It was almost midnight in Mumbai, that magical hour when the city looks half-asleep but is still buzzing like a secret party. On the corner of Dadar’s busy market lane stood a small, glowing stall: “Mama’s Masala Mela.” Run by Rangnath “Mama” Joshi, a chubby 58-year-old man with a booming laugh and a moustache so long it could catch rainwater, the stall was known for one dish—Masala Misal Pav so spicy it could wake the dead.Mama was packing up for the night. The gas stove was cooling, the utensils were soaking, and he was humming an old Marathi song. Just