Bhel
I grew up on Prabhat Road and our park was Kamla Nehru Park or KNP, as the college kids that order their chai "one by two" called it. My fondest memories bhel are outside the large iron gate of KNP. Bhola bhel was our "bhelwala". No real reason, that's just the guy my mother would take us to. A balding man on the wrong side of fifty with a pushcart and a permanent burnt umber complexion from making bhel under the scorching Indian sun. His pushcart had a hand painted board that advertised Bhola Bhel next to an anatomically questionable picture of Shankar . The glass containers that contained the papri and rice puffs were adorned with fading pictures of Bollywood stars whose star had faded decades ago. He cut onion really fine with a speed that would put the finest Waring chopper to shame. With a thick handle bar mustache and a cheery disposition he never failed to make serious small talk, even with his youngest customers. And for 70 Paise (in 1978) he would