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| Sindhi fare for breakfast. |
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| Mr. Meghnani at his post. |
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| The roadside stall with his home behind. |
- Brian Mendonca
Passing through Salunke Vihar road, Pune this morning with my friend Rajan, we noticed this person selling Sindhi food. It piqued my curiosity, and though we drove past at first, we retraced our steps and picked up some snacks.
Since I was a novice at this, I asked a young man there to take me through the snacks. We settled on Dal Pakwan, fresh aloo parathas, and one methi paratha. It was about 8.30 a.m. (I am wishing I had bought the idlis as well, since the quality of the food was so good.)
What caught my eye was this sharp senior with a cap who was intently attending to the tins of eatables in front of him. I mean, why should he stand there, when he could be sitting in his armchair at home reading the newspaper?
While I was digesting this, I noticed him trot off behind him. I noticed a basket suspended on a string from one of the floors above in the building. He collected a packet and came back to his stall. They were parathas, possibly from his home.
I was very impressed with this home business, and the synergy which propelled it. Mukesh, his son, who happened by, said they started it during COVID. Since it was doing well, they carried on.
What I liked most was the tamarind chutney which had an earthy flavour. Not too sweet as it usually is. When Eliza brought hot kappas, deep-fried slices of potato, I drooled over how they would taste with the chutney. Perfect to go with the somnolent skies. I was aghast when I was told that it has been thrown away after the breakfast was devoured.
An article on Arre on what it means to be a Sindhi provided me a glimpse of the rootlessness of the Sindhi diaspora. The Sindhi poetry of the little girl Dua Maheri made me see the struggle - and the fortitude of a community who would take to the streets, if they had to - to preserve their identity.
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Pic taken by Brian Mendonca at Salunke Vihar road in Pune on 14 May 2025.
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