Cool Joint - So, what is the first thing that almost everyone worth his sandwich knows about 4th block? You already have the answer.  It is a landmark that is hard to miss. The range of people this crowded food junction attracts deserves a separate blog altogether. Grilled sandwiches at Rs 20, fruit juices at Rs 10, and softee at Rs 5 – how do they beat the inflation?  

 Pavithra Paradise - Next to the food monument mentioned earlier stands its arguably second most famous counterpart. If Cool Joint is Lata Mangeshkar, Pavithra is you-know-who. From hot sunday afternoons to cozy tuesday evenings, Pavithra is the manna for all the shopaholics that flock to 4th block especially those who, between burps, reminisce lovingly about their many victories with the roadside vendors.

Adigas: Not strictly 4th block, but fie to the one who said that I have to live by my rules. If you never never have tasted the rava idli at Adigas, you should seriously re-consider the purpose of your existence. Poets could write paeans of this not-so-modest cousin of the humble idli, and still fall short of describing that melt-in-your-mouth, glaze-in-your-eyes experience. They serve other such divine stuff too - the jowar roti, the parotta, the masala dosa, the upma- but in this respect at least, I am monotheistic.

Ganesh Darshan: This is popularly known as something else, that something which is not displayed on their billboard at least. Dosa corner? I think I am close. Indulgent moms, starry eyed lovers, backslapping buddies, past-their-prime couples – all of them make space for themselves on the roadside while munching on India’s version of the crepe. The cooks here are extremely passionate about what they make. So, if you do such blasphemy like asking for less grease in your dosa, be forewarned. You might not relish the experience tooo much.

Sukh Sagar Ever since I praised their tomato soup the first time I was there, they have ensured that even if nothing else turns out right, their soup will still get the high fives. It is one of those rare restaurants that actually live up to their name.  Bangalore’s national dish as someone aptly put it – the Gobi Manchurian – occupies the hall of fame here. I have rarely seen a family go against tradition and order something else. And then there is the north indian fare – punjabi mostly – that has never failed to warm the most inner recesses of my stomach. Howthey manage to get all the spices right everytime I wonder. I could write a separate blog on their chaats but for now, in minimal whispers, I recommend the Paav Bhaaji.

There is a south indian thaali joint in one of the alleys, the name of which I am not immediately able to fathom. At Rs 35, it is among the cheapest meals you can ever hope to have in Bangalore. I wouldn’t go on a limb and say that this is the best thaali you will ever get for that price, but it sure isn’t a bad deal.

Because of my relative fidelity in matters of food, I have never made it to places like Hot Chips, Paratha Paradise, the juice corner, and places whose names my memory fails to recollect at this hour. I am hoping to cheat my instincts and get you information on these in my future blogs. Till then, happy burping!

 PS: For people who want me to broaden my horizons, and cover eatouts in the other bylanes of Jayanagar, send me your choices. So much to eat and so little time. Sigh!

I am not the one for great reflexes but survival is another thing altogether. In those seconds that the driver used to open the car windows, I had taken out my wallet and shoved it down the pouch at the back of the driver’s seat. The thought that I was not carrying my laptop offered additional solace to a heart that had lost its sense of rhythm and poise.

“It’s the police”, the driver said aloud, uncertain about whom he was trying to reassure.

Till the beam hit his face, I had not taken in the driver’s face very well. He was young, in his twenties, lean, and his eyes indifferent to the face staring at him from the other side.

“What’s your name” came the growl.

“Muniswamy”

The  indifference was now in his throat.

“Come closer and answer, I cannot hear you!”. The officer was definitely not in a mood to let go.

“Muniswamy” the cabbie answered, slightly louder, leaning towards the face. A few inches closer, and it could have gotten pretty scandalous.

“Fine, go!”.

Before I could get used to the anti-climax, we were back to the comfort of our darkness once again.

“Strange”, I said, “that he just wanted to know your name.” “What for?”

“checking my breath…for alcohol” muniswamy replied, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice.

“What a weird way to check someone”, I muttered. “In America, they use machines for that. Police don’t have to smell our bad breath”

“Software engineeraa?” 

 Much as I wanted to imagine hatred or jealousy in that tone, there was none.

“No, writer”. That was as explicit as I was willing to be.

