I've come to a dhaba, a roadside eatery on the Medchal highway, which I haven't visited for a long time.
Let this be said: A dhaba is a welcoming place to spend, as they say, quality time with friends and family. Especially at night, when the atmosphere outdoors is mellow, the food is well and temptingly delicious, prepared and placed on the table in front of you in an ambiance reminiscent of a garden. All you've to do is sit back, relax, and enjoy some delectable cuisines and beverages while taking in the sights and sounds of the world.
Celebrate at a lower price while enjoying an atmosphere of open-air ambiance beneath the night-time sky sprinkled with stars shining down on you while you can laugh away all your worries, if you've any, for a bit. Seeing the happy smiles of your friends, you feel lucky to be with them and grateful that you have been given this chance to be happy and feel blessed. The ideal time to go out with friends and enjoy good food at the dhaba is late in the evening, around (7-ish?) during the colder seasons of the year. You can go at any time throughout the year; there's no set time. Full disclosure: Highly recommended. DOO DABHA DOO! DHABA DABBA DOO!
The people of my vintage and the good times are long gone and will not likely come again. 'Likely' is still a word of hope for me, but I know those times aren't returning to how things were before, and how could they? Aye, the era of the nineties and the society we belonged to are gone evermore: laid over with another space and time that the digital rainstorm of the new millennium has brought forcefully into our midst. That sweet, old-world charm is a thing of the past. Now it's the new, boastful, swaggering age of digital commerce, with online apps like Cwiggy piggy, Tomato romato, and hordes of other curry house owners encouraging home delivery of food from unknown restaurants nearby.
Almost nothing remains of our generation's time in the 1990s; even our beloved, era-defining circle of friends is not around anymore, having fallen victim to the blinding changes that the globalised, polarised, free-market trading world has dealt us. I can't imagine not having my earlier times today in the present. Where have all the good times gone? I still long for them, our era of simple-mindedness. It's hard to believe how quickly time has flown, taking our friendship with it. (At times, I ponder the futility of sitting alone and writing when all I've to look forward to is ageing and dying...)
We were four best friends
Once upon a time, there were four best friends: Armstrong Selvaraj (finance and accounting professional), Sunil Bhale (medical representative), Satish Kumar (finance and accounting professional), and me (IT professional). We loved going to the dhabas together: astride on our Splendour motorbikes in anticipation of good food and bonhomie.
We four were not exactly foodies back then. But Satish could, more or less, be called a gastronomist's foodie if you don't mind too much the fact that he is your simple, dare I say, overweight chunky from the neighbourhood! “ALWALOSAURUS!” was the name we serendipitously found for the bulky mickey among us. Naturally, we couldn't help but laugh, and the name stuck.
Happily, each of us had nicknames we seldom used with each other. "Taadi Chettu" was promptly given to me by Satish, "Babu Moshai" by who else... Armstrong. "Sulli Garu," "Saadu," or just "Bhale" was Sunil's stack of crowning glories he could not quite get off him, and particularly the first nickname hit way below the belt! And the specific epithet "Tirunelveli Halwai" stuck with Armstrong like an oily stain that faded but was not gone. Satish had another slightly contumelious sobriquet: "Satti Pindi." We hardly ever used that slightly condescending nickname, preferring his given name Satish instead.
Although we all had different careers, the simple joy of companionship and bonding over food brought us closer together. Giving each other nicknames was naturally part of the excitement of being buddies, obviously enjoyable in and of itself. Whenever we met Satish, the subject of food would come up, which it often did, and Armstrong would never miss saying, “Gas hi gas…!” and giggling as he revolved his palm on his much-vaunted, much-gorged, rumble-grumble ‘Ganesh-like’ belly. Satish was as cool as a Tibetan Lama would smile away.
We always had a lot of fun there - feasting on delicious gourmet food sometimes on a warm summer day (in March) or a chilly winter night on the last day of the year: December 31st (New Year's eve), breathing fresh air, which is scarcely possible nowadays, and finally the drinks (mostly just beer for the two sober biddoos, Armstrong Halwai and Bhale Sunil).
