opp. Thane GPO (19)

Khandelwa's has perhaps the definitive collection of local munchies. "Snacks of the soil," if you will. (Definitely not to be confused with Khandelwal, the Gujju supermarket, whose Chembur branch is currently advertising aam ras and Spl. Palak Dhokla, both worth a try.) If it's Maharashtrian and fried and not Prahalad Kakkar it's there.

Next door is a little outlet called Kunj Vihar, which once upon a time enjoyed the totally inapt distinction of appearing on Wikipedia. Though the mention has been revised out of existence, it will always be the original jumbo. Not the Jumbo King, a mere pretender to the throne. I was late to Simon's already, but this seemed like an opportunity not to be missed

Upon exiting the station to Naupada I began inquiring after the sab se famous vada pav bhandar. And was steadily pointed in the right direction! It will be difficult to relate the freakishness of this experience to anyone who hasn't been white and approximately hinglophone in India.

Two hefty vadas (I would say 3-in., but forgot my ruler) on a double-long pav (an adha?) dosed with sweet chutney, topped with a slaw-like salad. All that for Rs. 8. I hated to eat and run, but if I had waited until after I ate I'd have been unable even to walk.

[Taking stock]

This marathon started January 21. That gives me 8 more days in which to eat 25 vada pav. Not pretty.

Maybe it's a good time to step back and assess what this unit — the vada pav — is worth. In this post at The Other India, Dilip tries to sketch out what someone living at the poverty line can buy in Bombay. Such a person would have one-third of Rs. 540 (about $12.50, though that's deceptive) per month at his or her disposal for food.

If you ate nothing but vada pav that's 45, or one and a half per day.

opp. Malad Station (17)

Am I the exception, or are we all prostrate slaves to advertising? The tiny Jumbo King stand is wedged between chaat counters like an afterthought, or like me on the fourth seat of a Virar fast. I passed it up without a second glance and headed straight for the aggressively self-promoting MM Mithaiwala, with whose hoardings every available square inch of station frontage is plastered. Enormous (and disturbingly identical) burgers and vada pav leer in at you from every direction, and giant lassis beckon you to "test da thanda."

(Extended aside: Until this very moment I had never registered the double entendre of the Thums Up slogan. As ever, the ad flaks must've been working overtime on the Coca-Cola account. Now when will they reinvigorate the Limca brand? When will Pepsi stop sitting on Gold Spot? When will Sosyo gain the global acclaim it deserves? The answer is blowing in the winod.)

Maybe I should have gone for the Jumbo King after all. But I'm saving myself.

Gurunanak Road (16)

Forget Infosys. Ajnabee overnight sensation Shekhar Vada Pav is the real India 2.0. If they are not ISO 9002 certified, they may as well be. If the freshness of the vadai weren't enough, I'd be back just for a photo of their stacked pyramid of lemon-yellow bondas. As a monument to single-minded efficiency it falls short of its Gizan likeness only in scale and the relative immediacy with which it will be dismantled for battering and frying.

Posed optimistically in front of Bandra Talao, the spotless Shekhar shack reminds us what a glorious backdrop the tank could be, and what disrepair it's fallen into. (Seriously: paddleboating?) This neglected dumping ground could easily be spruced up into Bandra's third waterfront, à la Thane. Instead it's passed without a glance by, what, a lakh commuters daily? Today we might also consider what Bandra might become if it weren't a migratory sanctuary for lovebirds. Instead they all flock to Bandstand, pressed into benches like Bombay duck. What a waste.

Flora Fountain (13) (14) (15)

Vendors at three compass points.

E: I hit the first, on V.N. Road, for breakfast. This fry-wallah/hawk-wallah combo is the only team I've seen working in tandem to fill orders with vada pulled fresh from the oil into your bun. Which, let me tell you, is the way to go.

NW: On my way back from the office round the corner closest to Churchgate. The juice stand here is perfectly situated so that you get not only a balanced meal but a full narrative arc. Exposition (shuttling between the stands to place your orders), rising action (plunging through the crowd to grab your sandwich), climax (biting into a stinging salted mirch), and denouement (a delicately salted grape juice). They're out of grapes today, so I'll just make it an anecdote.

SW: Finally, just before the stand-up act, I catch the guy in front of the University just before closing. Still warm. Maybe these guys did a brisk business as the festival crowd made their way to the station — no tickets or tokens at this food court — but here above Sassoon Library the street is already asleep, the chana-wallah no longer roasting and the kerosene lamps coming down off their hooks.

Khar Pali Road (12)

Before 10 a.m., and already cold. But this morning it's leftovers or nothing. We're on our way to Prithvi for the Kala Ghoda Festival special performance of Dark Horse. It's about Arun Kolatkar who, as Bombay's unofficial poet laureate, was naturally obsessed with street food. I'll post an idli-vendor poem when I get my hands on one.

What does it say about the state of theater when the ticket not only costs less than balcony seats at Gaiety, but costs less even than the rickshaw ride there? I think it says: see more plays.

Hedgewar Marg (11)

(i.e., Bandra Talkies Lane)

Gaiety Cinema is as abuzz as ever with black ticketeers, but I booked my Rang De Basanti seats advance. So I get to loiter at the snacks stand, notable for its generous portions and the spicy slaw they heap on. Throw in the chutney and it's almost like eating a potato reuben, if you'll excuse the expression. (You shouldn't.) Say what you will about G7, it's as unpretentious as a "multiplex" can get. Nobody minds when you hold the vada pav in your mouth to fish through your pockets for the tickets — just as long as you don't hold up traffic.

Chinmaya Mission (10)

Now I'm really pushing it. But in this ascetic environment, even a breadless bonda is more than one would have expected. But then some of these brahmacharis have quite a bit of worldly refuge still to cast off. Not for everyone is the path of action.

As for me, after a two-hour bus trip any thali would have done the trick. The one the ashram canteen was dishing out was quiescently greasy: a fat wad of puris, a pulao, some ghee-laden prasad, and to top it all off, like a big, fluffy cherry, the aforementioned potato ball. Pav sold separately.