The Road From Jhumritalaiyya to Pani Puri

Jhumritalaiyya is a Place

And not merely fiction. It is in Jharkhand (previously part of Bihar), next to Ranchi.

This I know because the pani puri walla whom I regularly visit is not a Mumbaiyya by birth. He is the first of his family, Ajay said, to come out and see the city quite a distance away.

He arranges his audience clockwise around him, and then serves puris to them, picking each one up with a flourish, filling it with moong/boondis, then tamarind water, and then pani puri water. One plate of pani puri costs Rs. 20 and is good for 6 puris.

At first bite, you crunch into the puri, then the water’s taste fills up your mouth, and the softness of boondis, and coriander finally hit in last, freshening the breath.

After serving the 6 puris, he offers you an extra helping of the water (paani) and an extra puri with boondi-moong, and masala. I get a customized serving of a little bit of tamarind in my final puri. Like me, he knows the tastes of many regular customers. I hear a man behind me introduce a new customer to Ajay, ‘This is actually my brother.’

Ajay regularly arrives at about 11 to the Lokhandwala Chat Center and takes a break around 2, then he starts again about 3 or 4 and goes on to 11 p.m.

I have asked him a bit about himself, and tried his servings, but I wonder how many faces he has seen, and stories he’s sampled sitting just on this one little corner in Lokhandwala.

in pajamas: green top, yellow bottom with flowers
till:2 p.m. roughly :)

Fruit tales in Mumbai

I went grocery shopping the day befores with my mother. We came along tomatoes, potatoes, zucchini, water chestnuts; we passed by pineapples and apples, and I remember we stopped at papayas. They are a rich, sweet fruit.

The price negotiation factor is a real test of character. Bargaining shows the inner you. The seller in this case, without stating the real price put two papayas in the bag, confident that he would get the price. Meanwhile, Mom and I felt that since was so certain that Rs. 60 and then Rs. 55 was the price, that we should actually pay him Rs. 45. When he took his Rs. 50, he raised it to the god Hanuman before pocketing it.

Because of our (unfair) haggling, he refused to deal with us further. I felt awful about the callous manner in which he was speaking to Mom, so I intervened and said, “You talk like this with your customer, and then you put your money to a god,” trying to point to his hypocrisy. That infuriated him and he raised his voice and refused to talk to me.

Meanwhile, Mom had already agreed to a bargain price of Rs. 60 for oranges, which was unbeatable in other places, but because of what I said, he was unwilling to trade.

After about 15 more minutes of shopping, I still could not shake off the feeling that I’d done something wrong, so I went up to him to apologize.

I could not immediately spot him among fruitsellers, even though I was on the lookout for the Hanuman picture near his stall. I found him sitting down with two other neighbour fruitsellers; probably they had discussed his woes.

All I could do was fold my hands in greeting.
He accepted my apology, “I said too much.”
He acquiesced. “No, it’s just that I sold you the papayas even at a loss, and still you wanted a bargain.”
After some kind-talk of me saying “Please don’t hold this at heart,” he let me go with “Babaji ka aashirwaad hai.” (May the lord bless you).

Sounds a lot like “Salam aleikum” (May peace be upon you.)

God I miss Cairo!

In pajamas: green top, yellow bottoms with flower print
Time: 2 p.m. (lovin the stinky afternoon pajama feeling)
Motto: I’m lovin’ it (borrowed from McDonalds)