To celebrate our birthdays in February, March, August, and September, as well as on December 31st—new year’s eve—we would go either to the Chandni Dhaba, Baisakhi, Taj, or Deewan Dhaba at least four times a year. We'd ride our motorcycles far out on the National Highway that passes through the state to reach our old hangout spots and enjoy the rich aroma and tastes of dhaba-style food. My old memories still haunt me.
Satish and I are non-committals - or for want of a more sensible term - non-drinkers or abstainers and generally stick to Thums Up (often) or Pepsi with the same zeal as Armstrong and Sunil, who usually down two shots each of Vodka first. Then after, they would drink (heartily and greedily) Kingfisher or something called Budweiser draught beer, usually just lager, I think, from tall glasses filled up to the frothy brim and roar not very loudly: Down the hatch! Cheers! Sayonara!
Satish was the first to dig in, quickly ordering his monotonous standard from the menu card provided by the friendly server/helper/waitperson as things got set with the two of us on either side of the plastic table. The Veg Manchuria platter, with several toothpicks sticking out of the saucy chunks neatly arranged on the plate, together with gleaming triangles of Garlic and Butter Naan or Rumali Roti, was always his first choice for a mouth-watering feast when occasions like this come but seldom. He'd also hail for a plate of Spring Rolls and four bottles of Thums Up to the wait guy, who was already so gladdened to have to place so many orders!
Also ordered were Tandoori Rotis. We would have one each of these almost-always crisp and chewy rotis while using a fork to eat the Chicken Sheek Kebab served on every plate except Satish's, who, being a stickler for vegetarianism, and never having tasted meat or fish, would gladly eat eggs, thanks to his expert eggetarian notion that it's actually a vegetarian food and not non-vegetarian as most people seem to think! To each their own. Anyway, the taste (of all the dishes served in the dhabas) was nothing short of a Wow effect.
However, Satish, the super "foodie" among us, must be satisfied and replete after eating the cuisines for our excursion to the dhaba a complete success. If not, "Houston, we have a problem!" It would be difficult for all three of us to console him if the food wasn't as good as last time. All the way home while riding pillion, he would complain into our ears, "You know, Butter Panner Masala wasn't up to the mark as it ought to have been. The gravy was too watery; don't you think?"
Before we'd even finished eating the appetizers, the waiter would be called back to our table and asked to take our orders for the main course dishes. (At the same time, we would covertly tally how many chewing motions our friend Satish's jaws would need to masticate the naans and paneer!) It was a lot of fun while the four of us dined in a spacious corner that only a good dhaba could provide.
(To be continued…)
By Arindam Moulick
Dedication: The three of my closest friends from the extraordinary era of our college days in the 1990s—S. Armstrong, Satish Kumar, and the late Sunil Bhale—are the subject of this article. I dedicate it to them with all my heart.
It meant a lot to me—and a lot to us—that we were continually on each other's sides for more than ten years as friends. Whenever we had spare time, we sat on the two puliyas (our old ‘rocks’) - one close to my place and the other just a few walks away from Armstrong's quarters. Sunil would bring his father's old, sputtering, smoke-burping Bajaj scooter to take around Trishul Park residential campus as I rode my MTB bicycle. I still remember how much fun we had talking, debating, or pulling each other's legs. It puts a smile on my face. (During those days, Raju and his lovely family often would cross my mind; Raju was more than just a close friend back in the 1980s, an era of fondly remembered relationships, cricket, and discoveries: moments long gone now). Oh! Where have those days gone?
****
In the impossibly distant years of the late 1990s, dining (with bachelor pals) at one of the popular roadside dhabas was considered the golden age of adda-making and having fun eating great food. Back then, honouring special occasions, birthdays, going out on new year's eve, or generally having a good time at an expense that does not pinch your pocket much was an in thing - and maybe it still is. However, it'll have been a long time since I last ate at a dhaba on the National Highway, which is not far off away from home. Let this be said: A dhaba is a welcoming place to spend, as they say, quality time with friends and family. Especially at night, when the atmosphere outdoors is mellow, the food is well and temptingly delicious, prepared and placed on the table in front of you in an ambiance reminiscent of a garden. All you've to do is sit back, relax, and enjoy some delectable cuisines and beverages while taking in the sights and sounds of the world.
