Today's been busy, Reader. I've been trying to bake all day, but just when I got my butter softened, Amma made me go shopping, and then just when I had my dry ingredients sifted, it was time for lunch and I had to clear down. Then Appa came home and he, Amma and I had a long cose. Then I had to attend a function in the evening and then it was time for dinner. Remembering all the tall promises I made back in Mumbai, I finally settled down to bake in earnest at 10 in the night. The house was silent, everyone else asleep. I sifted and stirred, whisked and tasted to my heart's content. Finally, I popped the last batch of cupcakes into the oven and looked around. The whole house smelled of spice and chocolate. I was dusted over with flour, had a chocolate smear on one arm and two slightly burnt fingertips.
I wasn't sleepy yet, indeed was rather peckish, but nothing in the fridge tempted me. After messing about with butter and cocoa and cream and chocolate for hours, I really didn't want anything the slightest bit rich. Finally my gaze alighted upon the oranges Amma bought me today, that I had callously stuffed into a bottom shelf to make room for my glossy confections. They looked promising, they weren't chocolate.
I juiced a couple of oranges into a bowl, impatiently, with my hands, and squeezed a lime in for good measure. Then I poured the juice into a glass goblet (I like doing things in style), straining it through my fingers. Finally I took a glorious, puckery sip collapsed into a chair and started to tell you all about it.