A Memorable Encounter

By Surya Prasanna Bharani Sannidhanam

I have never seen that person before. Perhaps, owing to the fact that it is still my first month in this neighborhood, or that it takes immense effort for me to move my ass off the cushion and my eyes off the book, we never happened to meet. I might regret this lapse a little later, but my mind was too preoccupied to think of that currently.

It was an attractive and highly expressive face, dusky and thin, and a little wrinkly for me, if I may say. A restless frown, almost unnoticeable at first glance, rested between the thick eyebrows, knitting them slightly closer. The honey-brown eyes were looking at something intently, adjusting the round-rimmed glasses that bound them (almost like an Indian version of Harry Potter), pushing it up the nose with the damp fingers, as if to move it out of the way. There were deep breaths, that of sniffing the mixed smells around. I could smell them too and I had a flash of images, of the taste of something spicy and sour, accompanied by the sound of the crunch of a crisp crust, and there was a burst of flavors in my mouth. I swallowed the saliva that started pouring into my mouth.

Those eyes moved again, rolling to the sides impatiently and there was a faint tapping of the foot. That's when I noticed the bunch of people that stood in line along with us. The frown relaxed a fraction and a slight beam replaced it; it was a precious glow - it didn’t really curve the stiff lips into a complete smile, but somehow ironed out a few wrinkles on the sides of the eye. Charming! Licking the moist dark-pinkish lips and wiping away the last flecks of red on them, the smile widened a little more, in anticipation, as the person in the front turned around, holding out a puri, a small little puri, with the delicious greenish water dripping from its bottom, and placed it delicately in the paper plate. The damp fingers picked it with the same gentleness, dropping it into the awaiting mouth, onto the desperate tongue, closing the eyes instinctively. They opened again only to grow wider, showing just how refreshing the flavor was.

She was a 40-year-old, who, I realized later, lived just down my street. That was the best introduction I could ever have of her- at the infamous 'pani puri' stall.

Capturing the market like no other (the economist in me takes over), pani puri has held the hearts of people of all ages, gender, size, and shape. And of course, pani puri is one of those rare organizations that has outnumbered the temples in India. Could we declare pani puri as our national snack now at least, please?

By Surya Prasanna Bharani Sannidhanam