Durga Puja is an emotion. Durga Puja is an allegedly lazy, laid back city showing its true colours quite literally- its artistic pandals and bedazzling lights guide hungry, lost souls home for a bit of peace and mangshor jhol. If you’re a nomad at heart and even homecoming means wandering the streets of your beloved city, this article is for you.

The glossy patisserie of Flury’s and the down-to-earth authenticity of Kasturi restaurant might be what Kolkata headlines as her pièce-de-résistance, but for the ones who find their calling in the hustle and bustle of a busy intersection- street food from Kolkata is not to be missed. My beloved friend Utsav has graciously bestowed upon me the honour to write about Kolkata street food, specially in the context of Durga Puja, so here goes.

The best part of street food is that there is no order: no main courses or amuse bouches. You eat what you find in a random sequence and find absolute joy in utter chaos. Today we shall begin our Parikrama where we always did- Saptami, at College Street.

Imagine you’re an 18 year old with new-found friends at Medical College, maybe a few hundred rupees in your pocket to last the entire day, and the hunger of a hundred Terracotta army soldiers in your belly. The opener, specially for the fans of plant-based meals- is The Ghoogni from College Square. It’s a slow-cooked almost-curry made from dried yellow peas or ‘matar dal’, somewhere between a lentil course and a full-bodied meal. The peas must be soft, not mushy. The Ghoogni is finished with some finely chopped onions, tomatoes, green chilli and lemon, and a sprinkling of flavourful “bhaja moshla”, the secrets of which shall die with the tradesman. Your senses awaken, you move forward with gusto for more gustatory wonders.

Once you walk out of College Square, the sweltering September sun has left you dehydrated and in dire need for some respite. The Daab Sharbat from Paramount awaits. At less than 100 bucks, it is a clear concoction of coconut water, sugar syrup, ice and chunks of coconut flesh. Compared to the rich heavy malai drinks, this one soothes your soul for the long road ahead.

You go across the Medical College campus toward Muhammad Ali Park, remembering the evenings of first love and Ghoti Gorom– a warm and tart trail mix of chanachur, sev, diced onions, spices and green chilli. It would be carried across college campuses in a large cylindrical container, and back in the day, students would gather around it like a mini food truck. I don’t know if Ghoti Gorom Dada still frequents my old haunts. But there’s no time for that today.

We move on to Muhammad Ali Park and the engagement of the auditory senses. The vendors are frying spicy Dal Bora– small, misshapen fritters of chana dal, deep fried with no regard for your waistline. It’s laden with enough green chilli to make you miss Paramount. Beside it, the staple Jhaalmuri awaits in its simplicity, puffed rice with a medley of peanut, sev, diced onion and tomato, topped with a sliver of coconut which you must ration till the muri ends. If you are a potato fan, the humble spud with chana and a lime-tamarind dressing brings Aloo Kabli to the table. Carry any of these into the pandal in a paper “thonga” but be wary of friends with an overactive pincer grasp. Joey doesn’t share food!

On your way to the Girish Park metro, Bong meets North Indian sensibilities around the Burrabazar area, where you can soothe your singed tastebuds with some lassi (or chai for the purist) along with some malai toast– because breakfast can be an anytime meal. Malai toast is exactly what it sounds like. A thick, soft piece of bread, slathered with malai and a LOT of sugar. You’re burning all the calories walking, remember?

You have had enough of walking around for the morning, and crave some lunch. But looking at the lines in front of your favourite Park Street restaurants, you decide on desperate measures. Kusum’s Kathi Roll awaits you with its crisp outer paratha, hiding juicy kebab pieces garnished with onions and some lemon. Less is more, but in this case, it’s quite moreish with a perfect balance between meaty and fresh flavours. Appeased and re-energised, you take the Metro to end your evening at the Bagbazar pandal with its beautiful pratima and innumerable food stalls.

Your friends pull you toward the aroma of the Chowmein, a homage to China Town and the indianization of a very chinese dish. Velvety noodles are being stir-fried at a high heat with julienned vegetables, laden with spices and sauces that are the obvious Indian influence. The speed at which it’s prepared can only be trumped by the speed of slurping it down in silence. Leaving those enamored by Chinese engagements, you walk past the sinful Moglai porota, which wrap a delicious meaty filling within its egg coated, crisp fried exterior- no, no time for you, Satan- toward your one true destination.

The evening draws to a close, and so does our Food journey. I’ve left the best for last. The Kolkata offering I am prepared to move cities for- the majestic and clearly superior Phuchka. I’ve had the (mis)fortune of tasting its cousins, i.e., golgappa and pani puri. Like the One That Got Away, nothing else compares. The crunch of a perfectly round sooji and flour Phuchka, deftly filled to order with a potato, chana and coriander filling, can pack in spice levels from White-People to Bird’s-eye. Just howl, “dada, aaro lonka” amidst flowing tears and dada shall deliver. It is filled with the tamarind water of the Gods, perfectly balanced between savoury, sweet and sour. For sweeter individuals, dahi phuchka with a tangy red chutney is a modified version, almost as good.

Just know that when you try phuchkas in the comfort of an AC restaurant or in sanitary conditions, it would never taste the same as on a Kolkata street. Naysayers would blame the sweaty Phuchkawala with wandering hands (thanks for that vision, mom). But the truth is, street food is what it is, thanks to the streets. The colours, the lights, the crowds, the shoebites and the cacophony- Kolkata brings a fearless experience for the true traveller at heart.

In the words of Vir Sanghvi: “Wherever you go, a bit of Calcutta will go with you. I know, because it’s happened to me. And every Puja, I am overcome by the magic of Bengal. It’s a feeling that’ll never go away.”