“Which newspaper? Times of India?”

“I don’t write for a newspaper. I write books, technical books.”

“Engineering books aa?”

“Sort of”

“My son studies in an English school. I want him to be a software engineer”

“Would you have a problem if he wanted to be a driver like his father?”

“You saw the police now, right?”

“You think I missed?”

“Same story, every day. Some days, like today, I get lucky. Otherwise, it is hell”

“Don’t you have your papers?”

“You think that is enough for them? They will ask for papers even the RTO inspector doesn’t know of”

“How much money do they take?”

“Depends. On lucky days, I have gotten away with 25″

“And if you don’t have money?”

“There are other favors”

“Like what?”

“That is not for decent people like you to know”

There was a certain finality to the tone.

“Physical?”

“Let’s not talk about it,” “That is between me and my God”

“Sure…” “let’s not talk about it”

For once, I did not want to know either.

Whether it was the silence that got to him or his own helplessness, I will never know.

“They are the devil’s children! The goddess will come and kill them all! It is only a matter of time now!” he suddenly yelled out. The tears that did not get to his eyes were choking his throat.  And as sudden as the outburst was, the calm that befell it immediately after was equally confounding.

There are few situations when I don’t have anything to say, and this was a close call.

“I am sure” I finally replied with the confidence of one who has been-there- prayed-that, “your goddess will protect you.”
 

With an effervescent smile, and a an equally rehearsed bravado, she made her marketing pitch: “Bhaiyya, phool le lo na bhaiyya, teen ke bas paanch rupaay.” Just to tease her a little, I asked her why she chose to address me in Hindi. She was taken aback, only slightly, before she replied shyly, “Kyon ki aap bahut sweet ho.” I have to admit that it doesn’t take much effort for anyone below ten years to turn me into putty, but this girl had outdone them all in one masterstroke. The hugs and kisses that were so wanting to burst out of me at that moment were restrained with the effort kids reserve when refusing their share of chocolate.

Five rupees may not sound like a lot of money now, but a decade back, and with my frugal stipend, it was quite a bit of indulgence. When there is the person deserving of those roses next to you, and a little kid strumming away your heartstrings, money suddenly attains a philosophical note. The five rupees was hers, the roses were in the hands of the one whose name cannot be spoken, and the person who gained nothing was the happiest of them all. Such a crazy world, this.

Months after this encounter, I kept wondering how it would be to adopt this kid if I had the means and courage to do so. It would have been a cozy family of three. Unfortunately, dreams have a way of breaking up, and a few years down the line, the one who still makes my eyes go moist on a rainy day suddenly realized that love is not everything in life. There are other things – like parents, society, and  one’s own cowardice.

I pretty much stayed away from Bangalore for a few seasons. There are ways in which the smells, sights, and sounds of a city can overcome one even when completely guarded. When I was back on MG road again, my eyes without my knowing were scouring for the girl with the roses. The moment I saw her, I knew I could make no mistake. She was with her friends selling roses, and I am not quite sure if it was my stare that got her to walking towards me. This time, she spoke in English, “Sir, only 25 Rs sir for three roses”. Of course, she did not recognize me. Did I want to tell her how many times she had trespassed over my thoughts all these years? Nah! I paid up, returned her still effervescent smile, and handed over the roses to the person next to me, who couldn’t resist asking, “Kya yeh wohi ladki hai?”

Here on, I will not be labeling my outings with my stomach this explicitly, unless they include someone with a meat tooth. My trip to this Italian restaurant, I must admit, was light on my purse because a friend paid for this indulgence. That is the least you expect of someone who has made it to Stanford. And again, hoping that he will turn out to be another Larry Page, you expect a little more.

I am extremely bad with directions, and if you can manage to get to this place despite my attempts at confusing you, congratulate yourself. To cut a long route short, take the left after St Johns Hospital if you are coming from the Forum end, proceed till you see the BDA complex and then the Nandini restaurant on your right. Move a little ahead, and at the next junction, you should be able to locate Fiorano on your left.

The interiors look like the leftovers of a Simi Garewal show – all white. I have nothing against the color of colors, except that it makes me feel so darn guilty when I have to soil the white napkin with the remanants on my fingers. That is, till the bill arrives. And then I feel guilty all over again. Sigh! Coming back to the interiors, the place doesn’t look like it can take in a lot of people, and the prices have been suitably tailored to that effect.

