This is an article about a couple of restaurants in Matunga, Mumbai. It talks about how these places are a legacy of sorts in this area. It also speaks of people who came to Mumbai a long time back but consider it their home.
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Author: Neha Malude
Dosas, Filter Coffee and a History
Marked by a tiny railway station and sprawled over less than 4 km, Matunga clearly lives up to its name “Mini Madras”. A small suburb in Mumbai, with small shops selling everything from flowers to junk jewelry, small stalls of idli and chai and an equally small post office, Matunga seems to end before it even begins. And there lies the charm of Mini Madras.
As I stepped outside the station and ambled through the, yes – small streets, the heavenly aroma of coffee wafted in from everywhere, tinged with a slight scent of flowers making me feel heady. On my left, the street was dotted with giant flower garlands swarmed with bees. In a temple ahead, I could hear pundits chanting mantras and temple bells ringing to summon the gods.
The sun was higher up now, and the Tummy had started to rumble. I stepped inside Madras Cafe, one of the oldest South Indian restaurants in Matunga for a Masala Dosa, a pancake like dish made of rice batter with a spicy filling of potatoes. It was probably the busiest time of the day, with many customers standing at the door waiting for the manager to signal them in. I watched the crowd streaming in and out for a few minutes and eventually walked in and approached the man sitting at the cashier’s counter. “It is the most preferred south Indian restaurant in Mumbai” said Prashant, with an unmistakeable tone of pride in his voice as I asked him about his restaurant. Established in 1939, Madras Cafe has seen 70 long years of customers who have come back time and again. I ask Prashant to tell me about him and how the business came about, at the same time trying not to get lost in the sweet sour whiff of sambar all around me. “I was born in Udupi, but I have been brought up in Mumbai. My grandfather first arrived in Mumbai and started this place, but now I and a few other friends maintain it.”
“In early days, south Indian food wasn’t very popular, but now that’s not the case” he says, smiling. Was it difficult establishing business and living in an alien city? He looks quite taken aback by the question. “Of course not, never. Mumbai is a metropolitan city and it doesn’t feel like a Maharashtrian city so I never felt like an outsider. In fact, I came here two weeks after I was born.” He smiles and hesitates, as I wait for more to come. “There was a disturbing time when Bal Thackeray ridiculed us as loongiwalas and wanted all south Indians to leave Mumbai but I think that has phased out. People don’t care and our customers who love our food have been coming to us for years.”
I ask him if he plans for his kids to take over the family business. To my embarrassment and his evident amusement he answers “Well, I am not married at present, but when I do have children, they will have their own choice. If they want to take care of the hotel, they would be welcome to do so but I would be ok even if they don’t.”
Did he ever feel like going back to where his roots are? “No, not really. My family is here and Mumbai is home now. Besides, we still speak Konkani at home so I don’t feel as if I have been distanced from my culture in any way”.
Soon afterwards I thanked him and left to took a stroll around Mini Matunga with a coconut in my hand, sipping sweet water and taking in the sights, sounds and of course, the aromas. I stepped into another South Indian cafe – Anand Bhavan. You had to take one look at the place to know that this place had a history. It looked like it had been built decades ago, and somehow managed to look the same through all these years. Right there, amongst all the fancy new bhel puri and frankie stalls on either side, it looked like it said “Ah well, folks may go on building these snazzy new cafes, but no one’s gonna lose sight of me” And they really haven’t. The place had a simple look to it. Plain furniture arranged neatly in rows, a black board that had the day’s specials written on it and kept flying left and right and at least ten waiters who ran to and fro taking and yelling orders over the clanging of pans inside the kitchen. Yep, it was a busy day.
I went in asked the owner if I could talk to him. “Shoot” he answered. And I did. Preetesh was born and brought up in Mumbai. “My great grandfather came to Mumbai from Mangalore several years back, in the pre-independence days, sometime in the 1940s.” While I calculate the numbers, he has already done the math. “Four generations of my family have been here and although I am not sure if Anand Bhavan is the oldest restaurants around, it definitely is one of the oldest”.
How did his great grandfather think of settling down in Mumbai? He explains “Actually, I belong to Goa, I am Konkani. But we migrated to Mangalore because a lot of people we being converted to Christianity. And for what I assume could only be livelihood issues, we moved to Mumbai. My father used to work in Pune and later he moved to Mumbai and started this restaurant. He would eventually like to settle down in Goa”. What about him then, I ask. In a matter-of-factly tone he says, “I was born here and have lived here all my life. Mumbai is like home. Even when I leave the city for a short vacation, I start feeling restless and want to come back. The life here is so vibrant and full of energy that I don’t think I would ever want to move out”. I carefully word my next question, warning him that it might touch a raw nerve. He doesn’t seem to mind. Did your great grandfather or father ever experience any untoward incidents? And I know he knows what exactly I am talking about. “My father has never spoken to me about any unpleasant experience of that kind. But I do remember this, during the ’92 riots in Mumbai, my maternal grandfather’s restaurant in Masjid Bunder was burnt down.” At this point, I don’t know if the shock on my face is showing or not. He continues “But apart from that, there have been no other problems”.
I thanked Preetesh and left, still wondering on my way back to the station “Funny how some stories are right there in front of you, and you would never know unless you bothered to”. Mini Madras sure is a heap of richness. Filter coffee, history et al.
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