A sandwich by any other name

If only John Montagu, the late but oft remembered 4th Earl of Sandwich could see it now, he'd be deeply embarrassed by his compilation. I refer not to any sandwich, but the toasted sandwich to be found on the streets of Bombay. More specifically, outside the family court at Bandra East. Rounded edges charred and squished by the handheld toaster, it tastes of the city. Innocuous slices of white bread, gads of butter, chutney, thinly sliced boiled potatoes, onions, beets, cucumbers and tomatoes with a sprinkling of chaat masala, served on glamorous bits of magazine, but only after the golden brown package has been skillfully hacked into 6 semi-manageable bites, topped with a dollop of butter and kaadu ketchup! Waah! I'd been thinking about this sandwich ever since I got into the car in my chaste outfit, all the way to court.... surely, I'd find a toasted sandwichwallah somewhere at BKC!
Standing there, with the heat seeping through to your hands, it's heady aroma mingling with the pao bhaji next door and attendant kerbside cacophony as you absently swat at the flies while maneuvering the duppatta to the exact angle that will allow you to see their faces while shading your face from the searing heat reminds me why I want to come back.
The first bite, as with most things street side, requires oral skills peculiar to the less gentle trade, and reminds you of the city; a peculiar assortment of clashing cultures, languages, beliefs, religions inexplicably distilling into an oddly harmonious culinary experience. Aashish and Khush get stupid trading kumbh mela bichde huye bhai dialogue, 'tere chhati pe daag hai?', that sends me into spasms, omigod, the whole life imitates art, art imitates life.....we are bollywood! This has got to be the best way to file for a divorce. If only uptight hawaldar mamu could see us now....