Because this was lunch-time, we dispensed with the liquor menu, and went in for the soups instead. I picked Minestrone, and my friend went for the Crema de funghi, which essentially is the mushroom soup. The italians have a lovely way of classifying food: Pasta and Antipasti. Any food that is not pasta is anti-pasta? Lovely! How about calling all breads without cheese anti-pizza? The antipasti of our desire that day was Crostini – bread crumbs with various kinds of toppings on them.

What we were not prepared for was the bread that came before it. On-the-house, the bread pieces were presented with garlic cloves, basil leaves, and tomatoes. My natural instincts got me to poke each of those vegetables with a fork before the fork’s  final insertion into a bread crumb. Natural instincts are not always correct unfortunately. What I should have done, as the waiter politely pointed out, was to rub the bread with garlic, and basil, then add the salt, rub the tomato to spread the salt, and top it all with olive oil before downing it in your throat in a gulp or two. Heaven! After this experience, I will never go for a ready-to-eat garlic bread again.

The minestrone soup was super-stuff. It closely rivaled the tomato soup which I devour with frenzy at Sukh Sagar. I do not have such good things to say for the fungal concoction though. That is entirely due to my distaste for sloppy mushrooms. Between gulpings of soup, aided wonderfully by the chewy Crostinis, the first act went off just wonderful! If you are a frugal eater, and want to order as much as possible, I suggest that you go with so many people, and share the dishes. Each dish can easily satisfy a couple of hungry stomachs.

For the main course, I went for the Tangliolini Primavera, a pasta with a generous dose of vegetables and tomato soup thrown in. You could order a cheese base instead of the tomato soup. only if you are a hard core cheese lover. To be very frank, my minestrone soup and my main course kind of tasted very similar. Maybe you require a connoisseur to tell the difference. Despite that, I should admit, I cleaned up my pasta bowl very well. As a general rule, I do not like the way the Europeans treat potatoes. My friend however, had better confidence, and ordered the Gnochi di patate Agli Spinoci. My middle-class upbringing has ensured that I feel like Aishwarya Rai eating Gadbad  every time I waste food. This dish was a mean opponent, and I had to give up after a few spoonfuls. It was a toss between my guilt and throwing up. This has convinced me, yet again, that we need to teach the Europeans a thing or two about potatoes.

The chocolate walnut brownie cake for dessert compensated in no small extent to make up for the potatoesque blunder. The quantity was more than we had bargained for though. It is difficult to appreciate a dessert on a full stomach, but the fact that we did speaks volumes of the extent to which the chef must have gone into making us happy with this final act. Alternatively, try Tiramisu. This is a dessert the chef can’t go totally wrong with.

For three people, we paid around Rs 1500, and with my limited Arithmetic skills, that must be five-hundred bucks per stomach. Not a bad deal at all, especially if you are not paying for it.

General advice for people visiting exotic restaurants the first time: Please ask the waiter about the most-ordered dish. Read the description of the dish and not the name. A Tiramisu by any other description is not Tiramisu.

Burp!!!

PS: Am extremely sorry for not taking pics of the place or the food. My plans of buying a digital camera or a cell phone with one should be realized soon.

When elections are held in Pakistan, the person who gets elected determines our fate in this city. When the US decides to launch its operation on terror, the countries it targets harbor elements that pose a threat to our country and our cities. When there was unrest in Srilanka, its ripples killed our prime minister in a not so far away place. I could go on. Fact is, sitting in Bangalore, I cannot be complacent about what is happening in the rest of the world or rest of India anymore.

In the past few days, I have heard of people getting recruited into terrorism from colleges and IT companies. It makes me wonder why any sane Indian would want to destroy the very soil he stands on. If the questions are difficult, the answers are not easy either. We have allowed our politicians to wilfully divide us such that we have lost the power of a single voice. Playing one group against the other, they are the only people who have benefited from this mess. With all the security they muster up with our money, they happily watch us getting slaughtered while delivering tokens of sympathy from their safe havens. Everytime there is an attack on a city, it is cloaked under the talk of the city’s resilience. They will not fault their policies, their short-sightedness, and their wily tactics that has brought the citizens to this state.

