Eating Out

Not that I am too worried about Vivek. I’m concerned about me—being tippled into Haribhai’s frying pan by pushing and shoving girls determined to get their piece of the latest male candy.

Haribhai plies his trade not in one of those wholesome little sheds that infest the streets of Mumbai and reassure you that you are not quite eating off the streets even if you are. Haribhai fries his wares right on the road, just a whisker away from the city’s buses and cars. When you bite into his wada pau, you inhale the sharp taste of Mumbai’s streets.

For Vivek, it’s pure nostalgia. College years was not just scoring with the chicks. It was also Haribhai’s wada pau.

He’s scoring with the chicks again. We have barely been there two minutes but they have sniffed him and have come out in packs. "Let’s rush this," I suggest.

He thinks I am querulous and hysterical and ignores me completely. Orders some tea instead. Haribhai lathers on the butter on the pau and slaps the piping hot potato wada into it. Vivek encourages him to add more chutney and some more garlic paste. Haribhai’s vassals cannot serve him enough.

Vivek eats his wada pau nonchalantly over a sea of autograph books. "Later, after I finish eating," he smiles sweetly at a Ms Aggressive. "Sure," she flashes back. She ignores me.

Oberoi junior has wolfed down eight wada paus and looks like he could score some more. But the tide of female fans waits for no hungry man and it’s a quick getaway in the car.

For the next hour, it’s on the phone with the nth producer determined to have their piece of Vivek Oberoi. As you can see, everyone wants him now. Jai Sandwich stall will have to wait.