I still remember Lent and the rigorous fasting that my grandparents adhered to when I was a little girl. The pancakes on Shrove Tuesday prepared by my grandma and the hot cross buns that my grandpa bought from a group of ladies on Maundy Thursday marked the beginning and end of Lent for me .
Gradually , the hot cross buns vanished . For fifteen years or more , every Maundy Thursday , we would pick up regular bread or buns from the bakery to be blessed at mass . The family would then share this blessed bread during dinner.
Today , as I was passing a traditional East Indian home in one of the Gaothans ( traditional villages in Mumbai) , an aunt who is an acquaintance called out to me from her window and asked me if I’d like to buy Easter eggs . I politely declined and asked her if she knew of any place from where I could get hot cross buns. She smiled and invited me in and there they were ….hot cross buns ! Those warm memories flooding in ….of me holding papa’s hand as we’d walk back home with a bagful of freshly baked buns.
Today , for just a few moments , I was papa’s little girl again .