Tiffin and Filter Kaapi at Matunga and everything is all right in the world

 I was returning to Matunga after nearly a year and was excited and super happy to walk along its familiar footpaths crammed with vendors selling vegetables, snacks, plastic goods and flowers and bananas and whatever. This may not sound exciting to you if you are not familiar with Matunga but for those who know, they know and they would be nodding understandingly and would also be feeling the joy of walking about in those streets and pavements.

The previous year had gone in a project assignment in Central and North India and I had been missing the truly original honest-to-perfection idli-vada-sambar-chutney, the various dosas and the absolutely bestest of all, the strong “philtar kaapi” that for a Mumbaikar, can only be had at Matunga. Please do not misunderstand me. There are other good places too for filter coffee and south Indian snacks in Mumbai, and good ones too, but the pleasure of walking about in the area and sneaking into Ram Ashray or Sharada Bhavan for upma-chutney or cajoling for a single-medu-vada-sambar or waiting for kela-bhajji or mysore-bonda cannot be bettered in any other café elsewhere in the city.

Devendra was waiting for me near Sharada Bhavan as we had discussed over the phone and he understood that I needed company while snacking so that we could chat absolute nonsense and endless stuff about nothing. It was much better if you got someone else at your table, total strangers, and you could pick on any topic and everyone would chat it out for the duration of the stay at the café. Sometimes, very rarely, you may become good friends but it was a totally understood thing in Matunga, King’s Circle, Sion Circle or Dadar Circle that you were only snack table meetups.

As expected, every table at Sharada Bhavan was occupied. The corner table had an elderly couple, who did look like dedicated Matungawallahs, except that the two other empty seats were on the inner side, that is, we would have to squeeze in behind the other two diners. We did that. The diners did not look up and did not make way for us. They were very busy with their dishes. As would have been expected, we checked out their plates very fast. They were having Rava Masala Dosa and Upma-Chutney. There was no sign of any other earlier dish that had been eaten up.

‘Ok, they have just started,’ I thought and waved to a familiar waiter. He waved back. It was not like we were friends but he must have just guessed that I was a regular. He recognised Devendra though and smiled at him. I was feeling somewhat jealous but it was to be expected as Devendra was here almost every day even if he had brought in a good lunch pack from home. It was a rare day or week that he would not have had some tiffin at Sharada Bhavan.

We placed our orders and instantly, the diners at our table and the one next to it, looked at us with respect. We asked for Ulundu Dosa and it was a rather specific order. Devendra enunciated the entire order with proper gestures.

“Two Ulundu Dosa. Crisp and thick. Two chutneys but also give one molagapodi (= gunpowder) and sambar. Bring them together. After that we want idli-chutneys, two plates, with the idlis swimming in the chutney. Bring two sambar each, separately. Do not bring kaapi immediately. We will let you know if we want anything else before that.”

The waiter was more appreciative, though. “You do not want your usual? No upma-chutney and dabra-Tea?”

The two diners sharing our table looked up at the very ancient menu on the wall. This was the most traditional of all. The menu had never changed its look. The prices had been repainted but the items on the menu had never been changed. No new Punjabi-Chinese menu additions and no surprise dampener of Pav Bhaji or Schezwan Dosa or whatever it was that was masquerading as ethnic cuisine or novelties. People came to their regular restaurants in Matunga entirely because they did not want to be disappointed by surprises or changes in their dining routine.

One of the diners pointed at the menu board. “Ulundu dosa! We have not had it in all these years of coming here. How come? Bhushan Kaka used to always talk about it when he came here with Shantaram Kaka, years ago.”

“I have had it at Ram Ashray,” the other diner said. “But it is better at Ballard Estate. Not in Matunga. I have never liked it here. But I have had three, one after the other, when I was in Mysuru. It is much much better there.”

Devendra smiled. He was used to this sort of flowing conversation. It meant nothing to be able to know a better restaurant or a better eating spot. It was just a starting point for some more discussion even if it was for time pass.

“It is good here, but you have to eat it just right,” he said. “It has to be crisp. It has to be thin. But it needs to be enjoyed with the chutney and molagapodi. We mix up everything, chutney, sambar and podi, and allow the crisp dosa to soak it up. That is the correct point in time to slice it up and crunch it. It explodes inside and you enjoy the dosa.”

The second diner smiled. He had closed his eyes for a moment, as if visualising the description. He nodded.

“Yes, but I come here for the upma-chutney. I enjoy the silky feel. You do not get better upma than this in Matunga. Sometimes at the new footpath café opposite Amba Bhavan but not every day. My brother and I, we need to eat only soft tiffin. Our teeth are in a bad condition and we cannot risk cutting up our gums. We bleed easily.”

This was something very different, I thought. He had heard about it but had never actually met someone who suffered from it. But, here they were, both of them, with Rava Masala Dosa. That was crisp, actually extra crisp.

