Would You Like Some Ricapulso de Mashed Potatio?
by Prabhat Jha
When I reached Gandhi Maidan, I was extremely hungry. I was standing in line for two hours before I finally got my bank challan stamped in Allahabaad Bank of Patna University. I think Fanishwar Nath Renu wrote his short story Maare Gaye Gulfaam, after getting a thesis submission form from Patna University during the summer heat. I was so hungry that I could not wait to reach my house, so I sat near a chhola bhatura thella to have a bite. I was saving money for a post-thesis submission party, so McDonald’s was out of the question. You have no option but to smell that oil and feel the heat sitting near a thella, frying hot bhaturas. There were customers fighting for extra chilies as well, frustrated with the lawyers who charged them more for making an affidavit. The other thellas like a sattu wala, a lemon soda one, a dosa idli one as well as a litti chokha one were also there, waiting for their customers, adding up to the heat around. If you put some sugar over the people sitting there, you will find them caramelized at the end of the day.
I decided to sit on a bench, and wait for my turn. There were some rickshaw pullers having a mid-day lunch conference. This is that time of the day in summer, when they decide to say “nahi jayenge” to any passenger, even when it’s a place not too far away. Most of them had a red gamchha covering their heads, quite wet due to perspiration. One of them caught my attention immediately. He had a mouth full of rainbow teeth. Red, then black, then white, then violet, probably a doing of Chaini Khaini, which is quite famous among the working class. He was laughing the most. Another one had a bidi balancing on his ears. I decided to follow their conversation.
One of them said, “Chalah bhai, we have done a lot of work for the day, so we can eat something now. Let us have some chhola bhatura or litti chokha and then we can start looking for passengers. What do you say?”, He asked the rainbow-toothed man, who laughed and replied “Thik ba, let us eat that again.”
A young rickshaw puller from Madhubani looked at them and said, “Nai hau ena nai, I am really hungry now. I need something more substantial to eat.”
“Like what?”, an old rickshaw puller asked. “Rice, daal and aloo chokha.”
“Haan.”
“Pagla gail bale ka re Bansia? This man is insane. He doesn’t know how much these luxuries cost. He has no clue, he just came from the village,” said another young man who sells sattu there. It’s better to go to a thella and have it. Rs 20 per plate, not that costly.”
“I can’t eat that, it tastes bad. I really miss the taste of the rice I used to eat in my village. When I worked in the fields, my maalik used to give me a share of that rice, it’s called tulsifool rice, and it smells really good. You don’t even need daal with it. My mother used to make Maadgila bhaat (semi liquid rice), kadu tel(mustard oil), merchai (green chilies) and a little bit of salt, and that was enough. After tasting that you would say, Maho Maho!”
“It’s not a bad idea at all. I remember my wife used to make rahar daal with a chhaunka (tempering) of red chilies and jeera in the mustard oil and a little bit of heeng. It tasted delicious,” said an old rickshaw puller.
“I remember, tohar aurat, your wife, was quite nice. She used to cook eggplant bachka for us.”
“But how are we going to cook them?”, asked Bansi.
“Well, I know an auto driver who lives nearby. He has a gas stove, which he got in his dahej. We can cook it there. Anyway, do you know the costs?”
“How would I know? I have not eaten them for months,” said the sattu seller.
“Yes, we really don’t know the cost.”
“I have heard my sahib talking about some special kind of thaali in his hotel,” said the driver of the manager of Maurya hotel. ‘I told that little Chhotu, now I am forgetting. Some……., some foreign name, it’s made of rice, daal and chokha.”
“Aye chhotooa, tell us what name Hari Singh told you.”
“Ricapulso de mashed potatio.” He said like a parrot.
“Ohoo, what a name!”
“Yes, my sahib described it as the most exotic thing he has ever created. Even Sonia Gandhi will love it.”
“This seems something else. It can’t be rice daal and aloo chokha. You are lying,” said Bansi.
“Bahinchod! I earn four thousand rupees every month, how dare you call me a liar! You chhotka lok are bloody swine. Bhonsdiwale, I’ll bulldoze your rickshaw someday,” said the driver furiously.
“What have I said wrong?”
“OK, okay, stop fighting and let me think now”, said the old man.
“Let us go to Bakarganj and ask about the rates.”
They started moving towards Bakarganj and I followed them curiously.
The old man looked at Mona Cinema. He remembered how a few years ago he used to queue outside it, excited to watch a movie on the biggest screen of Patna.
He knew names of the heroes also, but faintly. Jharu Khan, Hamid khan, Musalman Khan. The names were written in English as well as Hindi and Urdu, but not now. He was not able to watch movies there as it’s a multiplex now. Now he could only watch Bhojpuri movies. He watched a movie featuring Nirahua Rickshawala called Ricksawala I love you. He was the most loved film hero among all the Rickshaw Pullers. Bansi loves that song, Aye Ricksawala I love you.
They gradually moved towards the book shops on the footpath near Regent Cinema. The old man looked at the cluster of books arranged like the bricks he used to carry in his village where he was a mistri. Shakespeare, Milton, Rushdie, Ghosh. Lay there. Waiting…
They parked their rickshaws near Kalidas Rangalaya and went behind towards the electronic shops. You can find any local made electronic gadget there with little money in your pocket. But they were not interested in them, so they moved ahead and stopped at a departmental store.
“What is the cost of rice, bhai?”, asked the old man.
The shopkeeper looked towards them with surprise and said mockingly.
“What would you laat sahebs do by knowing its cost?”
“We have planned to have rice, daal and chokha today.”
“OK”, said the shopkeeper with a queer smile, “Rice is Rs 50 per kilo. Daal is Rs 100 per kilo. Potato, Rs 20 per kilo. That’s it. Now do you need anything?”
They looked at each other’s face and said “no”.
Bansi first saw that perhaps. No, the old man. A little boy carrying 10 packets of it on his lap. He asked, “What is that yellow packet? Is it something that human beings eat?”
“Yes, yes many. But not your types, only rich kids.”
“What is its price?”
“Just twelve rupees, that’s it.”
“And how is it made?”
“Put that snake like thing in boiling water for two minutes; add masala, from that small silver packet. It tastes quite good. That’s it, ready to be eaten.”
They looked at each other, and shook their heads. “Then we will buy four of them.”
“Sure.”
After walking a good ten meters or so with those packets, Bansi came back and asked, “And by the way, what is its name?”
The shopkeeper looked at him, smiled and said, “Maggi.”
Prabhat Jha is a research scholar from Patna University. He enjoys writing poetry, plays and short stories. He is the co-editor of the poetry journal Collage. He writes in Maithili, Hindi and English. He also loves translating Maithili to English and vice versa.