The East Coast of the United States was in the grip of a cold wave. Snowflakes fell gently all over the impressive university campus. Braving the sub-zero temperatures, I had managed to arrive a little early at the lecture hall. Suddenly, I wondered if anybody else would have the same enthusiasm.
As though reading my thoughts, the professor organising the talk said cheerfully, “They will come. They all know we are serving samosas.” Luckily the speaker was not within earshot. But I couldn’t agree more. Who knew the lure of a samosa, that fried or based delicacy, better than I did?
Sighted in London
Memories of a trip abroad in the early 1990s came flooding back. Walking towards St. James Park in London, I was overtaken by a strapping young man. He strode past me holding in his hand what looked like a giant samosa. I stood transfixed. Was my mind playing tricks on my body starved for Indian food? Not being much of a salad person one had subsisted on fruits and sandwiches, the cheese and vegetable variety. The samosa could have been a mirage, and like the parched traveller in a desert I followed it blindly.
Without quite realising it I had turned back and was retracing the young man’s footsteps. As I neared Buckingham Palace I heard a huge cheer. In my disoriented state I thought it was for my single-minded determination. It was the Queen going out. She sat graciously in what looked like a vintage car. I even assumed she was waving out to me. Anyway it looked like a good omen.
From the Palace I had walked towards the stables. It was not of much help. Surely they did not feed samosas to horses. Further down stood the small shop which sold fruit and sandwiches. No samosa. The vision of the samosa kept me going and I soon found myself in the vicinity of Scotland Yard. Even in my relentless consideration of all possibilities I ruled out any help from this quarter.
I had somehow reached Victoria Station. Here was the veritable gateway to exploring the city, but ignoring all I continued my search for the elusive samosa.
The simple thing would have been to ask someone. But one was still reeling under the tension of asked-for and unasked-for advice on my trip to New York of the 1990s from where I was on my way back home. Visitors were not supposed to make eye contact with anything or anyone.
Serendipitously I found myself in front of a display of delectable goodies which included, lo and behold, the samosa. It was indeed of giant size. The owner could have been Indian, but his extremely soft voice and even softer accent suggested otherwise.
Throwing caution to the winds, I made eye contact, and pointed dumbly to the samosa. “Chicken?” he asked helpfully. I must have looked so stricken that he magically produced one with potatoes and peas.
Devouring the samosa I felt myself transforming. Gone was my fear of foreign lands and evil muggers. My gentle benefactor was a Sri Lankan. He briefed me on the Tube routes and the places I could visit.
Checking out a dream
A confident new me was all set to explore London. I sensed he wanted to ask me something. I waited. Very shyly he asked me if I knew the Indian film star Vyjayanthimala. It had been his great dream to meet her.
“No,” I answered honestly. I did not know her personally but maybe if he wished hard enough he might just run into her. At least I hoped so. After the samosa, nothing seemed impossible.
Back in the present, the lecture hall did soon fill up. The lecture was all I had expected it to be. But I had to do without the samosa. While I was enraptured by the lecture, others in the fair crowd had had their priorities right.
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