As I write this we are in Pune. We zipped in from Kharghar (Navi Mumbai) to
Kondwa (Pune) in an Uber in two and a half hours flat. The damages were Rs.
1750 plus the toll tax.
Forty winks after a regal repast can do wonders to
your soul. As I wait for the family to troop in for the family get-together
(sister’s side), I am charmed by the graces of Pune. It’s always good to be
back after my stint in Pune to submit my MPhil thesis to Poona University in 1993.
Lunch was an elaborate affair. My sister Vanessa and
her husband Felix took us to the legendary Durvankur
dining hall, at Sadashiv Peth. The traditional Maharashtrian fare was
served in gleaming stainless steel thalis with about seven empty vatis. It consisted of unlimited
quantities of thali peeth (a chapatti of mixed flours), aam-ras, shrikand,dahi
wada, kadi, cuchumber, cabbage bhaji, soya vegetable, beans (wet), potato vada,
bajra ka roti, makhi ka roti, bhakri, chapatti, varun bhat (without fodni),
rice, dal-bhat and papad. Accompaniments in a platter were chengdana chutney,
salt, lemon, tilache chutney, ghee.
An unlimited thali cost Rs. 300. A beautiful
incentive to deter wastage is that if you lick your thali clean you get Rs. 30
off. All six of us – with two kids to
boot – egged each other not to waste a grain of rice. The steward had no
hesitation to give us the discount. Each of us had our fill for Rs. 270. The
two children were given a half thali for Rs. 150. Everywhere stern placards
admonished eaters not to waste food, and enticed them with the discount. The
food was not oily, nor heavy. Eating just what you could consume, did not make
you over eat. No fizzy soft drinks were served in case they killed the appetite.
The previous day we had Iftar dinner at Sharief,
Kausar Baugh, Pune. The platter included crispy chicken, chicken cutlets with
seviyan, mutton roll with egg, kadi-gosht (chicken), kadi-ghost (beef), chicken
kebabs, fried surmai fish, and mutton samosa. We followed it up with mutton
biryani topped by falooda. After dinner I pleaded to be taken around the mosque
in the vicinity. The mosque had an ethereal quality. Watching its minarets soar
into the sky reminded me of no less than the Qutb Minar of Delhi.
I watched a WhatsApp video of a lavani performance
at a Dance India Dance show. After
enthralling the judges with all the gyrations possible, the performer ended
with a flourish. When the judge asked the performer her name, he said he was
Shivam Wankhede from Jalgaon. He had dressed up as a woman for the performance.
Dancing to the suggestive lyrics of ‘Mala
Jau Dya Na Ghari’ [Oh, let me go home now], the singer castigates her
paramour for delaying her, as it is midnight. The verve with which s/he danced
is awesome. It is normal for lavani dancers to crossdress.
With this kind of fare, culinary and cultural, one
wonders where is ‘home.’
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