Adhi Potoba

The month of May in Pune is a time for summer vacation, over-chlorinated swimming pools, Alphonso mangoes and 40º C plus temperatures. It is also time for the industrious Puneri housewife to make homemade kurdai, papadi and potato chips. There isn’t a Puneri worth his salt that hasn’t slipped on or walked over a sheet full of sticky sabudana papad freshly laid out to dehydrate in the scorching summer sun. One of the most common sights of the Maharashtrian summer is an assortment of papads spread over sheets of tarp on roofs, terraces, courtyards and any flat surface that had the potential for catching a bit of the sun, irrespective of its inconvenience to the passerby. I always wondered “Why would you toil for a whole day making the batter, spend another couple of hours laying them in the sun, employ the area kids to make sure the birds aren’t stealing them and in a week you’d have a substandard side-dish that one can totally live without?” Not to mention these are readily available at

The year was 1988 and my mediocre performance in the SSC exams was followed by successful admission to the science stream at the prestigious Fergusson College with little help from my dear aunt who headed the Dept. of Physics. A decision she no doubt came to regret after going over my attendance record and my report card. As it is common knowledge, junior college is best attended as a casual student and yours truly took that piece of advice to heart. As a result, most of my time at Fergusson was spent either in deep, 'scholastic' discussions at Vaishali or under the eight odd tin sheds outside the main gate that served as two-wheeler parking. The bicycle stand was an excellent alternative to attending class, except for one problem — there wasn't any food readily available. However, all was not bleak among the Hero Hondas! Stationed right outside the gate of the ladies was a bhuttawala . With a pyramid of corn and a large bowl of live coals and the right combination of le

Long before Tendulkar and somewhere between Azhar making his debut and Ravi Shastri being declared ' Champion of Champions ' India decided that the time was to introduce some Western ishtyle fast food. The result — Big Bite, a culinary hodge-podge that was a cross between a burger and a pita. A small, oblong, lightly-spiced meat or vegetable patty microwaved and stuffed inside a half egg-shaped bun along with onion slices and a generous squirt of Kissan tomato sauce. It tasted every bit as bad as it sounds. The Big Bite logo, too, was a winner. It consisted of the words Big Bite in Times Roman sandwiched between two luscious red lips with a giant highlight. It looked more like an X-rated venture more than anything to do with food. In Pune, the most forward thinking and modern of all politicians, one 'honourable' Mr. Suresh Kalmadi , in all his bearded wisdom, tried to cash in on this 'thing' all the youngsters seemed to be into. He immediately carved

There are certain things that schools in India guarantee — a good education, lifelong friendships and a peruwala outside every school gate. For those of you who didn’t go to school in India, a peruwala is a guava vendor and there’s one situated outside each school gate with a black Atlas bicycle and flat cane basket tied to the “carrier” over the rear wheel. The basket lined with grass is quartered with rope to separate the guavas by size and price. In my days, 75 paise (roughly 15¢ in 1988) would fetch you the biggest guava on the cart. It was harmless and inexpensive treat that made recess just that much sweeter. Cut into 4 quarters, each guava would then be filled with chili and salt — the thought of which freaks my firang wife out to this day. The guavawalla is a phenomenon I couldn’t quite understand. Why are there only peruwalas outside school? There’s never an apple cart or even an orange cart. Either way, memories of my post-lunch guava with friends are something I cherish t

As April approaches, temperatures in Pune begin flirting the 40º C mark. But the sweltering heat also brings with it some very familiar sights. There are mango stalls on every corner, as are the “barf gola” people. Naral Pani walas are everywhere. And my favourite of them all, foothpaths and roadsides lined with mountains of watermelon. When I was in art school in Pune, college used to let out at 1:15 p.m. A sweet spot during the day in the summer months when the tar on the roads has just begun to melt, but it’s nowhere are hot as it’ll be at 4:00 p.m. As I traveled from my college on Tilak Rd to my residence on Law College Rd, I passed MES college on Karve Rd. Outside MES college was a watermelon vendor with atl east a 25 metre long wall of melons lined up against the college walls all the way up to the main gate. And just next to the main gate stood his watermelon slice cart. A small cart with blocks of ice that was stacked in steps which were in turn lined with red rexine cloth. Th

I can admit without any resentment that I have spent the better part of the mornings of growing years at Hotel Vaishali. There’s no other place that embodies the slow paced, there’s-always-tomorrow sprit of Pune city more than Hotel Vaishali. Any regular visitor can tell you with their eyes closed what the scene at Vaishali is like in the mornings. Sadly, they can also name the people who will be there at any given time and the area in which they might be sitting. I first started visiting Vaishali for the food. I have yet to find a single thing or item on the menu to complain about. However, years went by, and although the food never took a back seat, mornings at Vaishali became more of a social event than a strictly culinary visit. Although, as fun as the mornings at Vaishali were, evenings at Vaishali just as awesome. And the one thing that made that possible was that the Chaat bar would open at 4:30 p.m. And the crowning jewel of the Chaat bar was the hero of the evenings, the Sev

