Eat Streets and Khao Galis

A recent incident involving a Kova Bun vendor during the Medaram Jatara prompted me to reflect on the larger street food culture in our cities. Today, one can spot customised mini closed vans selling Kova Buns across the twin cities of Hyderabad and Secunderabad.

The episode involving “Kumari Aunty” has not yet faded from public memory, when A. Revanth Reddy intervened to bail her out of a crisis. In a similar vein, Nara Lokesh stepped in a few days ago to support the Kova Bun vendor facing trouble. Without dwelling too much on these specific incidents, I felt a broader reflection on the phenomenon of street food would perhaps do more justice.

Ironically, the adverse publicity faced by both vendors turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Instead of hostility, they received overwhelming sympathy, and their businesses gained unexpected traction.

Street food—popularly known as “Khao Gali” or “Eat Street”—has now evolved into a multi-billion-rupee industry in India. If one were to loosely translate that scale into dollars, the magnitude becomes even more striking. The point is not the currency conversion but the sheer volume of business, so substantial that even established corporates might look at it with widened eyes.

I recall an anecdote from the late 1990s. A chaat bhandar owner in Kothi was reportedly observed by an Income Tax official who spent nearly three hours consuming gol gappas and ragada, posing as a regular customer, simply to estimate the scale of business. If rumours are to be believed, the establishment was later raided and taxed in lakhs—a significant amount in those days. I leave that story to fact-checkers; fortunately (or unfortunately), social media was still in its infancy then.

The number of vendors has steadily risen to meet the ever-growing demand for street food, which now includes everything from fast food to traditional “common man” dishes. Barring pani puri stalls and chaat shops, street food outlets were relatively few and far between until the turn of the 21st century.

Those now in their 60s and 70s will remember a time when even eating at a modest hotel was considered a luxury—let alone regularly consuming food from street vendors. In cities like Mumbai (then Bombay), the famed dabbawalas ferried millions of home-cooked lunch boxes daily. Their logistical precision became a case study for management students at premier institutions like Indian Institute of Management Ahmedabad. That system thrived largely because one member of the household—typically women—stayed home to cook. Strict home food, under most circumstances, was the norm.

Today, that social structure has shifted dramatically. With both spouses compelled to work, often out of economic necessity rather than choice, the traditional dabbawala ecosystem has inevitably felt the strain. Home-cooked meals, once the rule, are increasingly becoming the exception.

The economics of survival have transformed family dynamics. Gone are the days when a single income could comfortably support a household with multiple dependents. Unless all eligible family members contribute to the common pool, managing monthly expenses—from electricity bills to EMIs—becomes a daunting task. In such a scenario, convenience often outweighs convention. Street food fills that gap: affordable, accessible, and time-saving.

Thus, what began as small roadside enterprises has today matured into an informal yet formidable economic force. Beyond taste and affordability, street food now represents livelihood, aspiration, and adaptation to modern urban pressures.

The Kova Bun incident, therefore, is not merely about one vendor’s plight. It is about a larger ecosystem—one that feeds millions daily and sustains millions more. The streets have truly become the new dining halls of urban India.