Adhi Potoba

The year was 1988 and my mediocre performance in the SSC exams was followed by successful admission to the science stream at the prestigious Fergusson College with little help from my dear aunt who headed the Dept. of Physics. A decision she no doubt came to regret after going over my attendance record and my report card. As it is common knowledge, junior college is best attended as a casual student and yours truly took that piece of advice to heart. As a result, most of my time at Fergusson was spent either in deep, 'scholastic' discussions at Vaishali or under the eight odd tin sheds outside the main gate that served as two-wheeler parking. The bicycle stand was an excellent alternative to attending class, except for one problem — there wasn't any food readily available. However, all was not bleak among the Hero Hondas! Stationed right outside the gate of the ladies was a bhuttawala . With a pyramid of corn and a large bowl of live coals and the right combination of le

Long before Tendulkar and somewhere between Azhar making his debut and Ravi Shastri being declared ' Champion of Champions ' India decided that the time was to introduce some Western ishtyle fast food. The result — Big Bite, a culinary hodge-podge that was a cross between a burger and a pita. A small, oblong, lightly-spiced meat or vegetable patty microwaved and stuffed inside a half egg-shaped bun along with onion slices and a generous squirt of Kissan tomato sauce. It tasted every bit as bad as it sounds. The Big Bite logo, too, was a winner. It consisted of the words Big Bite in Times Roman sandwiched between two luscious red lips with a giant highlight. It looked more like an X-rated venture more than anything to do with food. In Pune, the most forward thinking and modern of all politicians, one 'honourable' Mr. Suresh Kalmadi , in all his bearded wisdom, tried to cash in on this 'thing' all the youngsters seemed to be into. He immediately carved

There are certain things that schools in India guarantee — a good education, lifelong friendships and a peruwala outside every school gate. For those of you who didn’t go to school in India, a peruwala is a guava vendor and there’s one situated outside each school gate with a black Atlas bicycle and flat cane basket tied to the “carrier” over the rear wheel. The basket lined with grass is quartered with rope to separate the guavas by size and price. In my days, 75 paise (roughly 15¢ in 1988) would fetch you the biggest guava on the cart. It was harmless and inexpensive treat that made recess just that much sweeter. Cut into 4 quarters, each guava would then be filled with chili and salt — the thought of which freaks my firang wife out to this day. The guavawalla is a phenomenon I couldn’t quite understand. Why are there only peruwalas outside school? There’s never an apple cart or even an orange cart. Either way, memories of my post-lunch guava with friends are something I cherish t