We seldom dined out during our early years. Even if we did, they were only at parties, weddings and family get-togethers. But, since my mother, Padmakumari, was adept at rustling tasty treats, my siblings and I enjoyed eating homemade fare.
However, I began to pamper my tongue after joining the State Bank of India, St Mark’s Road Branch, in the 1980s. There were umpteen dining options in the vicinity of the branch. With many connoisseurs of good food for company, I regularly hopped to the nearby eateries with my colleagues, exploring the gastronomic delights on offer.
We spent the after-work hours locking horns in badminton and table tennis contests on the bank premises, stretching late into the evening. The marathon sessions would set off hunger pangs, and we sought out a decrepit dosa joint close by, which became our favourite evening haunt. We would watch in awe as the chef skillfully manoeuvred a broomstick to shape the dosas! Then, hunger-stricken, we would wolf down two or three of these mouth-watering snacks in one sitting. The bout of hunger made the perfectly roasted masala dosas taste more heavenly than ever, but our brief fling with the joint ended when it suddenly shut down.
During the union-led lunch-hour demonstrations seeking a salary raise, a colleague and I would slip out of the branch and head to the iconic Koshy’s bar and restaurant on St Mark’s Road. Taking part in any form of protest or strike was not our cup of tea! So the disappearing act was timed to a nicety: We would sneak out before the slogan-shouting began and slip in through the backdoor soon after the noisy demonstration! Nobody had the faintest clue about our whereabouts!
On another occasion, a close friend got his sums wrong while calculating the price of two plates of snacks at the famous KC Das outlet on Church Street, resulting in a bill that exceeded our purse. So when the invoice arrived, 25 paise over our pocket, we found ourselves in dire straits. Luckily, the waiter we had befriended bailed us out by sportingly offering to cover up the shortfall.
A colleague (he must remain unnamed) and I often frequented the popular Coffee House on M G Road (it now has a new address). Adept at stealing ‘tips’ that grateful patrons left behind, he would time his antics to coincide with the waiters vanishing into the kitchen. He would sneak up behind a table, zero in on the change and stealthily pocket them. He was so successful in engineering this daylight robbery that he never got caught in the act!
I recall this tiny non-vegetarian hotel just off MG road run by an old gentleman always attired in white trousers and coat, earning him the infamous nickname, ‘Doctor’. He was a one-person army, managing the kitchen, patrons and the billing. While the fare was sumptuous, many were visibly upset with the size and quantity of the meat offerings. The steep prices on the menu also proved to be its undoing, and it was not long before it drew the curtain. Post-retirement, I crave only home-cooked food. Life has indeed come full circle!
