Bengalis, telebhaja and rains — up, close and hopelessly personal

This indelicately slippery snack of Bengal lives to kill resolutions and strip people off their decency, but that’s how it should be devoured. Show a little courtesy of waiting to handle this snack with grace, it’s gonna die a soggy death.

What’s a ‘telebhaja’ if it’s not leapt up from the hellishly-dark frying wok of a roadside shack to land crisply into your mouth! As you wait your turn in consuming these golden delights, deterrents like ranks of smoke and oil from the passing traffic must be swallowed along with your unstoppable drool, which by now runs the risks of an exposé.

Once the fiery snack dribbles onto your tongue to finally cool itself and your altered facial contours from handling the scald is back to normal, you bite through the crackly-crisp jacket of seasoned Besan (fried to perfection), and taste the sweetness of the succulent onions in a slow blink of contentment. In the process, you must sweat a little, burn your tongue and your conscience too, only to go through the process again.

Bengalis and telebhaja are inseparable and can be uttered in the same breath as acidity and antacid – a stereotype I am afraid is true. Though a considerable amount of health awareness has brought down the consumption level, given Bengalis’ predisposition to digestive disorders, the portly confectioner’s sweat at business tells a different story.

Nonetheless, this can be a perfectly healthy, home-made, monsoon snack that can be paired with crispy ‘Moodi’ infused in Mustard oil / ‘Sour Mango Pickle Oil’ along with a green chilly to nibble at. Wash everything down your throat with a piping hot ‘dudh chaa’.