K Sreeja is chopping a handful of shallots, seated on her veranda. It is 12.30pm, and she is just starting to make lunch for her family. Only a few hours before, she had peeled and chopped 20 kilograms of onions, assisting her husband A Krishnakumar at their family unit to make 5,000 onion puffs. Theirs is among the over 50 units at Coimbatore’s Telungupalayam locality that make savouries such as chips, mixture, and puffs. A handful among them specialise in onion puffs — palm-sized crispy triangles filled with a spicy stuffing of masala-infused onions and boiled potatoes — sold at tea shops across the city.
Most of the chips and mixture units have shut down temporarily due to increasing oil prices triggered by the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine. “They are all biding their time,” Krishnakumar says, seated next to a hillock of golden-brown puffs that he just deep fried in palm oil. “They will hopefully restart once oil prices fall.” The puff units — most of them cottage industries that function at outdoor kitchens adjoining the makers’ homes — continue to run.
Onions puffs are school and college canteen staples. Two decades ago, they cost 75p to ₹1 a piece, and today, one gets three pieces for ₹10. Tea shops keep restocking them through the day: greasy and addictive, they go well with tea and coffee. You can gobble a piece in one big bite; the crackling outer layer and the masala stuffing have remained the same for years.
“It is gone in seconds,” says Sreeja. “But a lot of effort goes into making these puffs.” The entire family in involved in the process. “My husband starts kneading maida at 7pm — we use an electrical kneader for this,” explains Sreeja. Krishnakumar kneads 35 kilograms of flour a day. He then rolls them flat into circles that are almost 26 inches in diameter. “I semi-cook them on an iron tawa, and cut them into thin, rectangular sheets. I finish by 2am, and sleep for an hour-and-a-half after this.” His wife and two college-going sons then join him. “We chop the onions and prepare the stuffing,” says Sreeja.
The stuffing changes according to the price of onions. “If onions are too pricey, we add potatoes,” explains Krishnakumar. The chopped onions are tossed in chilli powder, salt, turmeric powder, and garam masala. The stuffing is placed in a basin and the family sits around it, folding the puffs one after the other to mechanical precision. Krishnakumar then deep fries them in a wide wok over a mud stove fired by sawdust. “We are done by noon,” says Krishnakumar, his sleepless eyes bloodshot.
A few blocks away, K Rajan and family are folding a fresh batch. Seated on the floor along with his daughter R Hasini, and relatives A Infant and S Chanbasha, he works as an old radio buzzes in the background. Rajan has set up units at several spots in the locality over the last decade. When oil prices went up, he took a week off, asking for a 20p increment per piece from the tea shop owners — the units sell a piece for ₹1.60. “They agreed for 10p,” he says wryly. “I gave in; I cannot sit idle, can I?”
The puffs are distributed by ‘line men’, who take a small commission per piece. “Between various units, we work with a certain understanding. I will not sell at shops another unit supplies to,” says Krishnakumar, who has been in the business for 25 years. “We mostly employ family members since hiring extra hands will bite into our earnings,” he explains, adding that he learned the trade from his father-in-law.
Sleep is elusive for these men and women. “The first thing I want to do once I’m done is catch at least two hours of sleep,” says Infant. Krishnakumar too cannot do without his afternoon nap. But after sending out his orders for the day, he does not step out without cleaning his unit. “This place is like a temple to me,” he says. He sweeps out every last crumb, and places the tawas and woks into their designated shelves. He then lights a brass lamp and places it by the stove.
