A Bandra childhood is unforgettable for countless reasons. This time each year ranks way up on the list. I remain fully fascinated by the trappings of Xmas. Not just carols and cribs, tinsel and trees, but plump piles of sinful sugar plums, rum balls and milk creams that beckon invitingly. We received them from East Indian and Goan neighbours in holly-twigged trays trimmed with smiling, satin-shiny Santas. 

Architect Clement DeSylva deconstructs these delectable treats in his book and blog, Bandra Buggers: “Marzipan had to be stirred clockwise, from the inside out, like a Well of Death rider. When it dripped on the stove side, our fingers transported it into our mouths, and us to Christmas sweet heaven. From 100 dates to deseed, 20 went missing in action. Caught with the date in a pretending-to-be-empty mouth, you got whacked with the belan!”