"Do you have Navratra-special momos?" she asks. The momo-seller said she didn't. "Who'll buy your momos during these nine days?" the lady asked. "If you came up with a Navratra-special momo (it would be just like a Jain momo but minus the casing) you'll do excellent business!" The momo-seller muttered moodily at her receding back: "Momos without their casing wouldn't be momos... but who can explain anything to people like her?" I smile and sensing a sympathetic ear, she launches into the story of her life as a migrant in Delhi.
"The biggest problem with being a 'chinky' in Delhi is that suddenly you lose your identity," she says. "You could be from Sikkim, Arunachal, Manipur, Ladakh or even actually China - but to many north Indians, you're just a 'chinky'..." I ask where she's from. She says her name is Rama Devi and she's from Manipur. "I came to Delhi a few years ago with my daughter as my son was already working here, and after my husband's death, there was nothing to keep me in Imphal," she says. But Delhi, she recollects, turned out to be different from what she'd expected it to be.
"Renting a house was our first challenge. One landlord rejected us because he had a pet dog and was afraid we'd eat it," she says. Eventually, they found a place in Lajpat Nagar, in an area where many other people like her lived. "Then, my daughter, who had finished college, began looking for a job," she recollects. Most restaurants in the capital employed girls from the north-east as hostesses and waitstaff. "My daughter, too, was snapped up by a restaurant in a West Delhi mall," she says.
All this time, Rama Devi was feeling a little restless. "I've never stayed idle," she says. "But ever since I moved to Delhi, I didn't have much to do." Her neighbour, a Punjabi, told her to start a small business selling momos. "She told me everyone in Delhi loves momos. I said that we Manipuris ate stews, fish and rice - momos were as exotic for us as they were for Delhites," says Rama Devi. Her neighbour declared that Delhi's street palate was not cosmopolitan enough for authentic Manipuri food. So, about one year ago, Rama Devi learnt to make momos from her Punjabi neighbour, bought a couple of steamers and set up her little business. "I'd thought that I would have to work hard to establish myself, but found that my 'chinky' looks worked in my favour. People just assumed my momos were authentic. Today, I sell a plate of six for Rs 30, and manage to sell about 50 plates every afternoon," she says.
Rama Devi says that while all these erroneous stereotypes are galling, she's happy to have been able to use them to her advantage. "I'm planning to expand my menu now... other than experimenting with Jain and Navratra momos, I may even start making the other 'chinky' stereotype - chow mein!" she laughs.