Paapaji
Paapdi. Fine diced red onion. Finely chopped coriander/cilantro. Uncomplicated and unpretentious.
This is what my grandpa ate, when me and my older brother were wolfing down misal at our regular haunt all those years ago.
He sat by himself, kept an eye on us, but allowed himself the little indulgence of eating paapdi.
“Hey ghya Paapaji. Ajun kanda deu ka?“.
Paapaji - that is what the folks at the misal place called him. A familiar name in a familiar place in a small town.
I never got to ask him why he liked this snack. But I could see that it brought him a measure of peace.
And it is him I remember, every time I have a bite of this. Paapdi, onion and coriander. And his watchful gaze.
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