Forecasters as erratic as the weather
It was, and maybe still is, one of the most mechanical, and yet compulsory duty of a news reporter on night shift. He or she must ring up the weather bureau in Colaba, jot down the minimum and maximum temperatures in the suburbs and the city, and the forecast for the next day. If the reporter didn’t do this by 9 pm, there would be thunder and lightning. His calls wouldn’t be taken by the weather Nostadamuses, and the rival newspaper’s reporter couldn’t be trusted. So what would the delayed reporter do? He would just make up the temperatures and forecast, and frequently he’d be more correct than the bureauwallas..
Now that’s a typically cynical yarn about the weather forecasters who admittedly perform thankless jobs. Still, I didn’t know whether to chuckle or growl the day after September 4, the wettest of the season so far. Heavy to very heavy rainfall was predicted for the next day, Tuesday. I chose to stay indoors (nothing like a self-imposed holiday), and yup you guessed right, in my surroundings it was dry as a whistle. Television weather reports I’ve never trusted though; it’s believed that the BBC forecasts are the most reliable in the world. Then how come I was caught earlier this year under soot black clouds and merciless showers in London, although a perfectly sunny day was predicted? Which is to say, I’ve resolved to go by my hunches and the early morning cloud formations, rather than depend on the weather wane. Anywhere!
Another thing that’s trou-bling me — see, am the worrier type — is whole wheat brown bread. That or multi-grain loaves are considered the right option for health watchers. Yet after years of chomping the brown stuff, I was warned by a nutritionist that there could be less — or more — than meets the eye. According to her, the asli brown bread is to be found only in one bakery in town. Ever since then, I’ve been travelling miles to buy the real stuff. Problemo! Most of the time, it’s all sold out by the time I get to this bakery. Either this nutritionist has helluva lot of clients who go by her word, or this bread’s truly special. So on the days I don’t get it, I just eat cake.
Which brings me to Paris Bakery located in Dukkar gully, Princess Street. Its khaari biscuits, cheese straws and assortment of cupcakes are out of the world. And its owner, an affable Danesh Irani, says, “Look, I use plenty of butter. That’s my secret. If you’re worried about cholesterol, I would ask you not to indulge yourself.” Wow, such frank-speak, in this day and age.
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