Increasingly, all the responsibilities of the state are being transferred to its citzens. Poor drinking water? buy it from the next retail store Poor security? Buy the best security apparatus. Poor electricity? Buy a generator Poor education? What are private schools for? Agreed that the goverment can do only so much, but is it even doing that little we have come to expect from it?

Today, when I read of the elections that will be held anywhere between May and November, I truly hope that the people will see beyond religion, caste, and local identities and look at the bigger issues that stare them in the face. This article is just the beginning. I will be talking to as many people as I possibly can and asking them to pass this message. I don’t expect you to do it too but would be wonderful if you did – not to vote for any party or person but to think and decide the best choice from those available to them. Is the person on the podium talking of issues that matter to me? And then rise, and ask him to stop beating round the bush. It is for people to dictate the agenda. If everyone does a little, we will be doing things on a scale we never imagined.

The global city that I hope to see emerge from Bangalore is one that will evolve from the multiple cultures it so wonderfully embraces, a city that every denizen is proud to call its own or as Tagore put it, Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high! Let us work towards making it a reality.

At the end of it all, we finally decided on Silk Route, a newly opened Moghalai-Chinese restaurant close to the Lal Bagh gate that faces the double road. If you are hitting the gate from double road, you have to take the left at the circle that goes towards Nimhans. A fifty to hundred metres away on your right, you will find your object of desire. Because the road has a barrier, you will have to take the U turn at the immediate signal.

Currently, the hotel has enough space to park around six cars and a few motorbikes. I am guessing that these people will soon use the road behind the restaurant once they run of space, but don’t go by my words. I am not reliable always.

Because I pretty much cook everything at home, eating out doesn’t offer me with too many choices, and being a hard core vegetarian does nothing to help. I was not expecting the earth out of this place, and to avoid any further suspense, the earth is not what I got either. The ambience is pretty decent, albeit confused. For a restaurant that boasts of being Moghalai-Chinese, the ambience is kind of Chinese but there is nothing to suggest Moghalai. The air conditioning was sufficient – not too hot, not too cold. The music they were playing was right from a local FM channel. Not exactly what Shah Jahan or Chenghis Khan would have heard in their days.

There is nothing on the menu that screams ‘original’. The dishes are pretty much what you would get in any punjabi restaurant. And to think I was never taught that Moghuls and Punjabis ate the same kind of food out of ceramic thalis. Well, Moghalai or not, we had to choose from the butter nan-kulcha-roti routine, which surprisingly leaves out the more coveted roomali roti. The sabjis were again the usual dal makhani-kadai panneer-methi malai mutter fare. I don’t even have to list the Chinese menu. People reading this blog can recite it without any help. The last time I took a native Chinese to a ‘Chinese’ restaurant in India, the look on his face after the meal was a little more difficult to decipher than the rubik’s cube.

To give the devils their due however, the food when it arrived was very decent. The starters – hara bhara kebab, onion rolls, and finger chips rolled down our throats with minimal effort. Of course, that was generously aided by the rum and coke that went in with them. Maybe the whole idea of serving liquor before a meal serves its purpose for the chef. In all that light-headedness, people will take in any food without too much ado.

The main course, which was completely moghalai (punjabi, north indian – your pick) again did not dissappoint. They could have gone easy on the spices in the Kadai Panner though. Every spice in the kitchen looked like it wanted to be a part of the dish.

The rice dishes were a disaster. Not that we asked for the heavens, mind you. Just the staple vegetable biriyani. The rice was overcooked, the spices were on the higher side, and the inflation in the prices of cooking oil did not seem to have affected this place too much. With just a few tablespoons of helping, we were ready to skip dinner and the next day’s meal. That is for the sake of saying it.

A few of my friends feasted on the Chicken and sea food, and going by the expression on their faces after the meal, it looked like the food worked for them. Maybe you can check it yourself and write a separate review.

How much did the whole thing cost us? Without the dessert and including beverages, it came to around Rs 300 per person. Not too cheap…not very expensive either.

As I said, if you don’t heed my warning, and step in expecting authentic Moghalai or Chinese served in the same ambience, you might find a few of your teardrops on the bill before you leave.

