What's your ice cream story?


Mother Dairy Belgiyum Ice Cream


My ice cream biography

Everyone has an ice cream story. Here’s mine.

My earliest ice cream memories are of the multi coloured rocket lollies that I loved as a child in the UK and of my disappointment at not getting them when we moved to India.

Of hiding ice creams, which I didn’t want to eat for some reason, in the cupboard when we were in Iran. I was five then and perhaps found them too milky for my tastes. I was born a picky eater.

Of waiting by the ice cream-wallah who would park his cart near my school’s gate in Calcutta. I knew my father would take the hint and buy an ice cream for his spoilt chubby toddler and his friends. He would complain to my mother about the expenses but would smilingly buy me my favourite chocobar.

Of lean, Spartan ice cream-less years while growing up in Calcutta after my father passed away when my mom had to raise two sons by herself on a college teacher’s meagre salary.

Of the excitement of visiting Mumbai after B school and rushing like a redneck to have a burger at McDonalds in Bandra and then a Brownie a la mode Sundae at Baskin Robbins. Liberalisation had just set in and foreign brands had come to Mumbai and Delhi but not Calcutta back then in the late 90s.

Of moving in to Mumbai to work. Of going out to eat with my new friends who too had come to Mumbai from all over India to seek their fortune. One of our favourite stops was at a place called Snow Bite in Bandra near Mehboob Studio for the chocolate and dry fruit flavoured ice creams in waffle cones.

Of meeting K and hanging around South Mumbai when we dated. She introduced me to the ice cream sandwiches at K Rustom’s in Churchgate.

Of our first trip abroad as a couple a few years after we get married. The excitement of having our first Haagen Dasz which was then not available in India. K told me that she had heard it was the most expensive ice cream in the world.

Of going back to Kolkata with K on holidays and reliving college memories by having the chocolate Sundae in a glass at Scoop. Albeit in the New Market outlet and not the river front one.

Of my new friends in Mumbai made through blogging and of Kurush introducing Soumik and me to the wondrous hand churned ice creams at the 127 year old Taj Ice Creams at Bohri Mohalla. A discovery that I shared with more friends since then through the blog and through my food walks.

Of my father in law and his love for ice creams. Of how he delighted my then baby cousins by offering a second chocobar to them when my family went to visit K’s for the first time before we got married. Of the chocobar he offered me when I had gone to visit him for dinner on Parsi New year, shortly before he passed away. Now a son in law and not a suitor. He happily munched on one himself that evening. Or was it two?

Funny how the ice cream stories around both my father and father in law centre around chocobars. In simpler days those were perhaps the most exciting ice creams around. That thin chocolate layer which would give in to excited toothy bites and then the vanilla layer that would melt and go dribbling all over one to the sound of childish giggles.

With its indulgent chocolate casing, the rich French premium vanilla heart inside and crunchy almonds enshrouding it, the new Mother Dairy Belgiyum chocolate ice cream did bring out the child in us a few days back. We had a party at our place that evening and I gave me friends, who had come over, a Belgiyum chocolate ice cream each. Everyone, the near forties and those who had crossed forty, all beamed as they tried to eat the chocobars in a mature manner till the ice creams streamed all over and laughter filled the room. Ratoola looked up from her Belgiyum chocolate ice cream bar and said, "this is like time travel!'

Yes, everyone has an ice cream story.

So what's your's?

This post was done in association with Mother Dairy


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