The taste of'desi' food on the roadside stalls is unmatched, it can't be found anywhere in the whole sect of family restaurants, McD's, Subways', etc.etc. While passing through a congested road, half occupied by the'Thela wallahs' selling delicacies of various sorts from Gol-Gappey to chaat to dahi-bhalle, omelette rolls etc., their aroma pulls you to indulge and that's quite natural unless you too have become health conscious after reading numerous health related articles everyday which forbid you to even think of getting near the street food.
There's always availability of food according to your mood on the go.
A makeshift market happens to be a good 3 km away from my residence. It's non-existent in the books of municipality, the workers from different industries have occupied an open plot in the labour accomodation area, every evening they organize their stalls and sell at a very nominal price, the market is always crowded, there are stall of vegetable sellers, fruit sellers, paan-masala-gutkha-naswaar sellers, barbers with chair, sellers of old clothes and other junk items, etc. it serves the purpose of being located in the labour accomodation area.
But the market is non-existent in the books of the dear Municipality!
One such weekend evening as per the habit of indulging I had a plan to have some spicy omelette roll, then some gol-gappas, then some spicy fried Bengal grams and finishing with jalebis. It was a winter evening and it became quite dark by the time it was 6p.m. when I reached the spot; just to witness that the Municipality had raided the food stalls and throwing the pans and containers of food into their lorry, it seemed more crowded - the eyes of sellers whose shops were robbed in their opinions and the eyes of labourers who had the feeling that food could have filled their bellies, A few of them said,"Don't throw, give us." The babble in the darkness and the lighting of a Restaurant located on the opposite side of the road were completely in contrast. Suddenly the Restaurant seemed the conqueror as if yelling through it's beaming lights,"You have robbed my weekend customers, you have to pay for it." The lighting symbolised the presence of a Colonial master and those labourers hired by the municipality were those who didn't support Mahatma Gandhi during the'Asahyog Andolan'(Non-Co Operation movement) against the British, instead they the served the Colonizers. And there was me the spectator, the neutral!. Left for judgement.
Then suddenly came a voice from a fried Bengal grams seller putting his big pan full of the tasty dish ahead,"Take it, take it." All the people around as if waiting for the moment jumped towards the pan before the slaves of the Municipality could touch it, And hungry me after a long walk too thrust my hand to grab a handful of Bengal grams.
The babble had reached the interior of the market, A Chicken tikka seller was lifting his charcoal stove to leave, a weary man reached him and requested to light his Bidi and his wish was granted. In the whole hullabaloo the only thing unmatched was the calm on the face of the weary man puffing his Bidi and looking towards the ongoing plunder. It was a free show for him, just another topic to discuss over dinner and Bidis with his buddies.
