Dil Pasand: A Sweet Slice of Memory
Almost every day I find myself at Trinetra, an Indian grocery store tucked away on De Anza Boulevard in Saratoga. It’s not just the groceries that draw me in, but something deeply personal: a humble cup of Irani chai. In a life now defined by the careful arithmetic of diabetes, this chai is my quiet indulgence. Sugary, milky, comforting — it is my gentle act of rebellion, my guilty pleasure.
Over time, my visits to Trinetra have become so regular that the staff notices my absence. On days I travel abroad, I make it a point to let them know in advance. In this simple exchange lies an unspoken rhythm of mutual care — a bond formed not through grand gestures but through consistency and shared familiarity. Trinetra is not just where I sip my tea; it’s also where I gather the essentials of life (Indian groceries!), performing the little rituals that tether me to this place I now call home.
One afternoon, while waiting in line to pay, something on the shelf caught my eye — a packet of Dil Pasand. Unassuming in appearance, it was yet powerful enough to stop me in my tracks. In that moment, chai in hand, a wave of memory washed over me.
Dil Pasand was a sweet, flaky portal into a time when life was unfiltered and full of possibility. I was instantly transported to my college years at the Regional Engineering College (REC) in Warangal, between 1993 and 1997. Those were the years of becoming — of forging friendships and dreaming boldly. The scent of old trees wafting across campus, rides in shared autos, late-night movie runs, Amma’s Chai, Bhajji’s at Mamu’s, studying until dawn, preparing for exams, and the ever-present hum of youthful ambition formed the backdrop of our lives.
In that small corner of Andhra Pradesh, Dil Pasand — fondly called “DP” in college — was more than a snack — it was comfort food, a taste of home. We saved up for it, shared it with friends, and treated ourselves to it after victories big or small, or for that matter, for no reason at all! It also doubled up as birthday cake during mid night celebrations. More importantly, it was the only indulgence we could afford.
After exhausting classes or long walks across campus, my friends and I would often pause at Swiss Bakery, just outside the college gate. There, a kind-hearted vendor Nadeem would serve us Dil Pasand, often adding what we owed him to our long list of loans in his notebook. While savoring the pastry — crisp and golden, filled with sweet coconut and a mysterious spice that lingered long after the last bite — we talked about everything from coursework and the pressures of lab work to the girls we admired and our dreams for the future. I often wondered about the name Dil Pasand — was it because so many campus romances blossomed with one in hand, including mine?
It was in those unplanned, in-between moments, seated on rickety benches with the sun setting over the campus, when we truly learned — not just about engineering but about how to find joy amidst the grind, calmness in the scorching heat. We rarely explored the landmarks of Warangal, steeped in centuries of history — Kazipet was the farthest we ventured, for birthday treats and weekend movies. The grand Kakatiya Fort or the Thousand Pillar Temple meant little to us then. What mattered were the evening chats, the laughter, the daydreams, and yes, the shared Dil Pasand that slowed down time and helped us connect the dots between who we were and who we aspired to be.
The memory of Dil Pasand encapsulates everything those years stood for: the intensity of learning, the innocence of friendships, the sense of belonging, the shared struggles and small celebrations. Today, I often find myself yearning for the sweet simplicity of that formative chapter of our lives. Perhaps it’s the simplicity that gives the memory its weight. Or perhaps, as life grows more complex, we cling more tightly to the things that once grounded us.
Dil Pasand is a reminder of a time when life — much like that pastry — was a balance of sweetness, substance, and fleeting beauty. At Trinetra, as my mind drifted back, the person behind me gently nudged my body forward. And I put down on the counter a packet of Dil Pasand to enjoy with my REC Warangal friends Arif, Anand and Saikot, whom I was about to meet after a decade!