Celebrate at a lower price while enjoying an atmosphere of open-air ambiance beneath the night-time sky sprinkled with stars shining down on you while you can laugh away all your worries, if you've any, for a bit. Seeing the happy smiles of your friends, you feel lucky to be with them and grateful that you have been given this chance to be happy and feel blessed. The ideal time to go out with friends and enjoy good food at the dhaba is late in the evening, around (7-ish?) during the colder seasons of the year. You can go at any time throughout the year; there's no set time. Full disclosure: Highly recommended. DOO DABHA DOO! DHABA DABBA DOO!
The people of my vintage and the good times are long gone and will not likely come again. 'Likely' is still a word of hope for me, but I know those times aren't returning to how things were before, and how could they? Aye, the era of the nineties and the society we belonged to are gone evermore: laid over with another space and time that the digital rainstorm of the new millennium has brought forcefully into our midst. That sweet, old-world charm is a thing of the past. Now it's the new, boastful, swaggering age of digital commerce, with online apps like Cwiggy piggy, Tomato romato, and hordes of other curry house owners encouraging home delivery of food from unknown restaurants nearby.
Almost nothing remains of our generation's time in the 1990s; even our beloved, era-defining circle of friends is not around anymore, having fallen victim to the blinding changes that the globalised, polarised, free-market trading world has dealt us. I can't imagine not having my earlier times today in the present. Where have all the good times gone? I still long for them, our era of simple-mindedness. It's hard to believe how quickly time has flown, taking our friendship with it. (At times, I ponder the futility of sitting alone and writing when all I've to look forward to is ageing and dying...)
We were four best friends
Once upon a time, there were four best friends: Armstrong Selvaraj (finance and accounting professional), Sunil Bhale (medical representative), Satish Kumar (finance and accounting professional), and me (IT professional). We loved going to the dhabas together: astride on our Splendour motorbikes in anticipation of good food and bonhomie.
“Needed a friend
And the way I feel now I guess I'll be with you 'til the end
Guess I'm on my way
I'm mighty glad you stayed”
- Song by Lionel Richie, Stuck On You
We four were not exactly foodies back then. But Satish could, more or less, be called a gastronomist's foodie if you don't mind too much the fact that he is your simple, dare I say, overweight chunky from the neighbourhood! “ALWALOSAURUS!” was the name we serendipitously found for the bulky mickey among us. Naturally, we couldn't help but laugh, and the name stuck.
Happily, each of us had nicknames we seldom used with each other. "Taadi Chettu" was promptly given to me by Satish, "Babu Moshai" by who else... Armstrong. "Sulli Garu," "Saadu," or just "Bhale" was Sunil's stack of crowning glories he could not quite get off him, and particularly the first nickname hit way below the belt! And the specific epithet "Tirunelveli Halwai" stuck with Armstrong like an oily stain that faded but was not gone. Satish had another slightly contumelious sobriquet: "Satti Pindi." We hardly ever used that slightly condescending nickname, preferring his given name Satish instead.
[In the 1986-87 school year, our class teacher Mrs. Sebastian mam (from the now defunct St. John’s High School) - who believed ear twisting and pinching were acceptable forms of punishment - had inadvertently interfered with the original spelling of his name and changed it from Satish to 'Sateesh' on his transfer certificate. He had the option to correct the spelling back to the original one, but he didn't. Probably he thought it would bring a bad omen if he did! And since then, an altered 'Sateesh' (with a double 'e') became his formal/official first name and not 'Satish' with just a single 'i' in between, as the spelling should have been. The original name, with the correct spelling, does matter; never mind the pronunciation in his case. But he understandably chose not to pursue it further than run from pillar to post to reclaim his original, correctly spelled name. And that was that.]Armstrong, however, loved calling him "DEMELLO", a nickname inspired, I believe, by the brilliant character actor Satish Shah - our friend Satish's namesake - who played an excellent role in the Hindi cult comedy Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron.
