Momta Didi

Such is her presence that people right at the other end of the country know about her. she isn’t the brightest of pennies, nor can she be expected to lead the Renaissance that West Bengal needs in order to tide over the misrule of the Communist government that caused the state’s economy to lead the life of an exploited prostitute. (Of course, some may argue that all prostitutes are exploited, but bear with the hyperbolae please.)

This post, however, does not deal with what Mamata Bannerjee is capable of, and what not. It’s about something I encountered. I was at a roadside eatery—a pretty cheap one—when someone, obviously catching up on my accent and total cluelessness about the Marwari/Rajasthani being spoken around, asked me where I was from.

I gave my standard reply: from Bengal, but spent several years in Nagpur. The second part went unheeded, but the man cooking my mixed veg broke into a smile and asked, “Toh aap Mamta Di ke desh se hain?”

Epilogue: The mixed veg was exactly according to my specification—not too spicy, and with a nice gravy. Smile

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