Neelesh Rao
1
Pooja Deshmukh stepped off the rickety auto-rickshaw and looked around the bustling streets of Old Delhi. The air was thick with the aroma of spices, fried food, and the faintest hint of incense. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation, but she pushed the hunger aside—today was about much more than food. She was here to review Baba’s Samosa Stall, a legendary street food joint that had been making waves in the culinary world. As a food critic for a top Mumbai magazine, Pooja had traveled the length and breadth of India tasting everything from Michelin-starred meals to street food delicacies, but nothing quite had her intrigued like the samosas of Old Delhi. The rumors were all the same: the samosas here had a secret ingredient, something magical that made them stand out from the countless others on the street. She was determined to uncover that secret and write the definitive review that would cement her reputation as the country’s top food critic. With her notebook in hand, she walked towards the stall, already mentally preparing her first impressions.
Baba’s Samosa Stall was a sight to behold. It wasn’t much—just a small cart covered in old, weathered cloth, with Baba, an elderly man with a thick white beard, frying samosas in large vats of bubbling oil. His movements were slow and deliberate, almost meditative, as he expertly shaped the dough and filled it with a golden mixture of spiced potatoes. The stall was surrounded by locals haggling, laughing, and eagerly waiting for their turn. The chaos of Old Delhi was on full display here, but Baba’s stall seemed to have its own rhythm, its own quiet calm amidst the madness. Pooja watched, fascinated, as Baba handed a steaming, golden samosa to a customer, who immediately broke it in half to reveal the perfect balance of filling and crispness. The stall was clearly popular, but there was something more to it than just the food. Pooja could feel it in the air—the samosas were a symbol of something bigger, something deeper. She was determined to get to the bottom of it.
Just as Pooja was about to introduce herself, a voice from behind startled her. “You here for Baba’s famous samosas too?” The voice was casual, almost too laid-back for the frenzy around them. She turned to see a young man, dressed in a worn-out T-shirt and jeans, holding a plate of samosas and looking at her with mild curiosity. “I bet you’re a food critic, right? You look like one,” he said with a grin, not waiting for her to respond. “I’m Sameer. You should try one of Baba’s samosas before you do any reviews. They’ll change your life.” Pooja was taken aback by the unexpected interruption, but she smiled politely, figuring it was just a random local giving his unsolicited opinion. She was about to say something when Sameer continued, “Trust me, though, you won’t get the full experience unless you’re here at midnight. That’s when the magic happens.” Intrigued, Pooja couldn’t help but ask, “What magic?” Sameer just winked, “You’ll find out soon enough.”
The next morning, Pooja returned to Baba’s Samosa Stall with a singular purpose: to uncover the secret ingredient that everyone whispered about. She had already sampled one of Baba’s samosas the previous day, and though it was undeniably delicious, she could sense there was something more—something hidden beneath the crispy exterior and golden filling. Her journalist instincts were buzzing, urging her to dig deeper. But Baba, as mysterious as ever, remained tight-lipped. She approached the stall again, notebook in hand, determined to get more information. As she sat down on the small wooden stool, Baba gave her a nod, his expression unreadable, before continuing his work. The air around them was filled with the sizzling sound of fresh samosas being fried, and the streets of Old Delhi hummed with the energy of vendors, pedestrians, and the occasional rickshaw honking its way through the crowd. Yet, in the middle of all the madness, Pooja couldn’t shake the feeling that something extraordinary was happening at this very stall.
Sameer appeared again, as if by chance, his ever-present grin plastered on his face. He sauntered up to the stall, balancing a plate of steaming samosas and looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “Back for more?” he asked, sliding a plate in front of Pooja without waiting for her response. He made himself comfortable next to her, clearly not in a rush. “You’ve got the right idea, but if you really want to know the secret, you’ve got to keep your eyes open. Baba’s not just making food; he’s weaving a little magic,” Sameer said with a teasing smile. Pooja raised an eyebrow, annoyed by his casual tone. “Magic? This is food, not a spell.” Sameer chuckled, biting into his samosa. “That’s what everyone thinks until they’ve had one of Baba’s samosas at midnight. That’s when the ‘magic’ kicks in,” he said cryptically. Pooja couldn’t let it go. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, leaning in closer. Sameer paused, looking around as if to make sure no one was listening. “I can’t tell you everything. You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Just… keep coming back, Pooja. You’ll figure it out.”
Her skepticism grew, but so did her curiosity. Was there really some secret ingredient, or was this just another marketing ploy? To prove it to herself, Pooja decided to stay a little longer, observing Baba’s every move. There was something fascinating about the way he worked—his focus was absolute, his hands moved with an ease that suggested years of practice. But no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t discern anything unusual about the process. Baba would fill each samosa with the same spiced potato mixture, then seal it and gently lower it into the hot oil, where it would sizzle and cook to perfection. Yet, when the customers bit into their samosas, the expressions on their faces were always the same—pure bliss, as if they were tasting something more than just food. The idea of a secret ingredient began to gnaw at Pooja. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about the stall, the samosas, and even Baba himself felt… different. Was it all in her head, or was there truly something magical about the food?
