Dnyan. Mandir Road (5)

En route to the printer's from Dadar we circumnavigated an old-timer sleeping behind a basket piled with something sheathed in green. I glanced down as I walked on, and soon my curiosity got the better of me. They looked for all the world like tomatilloes, but I knew they couldn't be. Running back and nudging the guy, I got a name: "raspberry." Or did he say "ras bhari"? Two bucks later I was undressing it, the fruit inside just larger than a cherry, supple and voluptuously orange, and popping it in my mouth. Juicy like a grape, but seedless. Wish I'd saved it.

I'd eyed a snacks counter on the way, and hit it on the way back. I had my hand extended with the four bucks as I walked up and asked the kid for one with everything. He obliged with the works, two chutneys and a mound of the dried garlic stuff like I've never seen. Barely having broken my stride I bit down, and my tongue lit up. The burn lasted me the ride back to Bandra.