shimla

The other memory took place on a bumpy ride back from Solan to Shimla inside one of those old, blue local buses. I had managed to snag a window seat in the very back row, which is always just a long bench where five strangers are crammed tightly together.
A local lady boarded the bus and squeezed in right next to me, carrying two massive sacks of vegetables. The air immediately filled with the overwhelming, sharp scent of fresh coriander and spinach. Because of the winding mountain roads, the bus swayed sharply with every turn, and every single time it did, her heavy bags would slide and dump themselves right onto my leg. After the third time this happened, I gave up, reached over, and just held the bag steady for her.
We didn't exchange a single word for the rest of the journey. But when the bus pulled up to 103 and she got up to leave, she handed me a small, separate packet. She smiled and said it was fresh and just for me. It turned out to be fenugreek leaves. I actually hated methi, but I accepted it anyway out of politeness. That evening, my mom used it to make parathas, and to my surprise, they were already delicious 😋