Guys, you have got to believe this. I made Sara have her first run of phuchkas in one of the by-lanes of Kolkata, India. Hang on, this is something I will gradually unfurl and you will suck in bit by bit to have a hell of a time laughing for the next twenty five minutes.
Sara, my American friend through a chatting site, happened to visit India a few days ago and for obvious reasons, dropped in at my place to have a good round of this communist kingdom.
So much for the phuchka episode...A good six feet tall, Sara looked awful beside my diminutive magnitude of a bare five feet in front of the hugely built mustachioed potbellied phuchka vendor along Vivekananda Park. The scene in itself was hilarious as ever, but more was to follow.
The boss of the situation as I was, I ordered some five of those roly-poly crispy covered spicy stuffed balls of semolina for each of us. As the first ball of fire dipped in tamarind water crawled into Sara's mouth, to our amazement and her woe, briny waters began rolling down her cheeks – Sara was crying. Guess what! Touched by her comic gloom, the phuchka vendor offered her some sugared phuchka balls, sans the filling of spicy mashed potato and she loved it. Or should I say she was relieved! But something in those little little globules of fire must have allured her so that she proposed another round of phuchka gobbling session before leaving for the US.
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