With Jodhaa Akbar, it has gotten even more unpredictable. There are different rates for weekdays, weekends, and the time at which you are watching the movie on those days. Soon, we may have to develop a software to know how much to pay for a movie on a particular day and time.

After all the rabble rousing, what exactly is my grouse? I have watched movies in Noida, Hyderabad, Chennai, and Mumbai, the most happening places mall-wise excluding Gurgaon. Nowhere do I see such differential pricing except in Bangalore. The same PVR that prices its tickets at Rs 300 in Bangalore prices it at Rs 70 – Rs 90 in Delhi, and at a different rate in Chennai. In Chennai, I know the Government calls the shots, but in Delhi, I have heard of no such control mechanism. So, why does the Bangalorean have to pay more? Our previous government was so busy making money and trying to protect its chairs that it is not a surprise they even thought of asking this question on behalf of the common man. And now, with no Government, there is no one left to ask except people like us who are so ridiculously addicted to the silver screen, who spend our hard earned money to make those rich people on screen richer by another few crores. Worse, all the cheaper theatres are closing down one by one so that you are at the mercy of the PVRs and Inoxes for your weekly dose of entertainment.

When the movie-goer in other parts of India pays a much lesser price than the one in Bangalore for the same movie-going experience to the same people who put it up on the screens, the logic of free markets fails me. Maybe I will just watch Jodhaa Akbar after a fortnight; maybe I will watch it on a weekday on a hot afternoon; maybe I will just download a pirated copy off the internet and watch it at home and cock a snook at the multiplex guys…after all, it is not only the markets that have a choice.

Ganesh (does he have a second name?), the actor who made that spectacular splash with Mungaru Male has married in secrecy, according to the website rediff.com. Apparently, the secret outing was revealed in advance to a few people at least, some of whom managed to get pictures of the D-day for the website. The cause of all the secrecy? Female fans calling up the family and threatening to immolate themselves at the actor’s doorstep or kill themselves in private. Now, I thought such trademark stupidity got outdated with the 70′s but apparently, the age of retro still takes it toll on today’s generation. Do they really believe that the hero of their dreams will stop over at their house the next day and propose to them filmi-ishtyle? At least, the guys know what to do with their fantasies, thank God for that ;)

Why blog about Ganesh when there are so many actors tying the knot around? Well, for me, he is special for a few reasons.

He made my entire family get together to watch him on a local cable channel (Siti?) at 10:30 on Sundays. It was so difficult not to like this unpretentious guy. Corny, self-assured, and with the guy-next-door attitude, he was a far cry from the stilted “What are you doing? Where do you work?” kind of VJs. The only other person I can remember who did this to my family, and then went on to become a superstar is Shah Rukh Khan. Rember Fauji, anyone?

The two Kannnada movies I have watched in the last couple of years starred this guy-with-a-stubble. The first movie, Mungaru Male, was a decent watch, although I cannot say the same for his Gaalipata, which had me yawning away at the end. Still, considering that this guy from a modest Nepali (?) background made it big in an industry that was under siege from a single family, he deserves a pat on the back.

In an age where it is difficult to get people to smile, Ganesh has no trouble getting people to laugh. I do not have much of an opinion of him as an actor still, but as a comedian, there are very few, if any, who can match his timing. Clean, without any innuendoes, his brand of comedy doesn’t leave you squirming or looking up at the roof when watching it with your family. A very very rare achievement.

Lest I forget, I congratulate the guy for getting married, although why he had to do it disheveled and all, is beyond me. Fifteen minutes in the bathroom would have ensured a cleaner face, and better photographs for us all. At least, the bride did not dissappoint.

Cheers to you Ganesh! I hope that all those heartbroken girls will transfer their attention to the next hero-in-waiting.

PS: I just realized that I should have titled this ‘Ganeshana Madhuve’ but then, I think all the newspapers will be doing that tomorrow :)

People in Mumbai who point fingers at emigrants from other states would do well to realize that most of their local heroes are not well, really all that local. Mumbai owes a lot to Parsis for making it the financial capital of this country, and hell, Parsis are not even of Indian origins. The entertainment industry in Mumbai, that holds in its realms the dreams and aspirations of a billion people is as cosmopolitan as any industry can get. People from Karnataka contribute in no small measure to the thriving south-Indian food industry. The dabbawalas are from all over-Bihar, UP, Tamil Nadu, Bengal…I could go on and on. For more, read the Mumbai metblogs.

