Dosa-sambar, pani puri, Irani chai: tasty reunions after the lockdowns

There is no joy in having pani puri in the clean and careful confines of home, so I did not try. I bid my time for a year, before opportunity recently presented itself in Chennai, at the crossroads between street-style abandon and COVID-mandated caution. I was on my way home from a grocery run — mask firmly on my face; bag tightly tucked under my arm; death glares locked and loaded and ready to shoot at anyone waving their obscenely uncovered noses about in the air. Yet again, the carefree little pani puri stall across the road beckoned silently. Just the stall, you see — the vendor himself, like any other vendor worth his salt, looked like he didn’t give two hoots about prospective customers battling rush-hour traffic to reach him. I finally managed to cross the street, drawn to the heaps of puri and tureens of pani. There were even a couple of listless, barely leafy trees, a flickering bug-ridden street lamp and some deafening car horns to set the scene perfectly. I didn’t trip on any loose pavement tiles, like I usually would, but a girl cannot have everything.