Written by Asish Sridhar
Edited by Jaanvi Thorat
“One more bhaiya”, she says, barely audible as her mouth is full and a squirt of pani is caught by the brown leaf cup. Lakhan gently rolls the aloo masala in his palm and adds to it the bhujia, the tomatoes, the onions, and the dahi.
He makes sure to add a touch of both green and red chutney, just how she likes it. He dips it into the red pani and then into the jaljeera and reloads Swathy’s empty cup with a crispy, juicy, spicy, tangy deliciousness. Nothing makes Lakhan happier than seeing his customers’ faces melt along with all their worries when they put the pani puri into their mouth. Every day he sees new stories. The happy-go-lucky child running towards him with a twenty rupee note, the hotshot business executive dressed in a slick, all black Van Heusen suit having a quick bite as he talks to his manager through his airpods, the carefree and reckless college friends who laugh loudly, teasing each other and sharing unbelievable incidents without a care in the world.
Swathy, here I was telling him about her silly cat, Murphy, with tears in her eyes and heavily panting away after insisting on the extra spice. He couldn’t hear her clearly over the honks of the cars behind him but laughed along seeing her reaction. He loved this job. So many stories, so many flavours, so many emotions and sensations. Sometimes Lakhan felt that these stories were tastier than his Bannerghatta-famous pani puris.
Lakhan always loved when his dad told him stories. He talked to him about cunning but arrogant emperors, clever donkeys, five-headed serpents, and stories about devas and asuras. Now, with his dad joining Narada in heaven, Lakhan relied on sleeping pills. His problem had unfortunately regressed, and he now required a highly concentrated dosage. Lakhan was thinking about all the stories he had seen, heard, and learned about throughout the day, and deciding which ones to tell his kids at home when he heard a voice that rubbed the tan off him.
Sharmaji was the new and rising politician in the city and was known to be very manipulative and particularly hard to escape. “Hiii Lakhan ji! Hopefully you have a couple pani puris left for me.” Mr. Sharma smiled deviously, getting ready to milk his next cow dry. Lakhan muttered under his breath but Sharmaji was too preoccupied with his goons to notice. “My dear friend, it is the end of the month now, and with my daughter getting married in the next 3 months, all of our friends are sending their best wishes and gifts in advance, hoping that they do not forget and miss paying regards to me on such a wonderful occasion. I have come personally to remind you just in case you were too preoccupied in your shop to forget to gift me. You have already forgotten to send a few gifts last month, so I am here to collect all of them from you now.” This piece of vermin, he thought. Not only did he make it a point to condescendingly threaten him with his extra fake hospitality, but he was also demanding more money.
As Lakhan pretended to look for something in his pockets as a joke that he did not have the gifts with him now, he could not resist clenching his fists furiously. Sharmaji also chuckled at this gesture and relished the sorry, resentful, but powerless expression on Lakhan’s face. He had always loved to add that extra lemon juice to his panipuri, and now Lakhan’s face resembled that of the empty peel and he was sure Lakhan felt that taste in his mouth. He knew he was the one with the power, and Lakhan could do nothing to stop him.
People finished their pani puris at the same time, paid their dues, and left; one lady even looked at him sympathetically and handed him an extra 100 rupee note to make up for her cowardice. But how could he blame them? Sharmaji would just make their lives a living hell as well if they tried. He had to do something. Something to show everyone that Mr. Sharma was not this all-powerful demon but a weak human, as all of them were. He had a plan. All he needed to do was make Sharmaji lose his elite demeanor.
Lakhan tore the foil in his pocket and broke a tablet in half with one hand. He wondered how Sharmaji would behave when he was drowsy. Maybe he’d finally dream about his ever-postponed daughter’s marriage. "C'mon, Lakhan, it is good that I came here to remind you, but unfortunately that was not enough. Next week, I think I’ll remind you, along with your family. Maybe they can remind you or I’ll make sure they will.” Lakhan was too late. Sharmaji grabbed the stack of 100 rupee notes he had neatly kept in the drawer of the cart and left. Lakhan swore revenge, and this time he would get his friends to help. It was their turn to send a message.
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