Momuahh

I was coming back from Delhi today. Night had fallen. The only thing one could see were cars on roads and an occasional bridge. For the more inquisitive, you could see a hand inside the car or a head-nodding on the driver’s seat. Cars on Delhi roads look as if ants are moving around in a colony. One after the other. There is absolutely nothing interesting in cars on roads. Even people, who are generally interesting, become boring when they sit in cars. What can one do in a moving car on a Delhi road!

I felt a deep urge to smoke a cigarette. I have stopped carrying packets nowadays because then you smoke a lot. So I asked the driver to get me to a cigarette shop. He stopped and I moved out to a nearby stall. In our country, a cigarette shop is very much visible to the one who smokes. You see a shop and you will know if they sell the stick. Something about it will tell you. So I was sure. So was the driver. I bought one and then I saw it. A momo shop.

For a while, I forgot I was smoking. I went over to the owner. His Hindi was composed of answering every query in one word. I asked him what kind of momos he had. He told me non-veg. Then he added paneer. Then I asked him the price for non-veg. He said Rs. 50. I ordered one.

Imagine an oasis in the desert. That was the momo shop was for me then. On a road full of horns, cars, street lights and filth on the sides. The dryness, the hollowness of our current lives, all symbolized together. Even cigarettes don’t feel good in such conditions. It feels as if you are blowing out a sandstorm. Tasteless, odorless, feeling less. Unless you see a momo shop.

The best thing about momos for me is not the momo itself. It’s the sauce. I don’t know how these guys prepare their sauce and why is it that you always find that kind of a chili taste in the momo sauce and not anywhere else. As he put piece after piece on the paper plate, I heard the noisy road and the ants crawling around. He handed me over the paper plate as he poured the sauce in the other plate. It looked all brown. Or there wasn’t sufficient light. Anyways, instead of eating a momo, I tasted the sauce first. And immediately, I realized that this will make my day.

Slowly, in the car, I devoured all the momos. They were always enamored with the sauce. I cleaned up the sauce as well. And till then I was huffing like a dog. The chili had done me in. It had occupied my taste buds and was punishing me for having too much of it. This is like love. You get fucked in it, yet you can’t stop wanting it. The driver was kind enough to give me a drink of water. That soothed things a little bit.

If you haven’t had momo for a while do have it. It’s soft and melts in your mouth like a delicious little ice-cream. It’s spicy and tasty. And when you dip it in sauce, do remember me. A momo is nothing without its sauce. Just like a writer is nothing without his readers. You are my sauce and if you have reached till here, I am dipped in you. And yes, the ingredients for the sauce. You can tell me if you know!