The bell tolls
It’s five and he arrives,
with his modest cart packed with savouries.
Just a whiff threatening to
knock out the senses.

The ingredients neatly stacked
under glass panels
fixed on three sides of the cart –
windows to a tangy world.

Then come the leak-proof cones
crafted from discarded glossy magazine papers
that can survive his chutneys
and make a good read
while you devour a treat,
without the guilt of styrofoam cups and disposable spoons.

A miraculous swirl
of crunchy rice puffs
as they rise in the air
and carefully fall back into the cone;
one after another, not a single puff lost.

A mélange of flavours –
tangy tamarind and dry mango powder,
sweetness of dates and jaggery,
rock salt, chilli, and pepper.
All woven together finely
so that you can tell one flavor from another.

All’s not over
for before he wraps the cone shut,
he sprinkles golden yellow slivers of gram flour
that look like scattered sun beams
struggling to become a heap.

As you unwrap the glossy paper
and breathe in the aroma and flavours
into every pore of your being,
you see the extra dash of love – a fried crisp puri,
a crunchy surprise.

The bell tolls as Bholenath bhelwallah
as modest as his cart,
hums away into the busy street,
and rolls past busy hearts and busy minds
that perhaps don’t have time for a
tangy evening.