“You may suffer many cuts with that dosa. Are you going to continue so that you can enjoy the upma-chutney?”

The brothers laughed. The elder replied, smiling, “Yes. I knew you would catch that. But this one is ok enough. We asked for soft dosas and even then, it would be risky. We are soaking it up with the sambar. We have to get back to our homes and pretend that we were never here. Our families do not permit us to dine out here in Matunga. They want us to stick to our diet and be careful and strict about them. But, both of us, are 80+ and what more can happen to us? This is Matunga and Sharada Bhavan. Something will definitely go wrong with our health, we told them, if you stop us from eating to our joy and contentment. All this we do, only to enjoy the last round of strong filter kaapi.”

Devendra nodded knowingly. “I know you both. I have seen you over many years but we have never spoken. Your grandchildren also come here with their classmates from college on some days. They come here and instantly ask for Rava Masala Dosa and Upma-Chutney and filter kaapi. They will take care of you. Do not worry. God is great.” 

From "the very short short stories on first edit" 

(c) Bharat Bhushan

31 January 2022

growing up with filter coffee, first thing in the morning - memories of my father and mother (1)

We lived in a 320 square feet ground floor apartment at Wadala, Mumbai, through my childhood and formative years, through marriage in 1986 and onwards to moving out to Pune in 1996. My father, Balapila Naga Bhushan stayed back at Wadala until the December of 2008. We retained the house through many trying years and plenty of happy times. It was a one-room plus kitchen plus balcony. We modified it by moving out the kitchen to the balcony and used the available modified space as an additional room. Both rooms were for all-round general purposes and were used as bedrooms, study rooms, prayer halls, TV space, lounging area and whatever.

The kitchen in the balcony was a new idea and many apartment houses in the area were warming up to the concept. Our neighbour had also converted their balcony and we were not alone in this innovation. Nobody pointed fingers and there were no complaints from the resident’s association. The municipal corporation in Mumbai is generally kind to such actions and they came and inspected the premises and said that it was a violation and that we would have to pay up a “compounding fee”, which we did, and that was that.

The kitchen window backed up into the hall-plus-bedroom and the entire family slept there on coir mattresses on the floor until plastic mattresses replaced them. The climate in Mumbai was very unique in our childhood days. Nobody needed a bedsheet to cover oneself and one did not require any cotton mattress or groundsheet to sleep on. A coir sheet was perfectly okay and we got really splendidly woven ones from Kerala. Vendors would bring them in to Matunga and one could bargain forever and get a real good deal if one was persistent.

Early mornings, we generally woke up to the excellent and enticing aroma of filter coffee being brewed by my father in the balcony-kitchen. The tremendous waft would forcibly wake us up. My father was a specialist at his art. A real master. He would brew the filter coffee that he procured regularly and faithfully from Phillips at Matunga with hot steaming water. In those moments, the milk would be got ready, boiled, diluted to the correct measure and kept ready to receive the filter decoction. My mother, Sharada (Indumati) Bhushan, would have already been up and she would be getting ready to get out of the house to reach the school where she worked as a teacher during the early seventies and later as a headmistress in the late seventies and early eighties and until her retirement.

My father would not partake of the coffee or distribute it until he had placed some milk in a small vessel on the prayer shelf in front of the deities. He would recite a brief prayer and my mother would take over the space after having had her bath. This was a fixed routine in an apartment with only one bathroom and one toilet. The person who would exit the house first always got priority in the queue. After the prayers, my father would distribute steaming hot coffee to each one of us. That was a sacred ritual in our small and compact family. We never realised it. My father had privilege of getting it ready and handing it over to each one of us. We would sit quietly, each one on the coir mattress, our backs leaning on the wall, sipping the coffee, enjoying it and delighting in the taste and flavour. I do not think any south Indian house would be different in those years. The moment of drinking the first morning cup of filter coffee was pure pleasure and every family would probably indulge in it.

I often wondered as to why my mother did not make that first cup of filter coffee. She did the second round in the morning though, and later in the evening. The night round was made by my sister, Sarala, much against the wishes of my parents. This was only for me, as I would sit late at night, reading novels and comics and whatever. We did not have much of anything else to do at home until the black and white TV entered the room and took over much of our future.

The filter coffee decoction vessel was also different for use by my father or by my mother. The one used by my father was a small and compact one and cleaned efficiently by him and kept aside in a location where my mother and sister could not access. He would always claim that the ladies did not know how to clean the decoction vessel properly. Only men were good at that activity. His younger brother, Shantaram Naidu, always agreed with him, as he did on each point made by my father. Their father and my grandfather, Shyamala Ranga Bhashyam, on the weekends that he stayed with us, was most happy when he saw his elder son preparing the filter coffee. He would not control his patience and would take over the act of performing the first prayer so that it would force my father to hurry up with the final preparations of serving or distributing the filter coffee.

