Tiny clay matkas, which one held the much desired Phirni, now lay strewn around the shop's entrance. Fresh orders of Malpua are dished out every few seconds to the sea of hands in front of the counter. Beggars patiently wait for customers to leave before pestering them for their half-eaten remains. One of the owners, treated by the crowd like a bonafide celebrity, explains that he has no greater desire in life than to make the best possible sweetmeats for Ramzan. He figures it is one way he can thank God, who has blessed the family with so much success and fortune.

In the middle of this mass consumption of food, suddenly the crowd turns to a lone kebabwallah, where a circle is rapidly forming and black-shirted bodyguards work to keep the masses at bay. Arshad Warsi of Munnabhai fame has arrived to sample the delicacies. And though he's wearing expensive clothes and encircled by bodyguards, he seems as much a part of this scene as everyone else. His undeniable wealth and fame have been left at the entrance to Mohammed Ali road, at least metaphorically speaking.

Because here -- whether rich or poor, Hindu or Muslim, Indian or foreign -- it's really and truly just one big family, under God.

Also see: Ramzan around the world