“There’s a stark difference in how people live here”

Ram Nivas is astounded when I tell him I live beyond south Delhi’s periphery. “Woh toh Jamuna-paar hai,” he says, in disbelief, upon learning that I came to Green Park all the way from Noida to meet him.

Not yet noon, Nivas is already setting up his makeshift bhelpuri-sevpuri-jhaalmuri stall. After lighting dhoop-batti, he packs boiled potatoes and stores them in a fridge at a shop nearby. Then begins the peeling, cleaning, and chopping of onions. His hands move like clockwork, a rhythm perfected over years.

A phone call from a regular customer, a 70-year-old lady, interrupts his work. “She loves sev puri,” he tells me later.

The last time I met Nivas was in 2024, after a decade-long gap. He recognised me instantly. Between 2008–2013, when I worked at a national daily nearby, I often enjoyed his jhaalmuri with “jyada mirch aur jyada sarso ka tel.” He still remembered my order.

When I ask about his first move to Delhi, he admits the past is a little blurry. At 16, he migrated to Delhi from a village in Sambhal, Uttar Pradesh. After a few months in Shahdara-Seelampur, he shifted to south Delhi’s Yusuf Sarai, and later, Kotla Gaon—a move he takes pride in. “There’s a stark difference in how people live here,” he says, alluding to the tonier south Delhi, where lanes are wider and cleaner.

Living in Delhi, he says, has changed how he thinks, especially politically. The recent communal violence in his hometown troubles him. “It isn’t right. That’s their home. Where would they go?”

He started by selling golgappas, but it’s bhel and sev puri that fascinate him. “Everyone selling these snacks mixes too many things—matar, chips. You’re not making a salad,” he chuckles. “They taste better with fewer ingredients—chutney, papdi, aloo, mirch, and sev are enough.”

Nobody taught him how to make these items. “I’d ask customers how they prefer them, so I learned along the way.”

“Bhel is from Bambai. Sev puri, from Dilli, and jhaalmuri—with sarso ka tel—from Kolkata,” he says, handing me a plate of jhaalmuri. But origins don’t matter to him. What matters is how well the crisp papdi, tangy chutney, and fragrant mustard oil come together—exactly how customers like it.