Bun from the past – The Hindu

Arjun loved visiting his grandparents in Coonoor. Of course, they pampered him and gave in to everything he said. But what he loved the most was the Sunday picnics. After church, they would pack a basket full of his favourite goodies and drive off into the hills. His grandparents seemed to know the remotest and most scenic places. Sometimes, they sat on a mountainside, sometimes by a small stream and, at other times, by a lakeside.

Today, they were off again. Grandma got behind the wheel, tooted the horn and they were off.

“Can we stop at the Best Bakery?” asked grandpa. “I want to pick up some buns.”

At the bakery, grandpa and Arjun hopped off, while grandma went to park the car.

The bell above the door tinkled gently as they opened it. But, strangely, no one appeared behind the counter.

“Strange,” muttered grandpa.

Arjun looked at him and grandpa explained, “Usually when the bell rings, Mrs. D’Souza appears behind the counter…”

They heard noises behind the curtain.

“Heelloooo,” yodelled grandpa cheerfully. Slowly, the curtain twitched, and a hand came out. It moved aside the curtain. There stood Mrs D’Souza. Or was it? It definitely looked like her. But something was amiss.

As she came close, they saw that her apron was dusty with flour … lumpy and yellowed with age. Her eyes were cloudy, like mist covering a hilltop lake. She smiled, slowly stretching her lips, but not quite reaching her ears.

“Oh,” she said softly, “you’re early for your picnic.”

Grandpa froze. The voice was definitely different. “Mrs. D’Souza? Are you all right?”

She tilted her head. Flour floated down from her hair like falling snow. “I’ve never been better. Finally, I got the ovens to work without electricity.” She snapped her fingers. They heard the ovens coming on in the back; the timers setting off a loud ‘tick tock tick tock’.

“I’ve been baking here for 175 years,” she whispered, floating closer. She smelt of old bread and yeast. “Everyone loves my buns. They are the best in town. People always come back for more…” She reached into the back and picked up a freshly baked bun from a tray. They saw it was perfectly baked; a soft bun with a golden, shiny top that smelled like butter and happiness.

Simply looking at it made their mouths water. Arjun stretched out his hand to take the bun. Grandma burst in. She took in the scene and shouted, “No, Arjun.”

Mrs. D’Souza — or the thing they thought was her — looked at Grandma. Her face turned green, and her eyes blazed. “Take the bun. Eat it,” she shouted.

Grandma screamed, “Car. Now.”

The three of them rushed out. The door banged shut and the bell rattled angrily.

Mrs. D’Souza rushed to the bakery window and watched as they sped away. At the window, Arjun saw the delicious bun becoming bigger and bigger. He really wanted to taste it. Will he?