WHEN NEW TITLES WERE BESTOWED
"That has to be the best bowl of pesto pasta I have ever eaten," I pat my tummy, push the bowl away and smile at C. She cocks an eye brow at my hyperbole. "Okay. Definitely in India," I acquiesce. “But that is not a statement I expected to make here.” I twirl my arms around. We are on the second floor of the café-restaurant squeezed among shops and on the narrow pedestrian-only street. The establishments here have jostled with each other to squeeze into a spot and thus can only grow vertically for more space. Kitschy floor cushions placed around squat tables make up the seating plan and the interior décor. But, my ‘here’ is not a condescending reference to the non-fine dining non-Italian themed café. I mean the larger ‘here’. Benares. Varanasi. Kashi. It has many titles – spiritual capital of India, one of the most religious Hindu cities, and the like. The Indian city that serves the best pesto? It had not yet been bestowed with that one. Half an hour ago C and I we...