Raag laughs in response and shakes his head as he observes the sleeping city through the window.
The car quickly gets on the SG Highway, rhythmically passing rows of flanked orange lights by the road.
“It has changed a lot,” Raag says, suggesting the change in the city.
“How long has it been again?” I ask, looking at him.
“A little over five years.”
“Long time!”
“It is.”
“So, when exactly did you land?” I squint my eyes and inquire about the surprise visit.
Raag looks at me. “Four hours ago,” he murmurs. “Maa and Jignesh came to pick me. I took a quick shower, ate some delicious food that Maa prepared, spent some time with her, and came to see you!”
“You told Maa that you are coming to see me?” I ask, surprised.
“Of course!” Raag shrugs. “You know I don’t keep secrets from her.”
I keep forgetting the fact that Auntie Preeto, Raag’s mother, is a pretty cool parent. Unlike my parents.
“What did she say?”
“Well, she said, ‘Enjoy, puttar! Don’t come home too soon,’” Raag replies, laughing and shaking his head.
“Your maa is adorable. Or in your language, cool,” I say. I wish my parents were that liberal. One could only wish.
“That she is!” Raag nods in agreement.
Then Raag shares how he kept a secret by tricking me into believing in a production issue which never occurred and managed to call me now and at his regular hours. He tells me how he had to change three flights from Phoenix to LA, LA to Bombay, and Bombay to Ahmedabad.
As Raag speaks, I am incapable of keeping my eyes off his mesmerizing face and a serene smile. I hope he doesn’t notice the very obvious ogling.
The car slows down considerably as it makes its way down a narrow street full of many street food thela, Indian old-styled carts. The street is lit under soft orange and white street lights. A few lanterns and lights hang by the thelas.
I am for sure impressed by Jignesh’s driving skills as he carves his way through the very narrow street full of people strolling all around and honking vehicles of all sizes trying to get ahead.
“Oh, we are at Manek Chowk?” I exclaim excitedly, looking through the window.
Though I was born and brought up in this city, I have never visited this very famous street. I had only heard that the street awakes at night, it comes alive. At my home, we have a strict 8:00 PM back-to-home policy, rain or shine.
The car stops near the crowded open compound flocked with plastic white and red chairs and tables. Even at this hour, most of them are occupied by people of all ages, including kids.
Raag gets out of the car quickly, and just as I am about to open the door, he gets it for me and extends his hand to help me out.
As I step out, the hustling and bustling of the Chowk comes flooding. It is mixed with loud vehicles honking, spatulas clinking on big pans, people chattering, and at least three different songs playing at various stalls. Still, all the noises blend rhythmically, keeping the street alive at this hour. The delicious aroma of varieties of Indian street food adds a zesty flavor to the ambiance.
It is drizzling, but no one seems to care.
Raag leads me to the corner thela, a board at which says Ghanshyam Pav Bhaji. Though it’s a table for two, it’s so close to the next table of four that together they appear as if a table for six. We have a company of two boys and two girls about my age feigning ignorance toward us. However, I am dead sure that they think I am some sort of crazy since I am in my PJs wearing slippers and Raag’s jacket that is too big on me.
Are you not crazy in general? Though I agree with my subconscious, I am going to ignore her. In my defense, Raag loves his crazy—that’s me!
Once we sit, my eyes land on a carefully placed laminated green menu that has about one hundred food items listed, and all of them are going to come from a reasonably small thela set on one side of us. It is indeed impressive. There are just so many options that I am lost like a child in a toy store. Oh, and just as I flip the menu, there are plenty of options on the other side.
God! They have got food!
This place seems so alive and pleasant that one can hardly guess the time. I only read about places like this in books. Being in a timeless place like this with Raag is like a dream. Someone should pinch me before I think this is all too surreal.
“Hot tea for you, sir?” A young boy with whitish skin and small black eyes, dressed in black shorts and a dark green shabby T-shirt, stands by the table. His jet-black hair is parted on one side. Just as I look at the boy, puzzled, he suggests, “Pav bhaji for you, madam!” He has a pen and a small notepad in his hand, and a million-dollar smile on his face.
“What?” I ask, puzzled.
The boy explains, “Ma’am, you are lost in the menu. You can’t decide what to eat at Ghanshyam Pav Bhaji when the name itself has its best item in it! That means you came here for the first time. You should try our pav bhaji. It’s the world’s best!”
I smile at the boy, impressed. “And, why only tea for the sir?” I have to ask.
“Sir doesn’t want his stomach upset with all this spicy food since he has recently come from abroad.”
I look at Raag, and his expression suggests that he is equally surprised and impressed. So, I ask the boy, “How do you know?”
“Madam! Look at those clean, fancy Skechers shoes…two more days in Ahmedabad and they will get ragged.” The boy sounds proud of his observations as he speaks. “Besides, ever since you two came, you are looking at the menu and sir is looking at you like you are the menu.” He shrugs.
I gape at the boy, barely containing my blush.
Raag sits up in his chair now, he smiles at the boy as he asks, “That’s a good observation. What is your name?”
“Chintu,” the boy replies. “Short for Chintan.”
“Chintan, you speak excellent English,” Raag compliments him. “Do you go to school?”
“What, sir! Do I still look like a schoolboy? I am in college!” Chintu announces. “Not just any college, I am in engineering.”
“That’s very impressive.” Raag nods.
“Thank you, sir.” Chintu points at the thela. “This I do for helping my father as he drives a rickshaw to support our family. So, day time I study, night time, I work here. Three days in a week.”
“Oh, okay.” Raag is lost in thought, it seems. “What are your plans once you finish engineering?”
“I will find a job, and if I get a chance, I want to go abroad for further studies.”
“Very good!” Raag replies. Then he gets something out of his back pocket and hands it to the boy. “There are two numbers on this card. Call the first number, and someone will help you with anything you need. The second number is mine. Don’t hesitate, okay?”
Chintan’s face glows, and his eyes sparkle as he looks at Raag in awe. “Sure, sir. Thank you, sir!” Chintan bows and slides the card inside his back pocket after carefully observing it. It is not only Chintu who is impressed by Raag’s philanthropic gesture—I too am impressed. That rare breed, a sweet and kind man, is mine.
“So, should I write the order?” Chintu asks, aiming at his notebook with his pen.