My grandfather needed an entire large mug of filter coffee, almost equal to four of our cups. He would indulge in it, by worshipping an entire range of gods, seeking their blessings from the heavens by pointing the coffee mug at every other corner of the skies. My father would wait quietly with his cup of coffee and ask politely if my grandfather would need a refill. Precious memories, all.  

My mother would be wary of serving the second cup of coffee to my grandfather, ie her father-in-law. She knew that he would be very demanding of the correct taste, the exact proportions and the rightful flavour. She could not cheat by asking my father to make it as he would do it, for my grandfather would recognise the difference. So, she would make it as she would, and hand it over to my grandfather and would immediately place a disclaimer, “This is of course not as good as your son would do, but what to do, we are not perfect, all of us.” That would certainly allow her to escape with a smiling nod from my grandfather who would agree with the confirmation, “Yes, of course, nobody can make filter coffee like Babu ( = his name for his elder son) can.”

10 October 2019

From Srirangam to Matunga - the timepass tales of Bhushan and Shantaram

Sunday breakfast at Matunga, without fail
Shantaram and Bhushan were brothers from Srirangam and settled at Wadala, Mumbai. As part of their Sunday morning tradition over many decades, since the days they accompanied their father, they would walk up to Sharada Bhavan in Matunga to have their regular order - idli + medu vada sambar, rava masala dosa and filter coffee. It never changed and as ever, the decor and furniture at Sharada Bhavan had remained the same. 
This never-changing tradition and its environs had led to the brothers becoming resistant to any suggestions or need for change in their lives and their work.
Their tradition faced a challenge and an obstacle on one such splendid Sunday. A large group of cricket fans had taken over all the seats in Sharada Bhavan and the old-time regulars were waiting outside. The strong rumor was that the idli-vada sambar and rava masala dosa may run out and the restaurant may not be able to serve them their only choice.
It would not do, said Bhushan, and taking hold of his younger brother's arm, they went inside and stood near the cashier and insisted that they may be allowed to share a table with the youngsters. The cashier knew them for many years and asked for two chairs that were being used as a temporary store inside the kitchen.
Once seated, they were amazed to see that the entire group of young cricket fans was also eating idli + medu vada sambar and rava masala dosa.
It filled Bhushan's heart with joy as he explained to Shantaram, "I am so very happy. Our nation will never have any problem. The younger generation will also prosper and be good. A plate of idli-vada sambar followed by rava masala dosa and steaming strong filter kapi on a Sunday morning at Matunga, and everything is all right with the world!"
[True story... It actually happened...]

[27 May 2019]


Watching Guns of Navarone at Aurora talkies

Bhushan and Shantaram were having a Friday evening argument as usual. Aurora talkies, the cinema theatre at King's Circle was showing "The Guns of Navarone" for the umpteenth time and both the brothers had seen the movie, several times. They were counting off the number of times that they had seen the movie. Bhushan had seen it 10 times and Shantaram had done better, 12, because he had also accompanied their father, Bhashyam, to see the movie at Aurora talkies.
"Better to stay at home and cook ourselves a splendid dinner for Saturday evening," suggested Bhushan.
"No! Let's go and see the movie again," countered Shantaram. "They may not show the movie later, and this may be the last time. I do not want to miss the scene of the boat tossing against the angry waves, and Gregory Peck drinking his cup of coffee in that cool manner. Let's go and see it again."
Bhushan was also reminded of that scene, "cinema history!" as he termed it. No one could better it, even if the movie was remade a hundred times.
Their wives and children had given up on the argument, many years ago, for they knew what would happen. The brothers would surely go for the movie, as they did, to Aurora talkies, every Saturday evening. Sunday mornings were for breakfast at Sharda Bhavan at Matunga, while Saturday evenings were for the 6 to 9 pm show at Aurora. Any movie, Hindi or English or Tamil or the very rare NTR Telugu one.
It was their father, Bhashyam, who closed the argument. "Go and see the 'Guns of Navarone' and get tickets for me also. I will come with you. I want to see Gregory Peck and Anthony Quinn and David Niven. Who knows, the three may not come back in a movie again."

[2 June 2019]

"Wonly Maatunga Kaapi for me..."

Mr. Iyer from the first floor in our apartment building would say that each time he came to our house, usually uninvited, "Wonly, Maatunga kaapi for me, nothinnngggggg else...". He felt that the best coffee (kaapi!) that could be had, was only (wonly!) available at Matunga (Maatunga!). The place was actually known as the Madras (now, Chennai... but people still remember it as Madras in Mumbai, though Mumbai was Bombay earlier...) of Mumbai. 

