I live alone in the big, bad world. I have been doing for almost three years, now. The things we sacrifice in the interests of education and a cushy future. It all seemed worth it at the outset, but on hot, tiring days when you know you're not getting lunch back at 'the crib' and you face another meal of toast and orange squash, it's the easiest thing in the world to envision chucking it all and going back home.
And on one such day, your protagonist; yours truly, was trudging along homewards when she saw an interesting sight. There was a large crowd of people standing around an oldish couple standing behind a table piled with large steel containers. It was obviously food, and just as obviously, it was good food. Hungry, and having spent enough time in the city to know that street-vendors are cost-effective, I edged over to see what it was. Imagine my surprise when I saw the lady grab a plate and ladle a vegetable curry, a dry vegetable dish and some rice onto it. Just as I was marveling at my luck (I was planning on getting me some vegetable something to eat with my bread), she pulled out a couple of rotis that reminded me of rotis back home. That did it. I lived in a place where rotis were tantamount to frisbees or jaw-toning exercises. This was just too good to pass up, food poisoning be damned.
So I walk up to them and with all the hesitancy of the new customer, ask about the price.
"15 rupees, roti and vegetable"
I walked off with my prize; 2 rotis and two portions of vegetable, enough for a nice, satisfying, nourishing meal.
I got home and opened it all out and tried a bit. Oh, so good. Having wolfed it down, I was awaiting a digestive disaster, which never came.
I was hooked.
These home enterprises can be found dotting the street corners around busy, office areas. They cater to the on-the-go, low-on-cash clientele who need to eat healthy and run back to work. Some, in the lane that runs parallel to the main road connecting Fountain and Kalaghoda, get more creative. Here you find fried fish, curry and rice, roadside chinese (which will be another entire post), even, recently, biryani. I haven't seen anyone yet drop dead after eating from these stalls, so it isn't just that my stomach is made of stainless steel. But they have their time constraints.
Lunch is the time to go. If you turn up around 3-ish, they'll be cleaning up, and all you'll get is chai. If you're looking for breakfast, then you might find the idli-vada-chutney guys roaming around with their large steel containers in the morning. There is one uncle who sells idli-vada on the turning just before Siddharth College at Fountain, on the same side of the road. I've seen him there often.
If ever in the vicinity, you must, for fun, if nothing, ferret out one of these people. If you're lucky, you'll even get some shira.
And on one such day, your protagonist; yours truly, was trudging along homewards when she saw an interesting sight. There was a large crowd of people standing around an oldish couple standing behind a table piled with large steel containers. It was obviously food, and just as obviously, it was good food. Hungry, and having spent enough time in the city to know that street-vendors are cost-effective, I edged over to see what it was. Imagine my surprise when I saw the lady grab a plate and ladle a vegetable curry, a dry vegetable dish and some rice onto it. Just as I was marveling at my luck (I was planning on getting me some vegetable something to eat with my bread), she pulled out a couple of rotis that reminded me of rotis back home. That did it. I lived in a place where rotis were tantamount to frisbees or jaw-toning exercises. This was just too good to pass up, food poisoning be damned.
So I walk up to them and with all the hesitancy of the new customer, ask about the price.
"15 rupees, roti and vegetable"
I walked off with my prize; 2 rotis and two portions of vegetable, enough for a nice, satisfying, nourishing meal.
I got home and opened it all out and tried a bit. Oh, so good. Having wolfed it down, I was awaiting a digestive disaster, which never came.
I was hooked.
These home enterprises can be found dotting the street corners around busy, office areas. They cater to the on-the-go, low-on-cash clientele who need to eat healthy and run back to work. Some, in the lane that runs parallel to the main road connecting Fountain and Kalaghoda, get more creative. Here you find fried fish, curry and rice, roadside chinese (which will be another entire post), even, recently, biryani. I haven't seen anyone yet drop dead after eating from these stalls, so it isn't just that my stomach is made of stainless steel. But they have their time constraints.
Lunch is the time to go. If you turn up around 3-ish, they'll be cleaning up, and all you'll get is chai. If you're looking for breakfast, then you might find the idli-vada-chutney guys roaming around with their large steel containers in the morning. There is one uncle who sells idli-vada on the turning just before Siddharth College at Fountain, on the same side of the road. I've seen him there often.
If ever in the vicinity, you must, for fun, if nothing, ferret out one of these people. If you're lucky, you'll even get some shira.
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