I meet a Puneite in some other part of the globe. Few things happen. At first, he does not believe that I was a Puneite and do call myself one often. Even now. So, I have to now make him believe. Without lapsing into my very colloquial Marathi. That could be painful. Sometimes. Okay, most of the time. How do I do that? Make him believe I was a Puneite? True blue!
Firstly, I wax eloquent about Vaishali. The food, the ambience, the food, the people and the nostalgia I retain. That particular chair that is not stable in the back area open seating on the left hand side. The Dosa that has a strange but very likeable crispiness in the centre. The chutney. Oh! The chutney!! Green chillies chopped into it. He says, no yaar! That’s ground Green Chillies. Is it! I exclaim and we are now talking the same language.
Then, I speak about watching movies in CityPride. You, a Kothrud guy? He asks. And I nod my head vehemently to signify that exalted status all the more. We are nearly bumping chests now in camaraderie. We want to pick each other’s nose. We want to celebrate the latest Kumar Builders development together. We want to hug each other and weep “Girish Kulkarni”. Yeah, Girish Kulkarni! My knowledge about his works floors the Puneite. He wants to break Karachi Biscuits with me now. Not break, dip in tea and have. Tea from University Road tapri, if you please.
I shyly tell him that I have not been inside the Pune University campus except for a movie shoot. I played the role of a Professor. He is gaga. He wants to know which film. He loves me. He cannot smooch me as it is not appreciated in our environs. But he is nearly there. I say that I have never managed to see the film. He is aghast. He is a Puneite. A self-respecting Puneite should announce himself on all social media channels and flood WhatsApp with this link. I have no answer to that. He is crestfallen.
To perk him up, I start with Paan in Shivajinagar and Misal Pav in Bibvewadi. He’s forgotten my unseen film. He is purring again. Misal Pav, he feels, is a treasure that’s lost on the general human population of the earth except Pune. He discusses Misal like a pro. He feels a place in Nigdi is the best. I let him win. It is essential. He needs to be the original Puneite. He should win in all foodie arguments. He tells me about a website that is just about Misal. Holy Moly! I did not know this. I tell him that. He is laughing. Like Johnny Lever on stage. He is laughing at me. He is snorting between laughs. His laugh starts from the visible belly and shakes its way up like those auto guys used to laugh at the Chinchwad crossing when I used to implore them to go to NIBM.
We are good friends when we part.
Of course, I don’t speak about burly cops, ugly irresponsible traffic and holy cows in the middle of the road. I also don’t speak about overflowing drains in Bavdhan. Please notice, I don’t speak of such things. It is important. Only then, we can chest bump and have a paan, you know!
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