Actually, it was a treat to hear Mr. Iyer say it. It went like, "In Bambaayi, Maatunga meeenz Madhdhraas, and Maatunga Kaapi, shtraang Maatunga Kaapi, is the beshsht in the worrld, yaall the worrld", which meant... "In Bombay, Matunga is Madras, and strong coffee from Matunga, is the best in all the world."

Mr. Iyer said this, even when he would come to our house, and while drinking the strong good heavenly south Indian decoction coffee that my mother would serve him. And amazingly, both my father and mother would nod their heads, and agree with Mr. Iyer in the most indulgent manner. I hated the surrender, at that time, in 1975, nearly 33 years ago. 

I was not a coffee connoisseur then. I enjoyed drinking the Narasu or Bru filter coffee, and the rare instant Nescafe made in our house. The instant Nescafe had made its strong appearance only around 1970. Nescafe also had a good filter coffee product, available at a lesser cost.

The Kabutar-khaana at Matunga, near Ram Ashraya Restaurant

My uncle, Shantaram, had a different take on Matunga kaapi. He was a faithful to have a cup at Ram Ashraya restaurant, near the kabutar-khana, the pigeons feeding place, at Matunga. He loved his cup of Matunga kaapi there, in the small stainless steel tumbler, kept inside the larger wider flat-rimmed deep stainless steel bowl. You were at paradise, as most south Indians at Matunga declared during the 60s and 70s, if you got that hot cup of kaapi to swish from the tumbler to the bowl by lifting the tumbler at least 3 feet above and pouring the hot milk-sweetened decoction accurately into the bowl. 

The aroma was already felt when the kaapi had been served at your table. You could smell it from the cup on your table and you could smell it from the cups of kaapi at other tables. The smell and aroma was all around. But when you lifted the tumbler and poured the coffee down to the bowl, the aroma hit you in the face. It must be hormonal, I think. All good honest south Indians, actually all south Indians who like strong filter coffee from out of a tumbler and vessel, are good honest south Indians. There isn't any other qualification, really. 

The Ram Ashraya Restaurant at Matunga

The Quality Tea-Coffee Shop is to its left...

Strong filter 'Kaapi' at Hotel Ram Ashraya in the classic style

The stainless steel tumbler (right) and the vessel (left).

Coffee drinking cannot be better than this...

Video demonstrating the art of mixing filter coffee at Matunga

You can increase the distance and height once you become an expert at it...

All good honest south Indians must be having an hormonal recepter to strong filter kaapi. Their poetic abilities were probably awakened at that moment of smelling strong filter kaapi. The entire world seemed happy and peaceful at that moment. The restaurant waiter, serving the hot kaapi, was now probably looking like your best friend or your favourite relative. 

My uncle would savour the coffee at Ram Ashray and then proceed to the Quality Tea-Coffee shop next to the restaurant and purchase Chicory coffee powder mixed on a 50:50 ratio with Peaberry coffee powder. This, he felt, and almost 90% of Matunga of the 70s probably agreed with him. You had to brew the decoction for an hour at home before it was ready to taste the same, well, almost the same as genuine strong filter coffee from Matunga.

There was a restaurant, Amba Bhavan, at the spot where the Matunga main road met Kings' Circle. It was yet another coffee drinker's paradise. The waiters at this restaurant were as aged and prehistoric as the furniture and the unchanged decor in the place. They were probably on speaking terms or friendly nodding terms with my father and uncle in their younger days. My grandfather probably knew them and maybe even so, knew their fathers or uncles.

The Amba Bhavan Coffee Club at King's Circle near Matunga

Honest, strong and pure filter coffee from

the Amba Bhavan Coffee Club

Most waiters at Amba Bhavan in the 80s wore a folded-up dhoti or lungi, and almost came at you with the coffee tumbler and vessel. Unlike Ram Ashry, the coffee at Amba Bhavan and Mysore Cafe in Kings' Circle came in an upturned small tumbler inside the stainless steel vessel. The coffee was trapped inside the tumbler. You had to be an expert at some of the ancient shaolin arts with a third or fourth degree black belt to be able to prise the trapped air pressure inside the tumbler and free the coffee from within it, and into the vessel.

The waiters at Amba Bhavan were expert at it. Those at Mysore Cafe would leave to your fate, unless asked help was asked for. The Amba Bhavan chaps would look at you and recognise whether you were a kaapi-shaolin sensei or not. Guessing that probably you were not even a sham kung fu pretender, they would tilt the vessel in an expert manner, causing the weight of the kaapi liquid to make the tumbler free itself from the vessel. Then, with a flourish, they would swish the coffee back and forth from the tumbler into the vessel and would reverse their hands to keep the momentum and swishing going.

The Cafe Mysore at Kings' Circle

Nescafe and instant coffee spoilt it for the kaapi-addict. 

(All photographs by Author)