There is this small Kebab Shop round the corner of the street where I live. It’s very popular. Every evening to late at night, they sell kebabs like hot cakes (cakes are not much in demand here, however). On days when I don’t feel like cooking this kebab shop is our sanctuary.
So, whenever we go there, after Arijit has placed the order, we stand outside the shop and wait to get our take away.Through the glass door of the shop I see the huge spread and neat sitting arrangements inside. I watch men eating and talking amongst themselves.
All men. Only men.
Women here do not enter inside such B grade restaurants. I often wonder what will happen if I just get in there one fine day, take a seat and ask for the menu card. Continue reading “Not Eighteen Anymore”