Living life between meals

 "Diwali pe Ram ji, Sita maiyya ko Raavan se mukt karwa ke, apne ghar Ayodhya laaye the..." explained my grandmother to all four of her grandkids, scattered in front of her on the floor as each awaited their turn for a bite of the delicious diwali food.  It was a ritual in our home that "Daadi", would feed all of us during lunch from a single plate and narrate a story, usually something from our Hindu mythology.  This story of Ramayana was perhaps our introduction to the concept of "freedom". Sita getting free from Raavan's oppression is celebrated with great fervor every year.  My own definition of freedom during diwali kept evolving with time. It started with freedom of enjoying crackers and eating delicious foods as a child, freedom from studying for 3-4 days during school's diwali break, freedom from hostel life during college (though some might argue that hostels are the epitome of freedom during that age!) and freedom from work as I joined th...

 "Aa gaya kya"? I asked. Mom peaked down onto the street from the balcony of Nani's apartment in Mumbai.  "Abhi nahin aaya...aane wala hoga".  Both of us were eagerly awaiting the arrival of the street chaat seller. His small setup, perilously hoisted on an hourglass shaped bamboo base, smartly placed at the street corner to give maximum visibility to the nearby apartments, was the "adda" where neighbours would gather in the early evenings.  Others, like me, would like to have our bhelpuri or sevpuri packed and taken home for an evening session of gossip amongst cousins.  "Teekha kaisa, meetha kaisa"? Was the only interaction allowed between the busy vendor and his loyal client base. Ofcourse, if you come regularly, even this input is not needed. He knows! His hands move swiftly, almost like a well trained machine as he deftly mixes the various elements which make this savoury a flavourful treat.  He knows he has about three or four hours at ...

 "Guys, I am hungry, let us order Vada pav!" Said my boss in the middle of the meeting.  All 10 of us heaved a sigh of relief after an intense discussion on what our boss thought to be the next big business idea.  As he looked around the room to gauge the interest levels in Vada pav, and maybe take the headcount, we nodded one by one.  My mind drifted to the origins (or atleast what I have heard of the origins) of this "mighty" dish in Mumbai. Humble and hardworking mill workers would get a short break from the day's grind and would often search for something which they could grab and eat quickly, before they are called upon to return to the work. Thus came into the picture a simple Batata vada (non mumbaikar's read: potato patty) placed in a simple bun by tearing it open. Made interesting with a garlic based dry "chutney" and spiced up with a fried green chilli....that's how the world got its first Vada pav.  "...haan to aloo wala bread p...

 I vividly remember the evenings in the slim lanes of the myriad residential colonies of Delhi. The darkness is just about getting comfortable after the sun's failed attempt to pierce through the winter haze all afternoon long. The mist and a slight fog is making its presence felt as I step into the open, shivering mildly at the quickly dipping temperature....too vain to zip up the loose jacket.  "Delhi's winter makes one hungry" repeated my grandmother for the Nth time.  "What is in dinner?" I asked dutifully. I think every delhi-ite loves to grapple with this question more times in a day than the actual no. of meals he or she eats.  She smiled and said "Chhole and Puri". My eyes lit up. In one hour, I will be face to face with what I can only describe as foods of Gods. Yeah, I know that many of you are frowning at the typo..."it is Bhature and not Puri" you must be exclaiming! But no my friend. For me, it has always been Puri.  The cris...