Shivaji Market situated a few blocks to the south of Main Street, is the centre for all things meat in Pune and the central wholesale market for meat, poultry and seafood in the city. This is the place you’d go to if you wanted the freshest and the best meats. Most families serious about their non-veg get their meats from here and every family has their favourite vendor who apparently has the ‘best’ meat or fish. Getting is from someone else is tantamount to throwing money down the drain. Shivaji Market is probably one of the smelliest places in the city and not the prettiest of places. It has four major sections—poultry, meat (mostly lamb), fish and vegetable. It is very colourful, full of character (and characters) and a photographers dream. A late uncle of mine had an obsession with buying the freshest meat. The meat trucks delivered the meat around 7:00 p.m. He would go the market around 7:00 and hang out in the smelly gala (stall) with our family butcher. He would then order some

When I was young the Deccan Gymkhana area was filled with Brahmins who crossed the river from the old city and settled in and around what is now Erandwane. We had one such senior Puneite who lived in our lane. He was by all means a sweet and kind old man with some solid 60s fashion. He was a very close friend of the family as well and he taught us many useless things that only old people can. My fondest memory of him is watching him eat his daily alphonso during mango season. Every afternoon after his lunch he would lay a newspaper on the ota (stone platform) outside his house. He would then sit with a ripe alphonso mango, a glass of water wearing and a pair of scissors wearing his striped blue pajamas and a sleeveless t-shirt that was once white. Slowly he would begin devouring the alphonso, enjoying every bite to the fullest till he reached the pit. He would then proceed to suck it dry till it could be sucked no more. This is when it got interesting. He would then place the mango on

In my entire time in Pune city, the only place that came close to delivering a delicious mouth-watering sandwich that could rival Marzorin, was Jaws. Anyone who has lived in Pune in the 90s can remember Jaws. If you weren’t a vegetarian, you couldn’t go to Camp without at least considering if there was a possibility of a sandwich at Jaws. Jaws was famous for being the first place in Pune that served a real grilled beef burger. It was run by a couple of fresh graduates in an old British Raj style bungalow that looked like it was once army property. The restaurant wasn’t really part of the bungalow and was situated in the verandah. The seating was on concrete benches haphazardly scattered across the dusty parking area, Western music playing on loudspeakers that clearly couldn’t handle the sound. There was a room with a table tennis table where one could play for a token fee although no one went there to play. It was all about the burgers and the best chicken roll you ever had. Great burg

Pune being the educational capital of India, everyone had in their friend’s circle a group of out station students who had come to for a better education, especially during their college years. Of course choosing my group of friends to hang out with proved that no amount of education can improve poor judgment. Most of my out station friends were as good in the kitchen as Maninder Singh in his early years with the bat. On the positive side, you’d always have a group ready to go on a culinary adventure. Although, these kids mostly had their list of staples they’d visit and order the same thing day after day. On Deccan Gymnkhana , behind Karachi Sweet Mart and a few waves short of being immersed in the Mutha river , there was restaurant by the name on Purab . A basically non-descript restaurant that served Punjabi as well as South Indian foods. Purab was a favourite of one of my friends and he had a standard order—Paneer Bhurji with 3 rotis. I remember sitting across the table and wat

I grew up on Prabhat Road in nicer times; when the air SPM index was way below 100. Breathing was easier, washing hands didn’t make the sink muddy and Deccan Gymnkhana was the shopping area for fresh fruit and vegetables in addition to sundries. Vegetable shops ranged from huge fruit and vegetable stalls to small ones, like women sitting on a damp jute rag with small portions of cilantro or pieces of young coconut for 25 Paise each. The most interesting shops were on the side where Karve Rd met Prabhat Rd. There were 3 levels of shops / vendors on this street. The concrete shops starting with the Oil Depot at the apex, Vrindavan which was once a tea house, the school (Shishu Vihar) in the middle of nowhere, followed again by some oil depots, grain shops and then the Central Book House which never sold a book you actually could use. After the concrete shops was a layer of semi-permanent low-level shops that sold anything from bangles to brooms to poorly made plastic items. On the next l

Schools in Pune organized “Fancy Fetes” as a means of raising much needed funds. My alma mater would raise more money in 3 days with a fete than it could with the meager alms received through ZP funding in a year. The maths for this was simple. Host a huge fair on the school grounds by asking students to contribute as well as sell raffle tickets and massive corporate sponsorships would fill the void. Parents would be asked to volunteer their services in supervising the student run stalls of games or refreshments. For a college student, the most important part of going to a school fete was the large collection of young women and supporting schools was as far from anyone’s mind as could be. Besides the games including the large central hoopla and the obvious collection of pretty girls, my favourite part of these fetes were the stalls of home made foods run by parents. Delicious home ‘ishtyle’ food was presented in paper plates that were inevitably covered with grass or sand. One year, I

My wife grew up in San Diego very close to the Mexican border; a place blessed with the best rice and beans North of the border and something she misses dearly. I would never attempt to cook rice and beans (as it would inevitably taste like an amateur hack job) especially for someone who has grown up eating it. As I thought about the Mexican rice and beans, I couldn’t help but think about the Maharashrtian khichidi. Cheap and downright delicious comfort foodthat never fails to transport me back to Pune. I have fond memories of being fed soft khichidis topped with ample ghee whenever I was feeling a bit under the weather. On one such occasion I introduced my wife to this humble food with spectacular results. Although, a lentil khichidi can never replace rice and beans as my wife’s favourite food, I think it is pretty high up on the list based on the requests I get to cook it. Ingredients 2 tbsp cooking oil 1 cup uncooked Basmati Rice, washed 1 cup Pigeon Peas, washed (or Moong Dal) 1 On