Iyengar Bakery Blues

This incident happened somewhere in the late 80’s when I was 7 or 8 years old. We were regular customers of an Iyengar Bakery that was right across the street from our house. In those days, Iyengars owned most bakeries in Bangalore and most of them were invariably named Iyengar Bakery with a prefix like Hassan or some random initials. I distinctly remember the Owner of this Iyengar Bakery (I don’t remember if the bakery had a prefix attached to its name). He was a bald guy with a sizable paunch and was probably in his late 30’s or early 40’s. He was not one of your typical friendly neighbourhood storekeepers. Actually, I never saw him smile. His face expressed constant resentment (probably towards his occupation).

The Bakery had three stepped rows of glass containers (with steel lids) housing varied assortment of toffees, candies, biscuits and condiments arranged over a large display cabinet that contained cakes, pastries, puffs and loaves of different varieties of bread. A makeshift plywood wall separated the selling area and the baking area with the refrigerator located in the baking area.

One summer afternoon, I felt like getting myself a Popsicle. Back then we used to call them Lollies. Lollies were available in various flavours. My personal favorites were Cola and Strawberry. A regular Lolly cost 50 paisa and a Milk Lolly cost 75 paisa. After successfully pestering Mom to part with a 50 paisa coin, I crossed the road and got to the Bakery to treat myself a Lolly.

Me: Ondhu orange lolly kodi. (Give me an orange flavoured lolly)

At this point, there is no other customer at the Bakery and Owner is half-asleep. He opens his eyes and looks at me with visible annoyance. He then reluctantly gets up from his chair and drags himself to the baking area to get me a Lolly from the refrigerator. Meanwhile, I take out the 50 paisa coin and stretch out my right arm. The small guy that I was, my hand could only reach the second row of glass containers. My hand lands on one of those steel lids and makes a clinking sound.

Shopkeeper: Aey, yeno kadhitha idiya? (Aey, what are you stealing?)
Me: Naan yaake kadhili? Nanage yenadharu bekadhare, namma Appa athava Amma kodusthare. (Why should I steal? If I feel the need for something, my parents will buy it for me)

I paid him the money, took my Lolly and left. We stayed in the same house for another three years but that was my last visit to that Bakery.