It was 7.30. The sun had set. Those observing the fast had just offered their prayers, ready to break bread with their near and dear ones. The shops had opened, the black coal started to turn orange as it lit up, the juice wallas laid the orange glasses on display, Mohammad Khan’s dough was ready to be flattened into khameeri rotis, the big deep handis full of Paya and Nihari with succulent lamb trotters dunked in creamy gravy at Surti Handi began to simmer on low heat, the cutlets and baida rotis stuffed with meat spread out on hot tawas invited voracious foodies like us to dig in! I was bombarded by a motley of sights and aromas; boti kebabs on charcoal fire, the aroma of deep fried malpuas in hot oil, the smoke from hot tawas, the narrow gullies manicured by tiny food stalls, the constant flow of people from different faiths, and the soulful prayer emanating from the mosque. And the best part? I felt safe. It was crowded but no cat calls, no uncomfortable stares, no creepy nudging by elbows, no cheating, I didn’t even bother to zip my bag after a while. Iftaar at Bhendi bazaar was not just about food but symbolic of the many flavours that form the warp and weft of the syncretic fabric of this country. It was an experience that has left me richer and more humble. And I look forward to my next 🙂
Iftaar Food Walk
