Mathuradas Vasanji Road

After the cricket match at Snehasadan and before dinner I decided to take myself for a walk. (Should have taken Rowlf's advice about what to do next.) And the action's all by the station, so.

It's not a reckless generalization to dismiss Andheri East as so much industrial wasteland. Saki Naka, Marol, SEEPZ, ick. But it is undergoing a certain lumpen gentrification. Cinemax Chakala is a perfect example: a multiplex for the downtrodden. The Brijwasi sweets on the road from the station is another such.

Chaat off the street is one thing. Chaat by a little garden by a shady arcade is getting tray play-zant, as my parents might joke. A few exchanges of coins and tokens later, I was in possession of both a vada pav and a sev puri sprinkled with raw mango.

I sat down on a plastic stool and rubbed elbows with some sort of political clique, a group of acolytes attending on a round, sunglassed, white-Safari-suited man they addressed as Babuji. He reminded me of candidates I'd seen painted on walls in the South, not of anyone who'd show his face on a poster around here. There were several levels of hierarchy involved, but it amounted to one very busy boy fetching the puris.

Tardeo Road (20)

At Swati Snacks the most valuable commodity is space, as in stomach. It was thus not the price tag (Rs. 17.50) of the vada pav that revolted my eating companions, though a stand-in could be cast from the street outside for Rs. 4. Nor was it the ordinariness of the order picked from amongst so many fascinating eccentrics. An unextraordinary sev puri occasioned no guffaws. Least of all the vada pav itself, which was strictly to code. No, none of these so much as the shape: round. Hence filling. As Vinita madam would say, "Some [snacks] are just born that way — they can't help it!"

But no mere vada pav (or two, once the entire order acceded to me) would stand between me and a proper sampling of Swati's specimens. Little did my fellow tablers (does tavaliers get a pun across?) know they were sitting beside New York City's reigning Taco-Off champion. When the two sandwiches, neatly sliced into halves, were placed before me, I cleared them and moved on.

The "taco special" on the pure-veg menu stood no chance of tantalizing that former self out of hiding. But any number of other items did. The dal dhokli was not the cracked wheat bread covered in lentils I'd anticipated, but rather the opposite: a tangy lentil soup in which wide strips of bread lapped lazily like chow fun. My initial discomposure rapidly dissolved into delight, only to manifest several hours later by putting me off of the perfectly tasty Camy dhokla offered at class. As Vinita madam said, "Sometimes we have reactions, ki, we can explain only upon reflection."

The vada pav's sole (and tongue) USP wasn't in it, or next to it, but came alongside the bajri (millet) pancake. It was a thick, not overly sour, tamarind paste, the likes of which I've seen in NYC packaged as Thai but hadn't yet encountered in this hemisphere. That and the coriander chutney make a pretty wicked secret sauce. But that's about all Swati's given it to recommend itself.