Mishra Pan Wala

Being right by Pune Station means there is never a quiet moment. It’s a constant stream of people coming off the trains or waiting for their platform number to be called. I’ve seen so many people pass through here over the years. Some are in a huge rush, looking at their watches and tapping their feet, while others are just dragging their heavy bags and looking tired. My shop isn’t much to look at, just a small corner in the middle of all that chaos. I’ve got my small stool and the rows of supplies laid out in front of me. The smell of the station is always there—the diesel from the engines and the food from the other stalls. It gets very hot in the afternoons, and the small fan I have doesn’t do much except move the warm air around. I don't mind it, though. I like the energy of the station. You hear all sorts of languages and see people from all over. Sometimes someone will ask me for directions, and I try to help if I can. Mostly, I just focus on what I’m doing. The counter is stained from years of use, and the floor is a bit uneven. I keep a bottle of water tucked under the shelf because I talk a lot during the day. It’s a long shift, but the time goes by fast because it’s always so busy.