Rita was nostalgic when she was introducing her friend Seema to the various friends and relatives as they flicked through her wedding album. “Wow! Rita. Now we know why Ravi fell head over heels in love with you. You were so pretty.”

Rita moved uncomfortably in her seat. Gingerly she said, “I know I must loose some weight.” They chatted for a while and soon Seema left and Rita got busy. But, every moment that she had for herself her friend’s remarks seemed to be ringing in her ears.

Rita found herself reflecting on her decade long marriage. She was very happily married in the social sense. How different her relationship was now. Though she continues to be the perfect wife and together they make the perfect couple. She couldn’t remember when they had last touched each other.

OK, so the way to his heart is supposed to be through his stomach, or, at least, that is what your mother or aunt, or friendly neighbour must have told you to get you interested in the whole business of cooking for a future husband. But what are you to do when study schedules are so demanding all the way through school and college right up to your post-graduation and employment? What are you to do in a post-feminist world where, along with all the aunts urging you to cook, there are also plenty of examples of sensitive New Age men who can cook? Do you take up the ladle and rolling pin to cook your boyfriend, fiancée or husband a great meal or not?

Ever heard the story about the three young men being interviewed for a job with a rather stiff organisation. The job involved extensive travel and entertaining and the Company Chief had to make sure the right man fitted the social as much as the work profile.

After all the questions were asked, he invited the young hopefuls to lunch at the office dining room, a very elegant affair. Lunch was simple enough, and by watching the Big Man, all three youngsters conducted themselves quite creditably. Then came the dessert, a luscious looking creamy concoction. As the boys tucked in they discovered that the cream hid a whole lot of cherries and they were not de-seeded cherries either! So what did the candidates do, while their prospective boss watched good humouredly!

The wind-swept vista of Marine Drive had only a few people huddled against the light drizzle. But even in the rain, a brave vendor of roasted corn was plying his trade. As we walked hand in hand, we couldn’t help but pause at his cart, ordering ourselves a roasted cob of corn each. While our snack was being readied, we snuggled up to each other under one umbrella, watching the sparks fly from the corn-sellers ‘sigdi’ while we felt an answering glow in our own hearts…

Remember those fairy tales in which the queen was given a magic fruit that would make her happy, have a baby, and experience all kinds of other miraculous side effects? Well, I know that in Snow White the tempting fruit is an apple, and in Rapunzel, the pregnant woman is yearning for radishes, but to me the clear choice in more realistic terms would be – a guava.

It is guava season, and anywhere one drives to in the city, there are carts piled high with the pale-green, mildly-yellow fruit that fills me with a yearning to taste it at the mere sight of it. I don’t know if my statistics will be borne out by extensive surveys, but in all the forty-six years I have spent knocking around on this planet, I have not yet met a woman who didn’t show some sign of enthusiasm when she saw a guava (preferably being cut into slices, to be eaten with some salt and chilli powder). In my growing up years, my mother attributed my mania for guavas to her own craving for them when she was expecting me. However, since she said this, I have met umpteen women whose mothers all apparently had the same craving!