You step into the old bazaar of Anarkali and sit down on the low quality plastic chairs, which may or may not broken in some way. The aroma of barbecue, fused together with the fumes of fresh taka tak greet you. The heat from the large wok from which the young boy skilfully strains out samosay will provide a rather unpleasant ambience. As if the sun's heat wasn't enough. Flies arrive complimentary with your food. It is at this moment you realize that the smell from the nearby sewer is getting quite intolerable. You call out, "Chacha Jee!". The bearded old man who has worked at the "restoraant" since he was nine comes running to you. You didn't call him to complain about anything. "Chacha Jee, Pakistan ka match to zara laga dein"