I often think I know Delhi inside out, but once in a while, I must admit, I get stumped by a question. Just where is the malaria office in Connaught Place, I asked myself when I heard about a chholey-kulchey seller who sat right there. I had no clue, but kept it in mind and thought that, one day, I would go looking for the malaria office, and the chholey-kulchey man.
As luck would have it, I stumbled upon him a few days ago. I had to visit my travel agent, and was walking out of the office when I saw a man sitting at the corner. And right above him was a board that said: Anti-Malaria Office.
There are kulchey-chholey wallahs across Delhi, but I wanted to try out his food because he had been recommended by my foodie-friend, Anubhav Sapra. Anubhav is a young man who really nurtures his passion for food — he organizes food walks, uploads videos on little known eateries and follows every lead that connects him to an interesting dish.
So, for quite a while now, I had been in search of this elusive peepey-wallah. A peepa is the canister in which the chholey is stored. I am a great fan of kulchey-chholey. I think the one who gave us the greatest pleasure was Kasturi in Bhogal. His food was so popular that you had to line up there for his delicious fare in the early hours. There was always such a crowd there that you were likely to see an empty vessel if you dawdled. Then, of course, my all-time favourite was — and is — Mukesh on Asaf Ali Road. His chholey, on a bed of mashed, fried potatoes, is flavoured with green chutneys, garnished with ginger slivers and kachaloo pieces and topped with some sweet pomegranate chutney.
A plateful of his chholey
Peepey wallah Ashwini Kumar Sharma, who is from Chintpurni in Himachal Pradesh, serves a simpler fare — but it is indeed very tasty. He serves a plate of two kulchas, or two bhaturas, with a generous helping of chholey for ₹20. His father started selling kulchey-chholey 32 years ago, and the equally able son has been carrying on with the family tradition. He cooks the chholey at home, and then brings it to this little corner, every day of the week, barring Sundays, in his peepa. He is there at 12 noon, and leaves by 4 p.m.
Before I tell you about the chholey, let me explain where he sits. If you hit Connaught Place from Regal Cinema or Rivoli, you will find him in the first block (opposite Palika), just a few metres from the travel agency Stic. He takes very little space so it is very easy to miss him. The board above says: Anti-Malaria Operation, MCD, G-74, Connaught Place. If you walk ahead, leaving Stic to your left, you will see a big Benetton showroom, and Wenger’s at the very end of the corridor.
I had the chholey, and thought it reminded me of Kasturi’s fare. It was mildly spiced, and not very hot, though it did have green chillies in it. I liked the way it was being served to office-goers who were clearly regulars there. He would top the chholey with some tart chutney and then add sliced onions to it. It looked most appetizing! Later in the day, I went back to that corner of CP for some unfinished work. I found him listening to a world cup cricket match on the radio, his peepa happily empty.
The writer is a seasoned food critic
