Argh.
They’re all gone.
Two weeks ago, while packing my bags for Dubai, I very carefully placed a clear plastic pack wrapped in the softest clothes I had into my handbag. Today all the contents are gone. I have a distinct urge to book a ticket on the next flight to Mumbai, but alas, even if I could go there now I would not be able to replace the contents of the package.
Every year around Diwali, in Dadar, bamboo scaffolding stalls are propped up on the pavement and draped in gaudy red and saffron swathes of cloth, and in these are sold all manner of things we tend to consume during Diwali, like laddoos and chiwda and ghatia; you know, stuff you give to guests when they come over.
But, most importantly, they sell chaklis. They sell the best damn chaklis on earth, and now all the chaklis are gone. And, since Diwali is over, so are the stalls.
What makes it even weirder is that the stalls are operated in some way by the Shiv Sena, as I understand it. Now, here’s a bit of free advice from Uncle Vishal; if the Siv Sena stopped being a political party, calling a bandh every three days, and only sold chaklis all year round, they might actually end up ruling the world and people will love them for it.
Plus we’ll get their chaklis all year round.
Argh, now even the crumbs are gone.
I cry.