Although we all had different careers, the simple joy of companionship and bonding over food brought us closer together. Giving each other nicknames was naturally part of the excitement of being buddies, obviously enjoyable in and of itself. Whenever we met Satish, the subject of food would come up, which it often did, and Armstrong would never miss saying, “Gas hi gas…!” and giggling as he revolved his palm on his much-vaunted, much-gorged, rumble-grumble ‘Ganesh-like’ belly. Satish was as cool as a Tibetan Lama would smile away.
We always had a lot of fun there - feasting on delicious gourmet food sometimes on a warm summer day (in March) or a chilly winter night on the last day of the year: December 31st (New Year's eve), breathing fresh air, which is scarcely possible nowadays, and finally the drinks (mostly just beer for the two sober biddoos, Armstrong Halwai and Bhale Sunil).
To celebrate our birthdays in February, March, August, and September, as well as on December 31st—new year’s eve—we would go either to the Chandni Dhaba, Baisakhi, Taj, or Deewan Dhaba at least four times a year. We'd ride our motorcycles far out on the National Highway that passes through the state to reach our old hangout spots and enjoy the rich aroma and tastes of dhaba-style food. My old memories still haunt me.
Satish and I are non-committals - or for want of a more sensible term - non-drinkers or abstainers and generally stick to Thums Up (often) or Pepsi with the same zeal as Armstrong and Sunil, who usually down two shots each of Vodka first. Then after, they would drink (heartily and greedily) Kingfisher or something called Budweiser draught beer, usually just lager, I think, from tall glasses filled up to the frothy brim and roar not very loudly: Down the hatch! Cheers! Sayonara!
Satish was the first to dig in, quickly ordering his monotonous standard from the menu card provided by the friendly server/helper/waitperson as things got set with the two of us on either side of the plastic table. The Veg Manchuria platter, with several toothpicks sticking out of the saucy chunks neatly arranged on the plate, together with gleaming triangles of Garlic and Butter Naan or Rumali Roti, was always his first choice for a mouth-watering feast when occasions like this come but seldom. He'd also hail for a plate of Spring Rolls and four bottles of Thums Up to the wait guy, who was already so gladdened to have to place so many orders!
Also ordered were Tandoori Rotis. We would have one each of these almost-always crisp and chewy rotis while using a fork to eat the Chicken Sheek Kebab served on every plate except Satish's, who, being a stickler for vegetarianism, and never having tasted meat or fish, would gladly eat eggs, thanks to his expert eggetarian notion that it's actually a vegetarian food and not non-vegetarian as most people seem to think! To each their own. Anyway, the taste (of all the dishes served in the dhabas) was nothing short of a Wow effect.
However, Satish, the super "foodie" among us, must be satisfied and replete after eating the cuisines for our excursion to the dhaba a complete success. If not, "Houston, we have a problem!" It would be difficult for all three of us to console him if the food wasn't as good as last time. All the way home while riding pillion, he would complain into our ears, "You know, Butter Panner Masala wasn't up to the mark as it ought to have been. The gravy was too watery; don't you think?"
Before we'd even finished eating the appetizers, the waiter would be called back to our table and asked to take our orders for the main course dishes. (At the same time, we would covertly tally how many chewing motions our friend Satish's jaws would need to masticate the naans and paneer!) It was a lot of fun while the four of us dined in a spacious corner that only a good dhaba could provide.
(To be continued…)
By Arindam Moulick
Dedication: The three of my closest friends from the extraordinary era of our college days in the 1990s—S. Armstrong, Satish Kumar, and the late Sunil Bhale—are the subject of this article. I dedicate it to them with all my heart.
It meant a lot to me—and a lot to us—that we were continually on each other's sides for more than ten years as friends. Whenever we had spare time, we sat on the two puliyas (our old ‘rocks’) - one close to my place and the other just a few walks away from Armstrong's quarters. Sunil would bring his father's old, sputtering, smoke-burping Bajaj scooter to take around Trishul Park residential campus as I rode my MTB bicycle. I still remember how much fun we had talking, debating, or pulling each other's legs. It puts a smile on my face. (During those days, Raju and his lovely family often would cross my mind; Raju was more than just a close friend back in the 1980s, an era of fondly remembered relationships, cricket, and discoveries: moments long gone now). Oh! Where have those days gone?