Musings at Mori Road

  Mishraji was a potbellied man, with a clean-shaven head, and the only prized possession on his head was his ponytail, that was tied in a knot (also known as the Choti). The thin moustache on his well-rounded face gave him an air of benign arrogance. He was always clad in a ‘Dhoti” and “Banyan” and his Dhoti usually was tucked up to his knees, allowing him to work freely. He chewed his betel leaf with aplomb, with often a red stain being visible at the corner of his lips. His shop probably was never painted in years. It had dark green walls lit dimly by a solitary tube-light. Mishraji was Mori Road’s “Mithaiwala” (sweet vendor). His specialty was Bengali sweets and he had worked in Kolkata in his younger days before moving to Mumbai. My mother often said that he made the most delectable Bengali sweets and I grew up eating a good variety of them. When I was in school, I used to walk up and wait outside Mishraji’s shop to board my school bus. There used to be the whole lot of