Smoky day memories

At Maharani Bagh Hostel, outside the gate through which we entered (the one next to Khizrabad), there used to be a chai-coffee wala, who specialised in Anda-Pakoras. He did other things as well, strange fried things out of jars, and a very mirchi chana thing that came in newspaper cones. But the anda-pakora, created from a boiled egg, a lathering of pre-prepared masala, and deep fried before our eyes, was the masterpiece for me. It somehow fulfilled all my cravings in one – the egg was protein, like meat; the masala was delicious and tickled all the right savoury tastebuds; there were even small pieces of carrot in the outer coating, which served as sweet. Over and above all this, the entire thing had a texture to die for. crunchy out the outside, smooth ehrn you hit the egg, and ah such pure joy!

Sometimes the anda pakora was a perfect thing in a world of imperfection, when I found my mind wandering while studying for pointless exams, doing a thesis I didn’t care for, patching together a dress for a party that gave me a queer anticipatory feeling in my belly – ironic because the party was very likely to turn into a drunken, possibly tearful and exhausting night, from some glitch or another in my pathetic relationship dynamic. Sometimes the anda pakora was all I had for company, waiting for people to come back from class, having bunked all of mine. Waking from a listless daze I would put on semi-decent clothes and leave the dark musty and comfortable hostel room, make my way up the driveway, marvelling at how grey the sky looked, grey like smoke and humid thoughts, as if a monsoon would pour any second. But not a single leaf poking through a brick crack or steel grille stirred in a cool breeze. I would find others at the vendor, as dull as me, and drinking hot tea out of thick glass tumblers. There was usually no need to talk. Food and drinks purchased, we would retreat a few metres into the driveway and sit companionably on a water tank until the pakoras were done, and then silently disappear into our own troubled minds again.

The London sky outside my boss’s window is smoky today. I feel listless at my desk, and want an anda pakora. Luckily, I have the happy instance of the upcoming drinky with a co-inmate of the said hostel coming up in an hour. And after that, there’s dinner and more with the bear. Life’s pretty okay.