I was born and brought up in a chawl in the suburbs of mumbai. Nani gave me my first pet name. Nani, our land lady was a muslim widow and had lost her husband early in her life and had no children. Nature didn’t stop at taking away people from her life but also took her eyesight. She stayed alone and her relatives who stayed nearby used to send her lunch and dinner packed in a dabba. She made it a point every single day to share her food with me. It comprised mostly of bheja and kalegi. I just loved the food. She used to wait for me till I came back from school to share her lunch with me. I sat on her lap and she told me stories. Her stories never repeated. She was my first book of panchtantra. Whenever she heard my mom scolding or beating me (yes, parents were allowed to hit their child in those days), she used to scold my mother. She called me ‘Munna’. Even now when I go to a restaurant, if there is a bheja on the menu, I will always order it. Even when there is no bheja fry on the m