buddhi ke ball

Growing up in India, you become attuned to a symphony (cacophony?) of everyday sounds that range from the shriek of the bottle paper man to the discordant singing of the fish man to the annoyingly smarmy shouting of the cassette man (trying to get you to rent Jungle Book for the 100th time) to temple bells and the muazzin beckoning some to pray.

One sound that was always music to my ears was the ding ding ding of the vendor selling a street sweet that was cotton candy's cousin brother. We used to call it "buddhi ke baal" which literally means old women's hair.

What an unfortunate name for this saccharine childhood treat.