A life behind the samosa.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Here is a shrine to a fellow citizen’s sweat, struggles, and steadfastness. And—perhaps this thing should have been mentioned first—it is an essential pilgrimage for anybody who aspires to be a true city gourmand.

The capital has very many places that rustle out excellent samosas. Lalita Devi’s pavement stall in Connaught Place is one of those. It makes tiny samosas, each the size of a single morsel. You may call it the cocktail samosa. All day long, here on Connaught Lane, Lalita Devi and her two sons are seen slapping the potato mix inside the samosa patties, deep-frying the mini triangles in hissing oil.

The stall was founded by her husband Ram Babu in 1990. This rainy afternoon in 2025, the stall, protected from the rain by a blue plastic awning, is surrounded on all sides by scores of patrons. One couple is enjoying a serving of these small samosas from a single bowl.

Like any of us, Lalita Devi has manoeuvred her share of hardships. Hers were uncommonly formidable. Following her husband’s inexplicable departure from their home, which happened many years ago when her children were very small, she was obliged to alone take charge of the samosa stall. Confronted by adverse circumstances, Lalita Devi did all that she could to earn a honest living, so as to raise her children. Today, her sons, Yogesh and Manoj, help her administer the snack establishment.

At the moment, Lalita Devi is too busy to chat. The counter is claimed by massive quantities of kneaded dough (maida speckled with fragrant ajwain seeds), along with a huge mound of spiced aloo mash–which comprises the samosa filling. Two flasks are filled with green pudina chutney and red imli chutney. Lalita Devi makes the chutneys afresh daily at her home in distant Ram Park, near Khajuri Khas. She and her boys get up every morning at five to complete the preliminary cooking before boarding the bus for Connaught Place. The commute consumes more than an hour. The stall opens at 10; it also serves chai and bread pakoda.

While Lalita Devi is filling the raw samosas with aloo, son Yogesh is deep-frying them in the oil-filled cauldron. The other son has gone to Haridwar for a pilgrimage to Ganga Maa, and is expected in the evening. Their cousin, the extremely polite Sunil, is helping the mother and son deal with the rush. He has an “office job” in Noida, but took an off for the day.

In some moments, an elderly sadhu in saffron arrives at the stall, and stands wordlessly. Lalita Devi respectfully drops a coin into his bowl, simultaneously bowing her head to receive the sadhu’s blessing.

The stall shuts at eight in the evening. For a long time, on reaching home, a tired Lalita Devi would have to cook the night meal for the family. Now, hot dinner waits for her, prepared by daughter-in-law Reshu.