It is worth examining the enticing, perhaps even addictive, but disreputable flavours of the street – salty, sour, pungent, sulphuric – that reside in churan, aloo dum, dahi vada and puchka. Desire for such delectable morsels wells, centred on these objects of affection, in a network of social affiliation and antagonism. Street foods are the source of dread and delight for modern India's middle classes, indoctrinated to avoid and infantilise these tastes, yet unable to shake them off.
Yearning for puchka – balloon crisps filled with cold pungent tamarind liquor – and the anxiety of prohibition animates the little boy's face. He is worried that he might not get any, as his father steps up for his share. The lanky young man in the foreground looks back at the camera, his mouth full and barely containing the burst of piquant flavours, as he gingerly grasps the sal leaf. The intrusion of the cameraman provides a breather from the scorching pace of the puchka-walla.
One of the challenges of this street-side gastronomy is keeping up with the just-in-time service of the crispy, hollow puffs of fried dough before they are swamped by the liquid inside. The outer shell of the puchka, visible inside the glass container, is cracked open with the thumb, stuffed with a mash of potatoes and chickpeas, dipped into the blue earthenware pot brimming with herbed tamarind water, and served in the sal-leaf cone held together by toothpicks. Desire is a primary force here, drawing on the contingent composition of ingredient with palate, body, mind, hunger, texture, flavour and imagination to produce a vital, inescapable relationship between subject and object. All of this is evident in an intense cyber exchange titled 'Churan, Chaat aur Chutney,' between men and women who have improvised a form of haiku to talk about street foods:
all the above – straight after school ended / eaten on the way home / before the mom caught you at it.