The last few pieces I wrote became rather serious, so I’ve decided to lighten things up a bit. Can it be called light-hearted? Well, it’s about eating, and if you eat too much, your heart might not stay light! But believe me, I’m a light eater, and didn’t I get a heart attack anyway?

When did I start eating out? Our family outings, movies, and entertainment were mostly in the Connaught Circus/Place area of Delhi. If I remember correctly, two “hotels,” as they were called then, attracted the South Indian crowd: South Indian Boarding House and Madras Boarding House. I hope I’ve got the names right. If we were aiming for something more stylish, we’d head to Nirula’s. Was it on one of the upper floors? Nirula’s Ice Creams were lip-smacking delicacies for us. Back then, ice cream sellers were rare, and there were no vendors with carts roaming around. If we were lucky enough to be taken there, we would hesitantly and fearfully ask our parents if there was any chance we could taste those delightful ice creams. Occasionally, they’d oblige, and we’d get to indulge.

To truly appreciate something, it often needs to be denied first—that’s the nature of desire. Nowadays, with countless ice cream parlors, restaurants offering hundreds of varieties, vendors on every corner, and most importantly, wallets thick enough to afford it, the appeal seems to have vanished. Our bodies, no longer cooperative, protest even the thought of indulging. Smacking our empty lips, we turn away.

And what would we eat in those hotels? No prizes for guessing—idlis, dosas with sambar and chutney, the same things we ate at home. No matter how great a cook your mom might be, why does hotel food always seem more tempting? I’ve never quite figured that out.

I’ll come to chaats later. I recall the word “chaat” becoming popular much later, though it has now spread faster than wildfire.

Delhi was known for Gol Gappas, also known as Pani Puris. Wow, even the mention of them makes my mouth water. Just a week before writing this, the universe in all its benevolence allowed me to taste them again. Good, but Delhi’s Gol Gappas were the best. The sheer thrill of stuffing your mouth with the crisp puris filled with potatoes or lentils, dipped in both sweet and spicy water, was unmatched. As you tried to put the whole puri into your mouth, half the water would inevitably spill over your chin and into the tiny plate. Five or six puris—was it? —would be served and devoured greedily within minutes. And when you extended your plate for more, you’d be rudely told, “It’s over. Your order is done.” Disappointed but still longing, you’d sip every last drop of the pani left in the plate with a satisfied slurp.

But the pani puri story doesn’t end here.

Continued in 107. Chats And Chaats - Part 2