grandmother does not believe in reincarnation but the Indian lady that lives in her body now, has the rest of us believing.

Cecilia, a short and slim vivacious lady with turquoise blue eyes, milky white skin and freckles on her pink blushing face, has never seen the outside of South Africa or even seen India on the Travel Channel, but is more Indian than some Raj's and Singh's out there!

As a child, our house was always smelling of some Indian spice, Chilly bites, Naan or Samoosas. Cupboards always had some Ramadan, Eid or Divali cookies in them, and her choice of house colour- Indian bright pinks, greens and blues- had the family wondering. Her jewellery is over the top and she left the house looking like a Hindu bride every morning, draped in diamonds, gold and bright pink lipstick. Saree's and gold bracelets, chillies and cardamon, intense fragrances and shocking green bathrooms...not your typical Afrikaans lady!

Growing up with the Indian culture and food, my mother and I developed a tradition and an equal love for India. On rainy days, hard days, cold days or sad days, or sometimes just any days, we used to take a trip to the Oriental Plaza, Johannesburg's little Culcatta. We would, without fail, order 2 spinach samoosas, 2 meat samoosas, 2 corn and cheese samoosas, naan bread, 2 papr, 2 masala tea and 2 sweet coconut samoosas to finish off with. We would sit in the bustling informal cafe, ill decorated, noisy, completely lacking ambiance and proudly hosting a life sized poster of Mecca on the wall. We'd talk, eat and talk, and then talk some more. When we eventually tired of sitting, we would drive to a little shop called Mantsoura, hidden away in the back alleys of Braamfontein, and buy Indian Sweet Meats- traditional sweets usually made for festivals and weddings and like nothing you have ever seen in the west. In Mantsoura, we would buy Jelebi, Chana Magaj and Burfee, while being stared at strangely by the bakers in the shop. We are sure, until this day, that we are the only white people that know about this place! And no day would be complete without our sugar rush from these delectable sweets, eaten in the car out of the white cardboard take-away boxes as we sat through afternoon traffic in the city.

To this day, whenever it rains, or whenever either one of us is sad, or whenever we miss each other, either one would expect a call from the other saying, "Today is a Plaza day!" We would reminisce and feel all better after, remembering our days in that uncomfortable restaurant where Samoosas healed hearts, masala tea fought the blues and the sweets made life...sweeter.

Years since our last Plaza date, I am blessed enough to visit in India, and I land in a city called Calicut, or Kozhikode. It smells of sun and spice and hard labour and is so colourful, vibrant and busy. I discovered a place called Sweet Meat Street Market and took the first Tuk Tuk I could find, in search of real Indian Sweet Meats!

Strolling through the sizzling streets and being the only non-Indian, which definitely attracted some attention, I discovered a tiny shop off the dusty street called Shankara Bakery. I spotted something that resembled the Mantsoura sweets I know and without hesitation rushed in. The worried looking little Indian man behind the counter could not speak a word of English, but luckily signalling 2, and saying Jelebi, Chana Magaj and Burfee, had him quickly weighing, packing and wrapping my little Indian delicacies in a confused haste.

As I sat in my hotel room, tasting the real deal, in real India, I really missed my mom, and really really wished she was eating these sweets with me! They were great, authentic and everything I had hoped for, but they were missing something- sharing them with my mom!

Wish you ate here with me!