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The story of the best chaat ever originates in Calcutta.

By January 4, 2022July 12th, 2024No Comments

 Caveat: I believe that the term ‘best’ is very subjective and is a functions of ones own experience and is quite meaningless in absolute terms when it comes to food but I had to get grab your attention and hence the headline.

I am going to tell you about the best chaat I’ve ever had. It was on the pavement of Calcutta’s Park Street. Yes, the very same place which has become instagrammed this year for its Christmas lights and teeming crowds. 


I did my plus two at St James’ School and the bus stop was called Jora Girja after its church. My route home was bus to Rabindra Sadan and then another bus home. If I had some coins left, I’d go to the Haldiram’s below the Aeroflot office (just a shop then and not a restaurant like it is now) and have a plate of dhoklas. I loved the sweet tamarind chutney that they would give with it.


There were days when a classmate’s mum would come to pick him up from school and a few of us would pile into their white Amby. We’d get dropped at Park Street. I’d usually take the metro from there. One day I spotted the chaat-wala. The basket on his stand looked different from what I’d even seen.There were huge samosas on display. Khasta kachoris too. Sprouted channa. Stainless steel canisters.


‘Ek samosa please,’ I said. The sams looked rather tempting. He took out one and then magic followed.


He placed a samosa on a stainless steel plate. Crushed it (the samosa not the plate) with his palm. Poured in liquidised dahi. Then the sprouted gram. A dark red sweet chutney. A green chilli chutney and on top what we called jhuri bhaaja in Calcutta. Sev in Mumbai.


He gave me the plate and a small flat cardboard spoon. The sort one got with ice cream cups. I took a bite and was mesmerised. 

There was the warm crunchy carby hug of the maida casing. Spicy bites of potato inside. The dahi was cooled in ice and was like manna on a sunny afternoon. The date chutney was like sweet kiss (or what I imagined it would be like). The green chutney a passionate one (or what I etc etc). The crunchy sev at the end adding a playful touch when combined with the dignified texture of the boiled sprouts.


I was hooked on to his stuff and would stop there whenever I got dropped at Park Street. Sometimes samosas. Sometimes khasta kachori. There was an afternoon when buses and taxis were on strike (Kolkata is a bit like Paris on that count). My friend’s car was packed so a couple of us walked from school to the Park Street metro in the sun. What kept me going over the last few yards was the knowledge that I’d get my fix of chaat before I entered the cool and serene underbelly of the Park Street Metro station.


The elderly Hindustani (Bong speak for anyone from the Hindi belt) chaatwala was stationed outside the entry Park Street metro station. The entry opposite the Asiatic Society and Hot Kati Rolls. The Giggles card shop side.


I don’t know the name of the chaatwallah. I don’t have his picture. Nor one of his chaat. I used to frequent him during the period of 1990-92. We didn’t carry our phones with us then. Or take pictures with them. Nor write on them, as I am doing right now. Hell, we didn’t even have a landline at home back then. Those were Glory Days as the Boss would say. (Google these references Gen Zedders and then listen to the song).

Plus two science was my toughest period academically and I’d often go to him at the end of a rough day at school and think ‘cos theta can take a jump, as can Monsieur Foucault, Resnick and Haliday, let me have a khasta kachori chaat for now!’


I’d go to him a few times when I was in college though College Street had become my base then. Then I moved out of Kolkata after I got a job. I went looking for him on my first trip back. He was there serving office goers. Of whom I was one too. I happily ordered a plate of chaat and smiled. Still tasted good.


I left Kolkata in ‘97. I looked  for him on a trip back but could not find him ever again. 


I have no idea why I remembered him today. I didn’t have chaat. Not was I craving chaat. 


Nor did anyone ask me ‘if train A is running at 40 km per hours and train B at 60 km per hours in the opposite direction, when would they cross each other?’


The answer? Doesn’t matter. Just make sure, as the I learnt in Mumbai’s School of Hard Knocks, to not get on the Virar local if you plan to get off at Vandra!

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