I went around organizing my garage yesterday. Though it was neat, I wanted to keep up with my changing needs and ever-changing workflow. For me, identifying, learning, planning, and organizing is a constant endeavor.
As I was arranging my stuff, a carton made me stop in my tracks. It was lying there staring at me. It had neatly stacked pockets, hundreds of them. They were staring back at me, calling me. I hadn’t picked even a single leaf from there to wrap an egg roll in four years. I had parked my commercial van when the pandemic struck and now suddenly, I was itching to pick up the keys again. I knew I wouldn’t act on this instinct. My life was a tale of planning and thoughtful execution.
Egg roll to me is an emotion, a nostalgia, a piece of my city, a cloak of the familiar in the distant land. I would miss it every time me and my husband went on a road trip. Every road trip of ours on the East Coast would land us at McDonalds and KFCs of the world at every exit. We would pick a burger and down it with tepid coffee, all the time longing for the chatter and clatter that came along with street side food back in my city, Kolkata.
When I close my eyes and trace back my earliest memories, the one thing I can picture perfectly is walking in a crowded lane bustling with energy. Aromas — tangy, sharp, tantalizing. Chatter — loud, incoherent, comforting. I can see people gathered around a tiny shop — impatient, shouting over one another, demanding a match for their palate. An overworked tired looking man, sweating in sweltering heat, his baniyan (vest) sticking to his body, deftly uplifting a lowly paratha and a poor egg with magic concoctions into a heavenly Egg Roll. Flaky paratha, soft eggs, crunchy salad, a secret spice mix, tangy sauces and zesty dash of a lemon — ah, the riot of textures and flavors!
You must be a Kolkatan to feel an Egg Roll.
Or do you?
It took me good ten years to decide, that one need not be a Kolkatan to feel the emotion of a roll, provided you are in the Bay Area. The routine burgers and messy tacos at the East Coast rest areas kept chasing me for a long time. Every time family or friends came to visit from back home, we would snuggle a duffle bag full of neatly packed tupperware boxes. In them would be aaloo parathas and pickles, rotis and subzi or spiced chicken gravies. Tantalizing though they were, an early morning rush to cook and pack these was tedious to say the least.
I knew there was a hole for my favorite roll. Not in my heart alone, but as a need among Indian diaspora, longing for a snacky meal, quick and easy, tasty and healthy and of course with a touch of nostalgia.
I lived with this longing for a while. And then came the last straw. In 2013, at the Durga Puja festivities, while everyone was busy comparing the style of sarees and latest from Tollywood, I was searching for that one thing — my hot egg roll. Every other Indian food was there — from Dosa to chaats, but…
I knew, the time had come to roll up my sleeves and get into the business of rolls.