I know that this blog is not about Mumbai, it is about namma Bengaluru, the second biggest cosmpolitan city in India. However, we do have our own versions of the Shiv Sena but they have been dormant for some time now.The latest in the politics of hate from Maharashtra will definitely set a lot of grey, or must it be black, cells ticking across the border. While it is perfectly OK to protect the interests of people of one’s state, it is also worthwhile to remember that we are Indians first and foremost. The people guarding our borders show no such regionalism. The people who entertain us, the people who keep our economy ticking, and hell, even the people who govern us are as diverse as India gets.

Diversity breeds progress. Bangalore a few years ago was a peaceful city, but it would do well to remember that it was also an extremely lazy and incompetent city. There was scarcity and when you went to a hotel in a group, you were scared to pick up the bill. Now, people are on the move, competing with the rest of India, talking to people from across the country, and yes not scared at picking up the tab for a friend. While most of the south-Indian hotel chains are operated and staffed by local people, the pubs are predominantly Sindhi-owned, the Gujrat’s and marwaris still prevail over the wholesale business, the Punjus make their presence in the Punju food outlets, and almost any kind of business, and the IT sector has people from everywhere. That is what makes Bangalore throb now, and although it is still not there in terms of its nearest competitor Mumbai, it is soon becoming the place to be. From rock bands to Jagjit Singh to Balmurali Krishna, every artiste gets an appreciative audience.

Why am I so concerned? My surname speaks of a city from Andhra Pradesh, so I must be Telugu, and a definite immigrant. Well, it is not really all that simple. I was raised and schooled in Karnataka, my maternal grandfather was raised in Andhra Pradesh, my maternal grandmother in Mysore, we belong to a caste called deshastha smarthas who migrated from Maharashtra, and I have cousins who are married to people from across India. And that is such a great thing because we know a lot many languages, cook a variety of foods at our homes, and our next generations will find it difficult to explain which state they exactly belong to. Where does this leave us in the politics of hate? We don’t belong to any state but to every one. Which state will accept us then?

My first love was a Kannadiga, my second a Sindhi, and my best friend who is closer to me than any blood relation is a Garhwali. Going by the second names of people in Bangalore metblogs, I know that the perspective here comes from a variety of people, much like the Mumbai metblogs, and very unlike another metblog from across the border.

Bangalore is destined for much bigger things, and there will be efforts to thwart it from such vested interests. We can only confront this by standing up for our friends and fellowmen of our city. The next time your friends talk something regional, please don’t hesitate to ask them to take a long, long walk.

The train has already stirred up protests with its proposal to have a bar on the train. However, for once, the Government is being practical in its approach and is not accomodating the wishes of the cultural brigade. When liquor is available even at food outlets in the state, it doesn’t make much sense not to have it on the train. Of course, it would defintely be a matter of concern if the spirits were available close to the driver’s cabin :)

For people who complain that such a train should be made available to the common man, I would say that such indulgences are best left to people who have the money for it, and who do not want the ‘other side’ of India to come in their way through their cruise. I have traveled the length and breadth of this country, most times on a shoestring budget, and believe me, it is a lot more fun that way. You get to mix with the local populace, understand their culture, and just take in the smells of the region. In conducted tours, one is more likely to stick to one’s group without ever wanting to be adventurous. As long as you know a little bit of Hindi, most parts of India are accessible, except for one state, and again, only parts of it. It would not take too much of your intelligence to know the state I am hinting at.

In case you are thinking that this a case of sour grapes, I have to admit that given a free ticket or at 1/10th that price tag, I would definitely try out the Golden Chariot. At its current price, it does not make any sense for a resident Indian to take the journey. I could have an all-India trip and still come back with money to spare.

The next luxury train to be flagged off will be the Garib Rath, an AC luxury apparently for the masses. At a discounted price tag of 25% less than the normal AC fare (which class?), am not sure how much of the Garib junta will be boarding this rath. As of now, I can only imagine the young software turks from Bangalore and Hyderabad making up the queue.

The state road transport has done remarkably well in the years since they made the turnaround. Hopefully, the railways too will make the grade.