These past few days , in some cosmic-related, twisted ways, I really connect to the elderly in my sweet little town of Volgograd

For example, there's a sweet little shop selling "sloika" (pastry shop, dare I say) with +-60 years old women as the seller, opened right in front of my house.

This network 0f sloika-selling babushka had become a phenomena in our little city. You can find them almost anywhere, at almost every major bus-stop.

This particular shop in front of my shop anyway, had a very particular scene to it...

Isolated from the major city centre, (as I could not afford to live there), the shop seems lonely, and stands out with it bright pink-color agaisnt the background of grim construction behind it.

And inside, the babushka (grandma) selling it, waiting faithfully, with a cup of tea, and some sort of novel in her hand.

I admit, I loved the sloika...and it almost become habitual of me to stop and buy it every time I reached the bus stop on my way home. But undeniably too, a little part of me just want to spend the 5 minutes of pure-business transaction, into something more personal. Yes, to spend some time to her, and let her know, in those lonely small shop, she can get a touch of human too.

It doesnt take long before our polite-form "Zdrastvuite" turn into more informal "Privet!" showing the fondness that grow. But, as commonly as it happened in my life, I dare not to ask her name (will tell u later on)..

Just 2 days ago, realizing how much money did I spend to the overprice pre-prepared pastry, she suggested to me to make my own. With that, she gave me a sample of the pastry dough, and enthusiastically teach me how to make it (though I must admit, i didnt understand half of what she said). But before I leave, she managed to say "vsyo ravno, pridet ko ne" (Eng : dont stop visiting me , even if u know how to make it urself)

Nonetheless, when I went home that evening, me and Yat managed to do our own, Malaysian-esque spicy pastry (apart from the sweet filling Russian very fond of here).

While biting into the pastry, I recall what she said. Little that it hidden the desperateness in her voice, missing human touch. Unlike in our homeland, elderly here tend to live on their own, without son or daughter visiting regularly, once they get married and move out of the house.

Today, I stepped out of the bus and merrily walked towards the shop. Someone else is inside there - yet another babushka...

Reluctantly, I paid for the overpriced pastry just to get an opportunity to ask where the usual woman who sat there. She said "she fell sick". I wonder if anybody even care to visit her at home..

So, today I left with a chocolate pastry in my right hand, and hope that the babushka will return tomorrow...

Else, it will take me another 2 weeks to say "privet" with this new babushka