Kaapi that!

A typical Sunday morning at Vishwabharati eatery, Mulund

A community that eats together…

I am yet to find a suitably relatable second half to this statement, especially in recent times, given the dearth and the phasing out of such community-inspired eateries that were once the heart and soul of our city. However, I am aware that in today's day and age, this adage is getting as obsolete as finding the perfect sambar that accompanies the dosa.

Last Sunday, after ages, I returned to my favourite Udipi in Mulund, Vishwabharati, to savour their famed medu vada-sambar [their sambar is spot-on]. I took a moment to scan the main dining hall as I waited for the piping-hot delights of fried joy to arrive. All the tables were occupied: It looked like a happy place where families, friends, students, and senior citizens came with the serious intent of enjoying plates filled with tasty, authentic Udipi fare, and the no-nonsense service and no-frills ambiance didn't matter. No Instagram-crazy folks. No reel-making. No selfies. At least, on paper it seemed unaffected by the vagaries of time. Sadly, the truth, as I was reminded of, while tucking into the vadas [one of the best versions in Mumbai, trust me], was far from it.

I've been a regular at this eating house since I was a kid, courtesy my parents who would head here for breakfast every Sunday after morning mass. They would pick between this eatery and its sister concern, Vishwa Mahal, which was a stone's throw away. Both haunts had their loyal patrons who would swear by its menus. In fact, I recall folks sparring over which place made crispier dosas, or whose filter kaapi was better! Both were large spaces that boasted air-conditioned sections meant for relaxed family lunches and dinners. We rarely looked for options beyond these two in those uncomplicated, analogue times, unless the urge to indulge in non-veggie fare emerged. Located opposite entry points to the railway station, both eateries fed the community that resided in the suburb, and beyond, too. If a familiar face was spotted, smiles or waves were exchanged; well-meaning, efficient waiting staff and the owners knew the regulars on a first name basis.

It was my first and most impressionable experience of a community eating house. In fact, while writing a feature for this newspaper in 2011, its late owner Sudhakar Shetty told me how his father, Jagannath, a Mazgaon resident, took a leap of faith to open Vishwabharati in the late 1950s, when it didn't have even a proper road network and most of the suburb was a jungle. When the time came to name this new eatery, Sudhakar's mother, a keen follower of Rabindranath Tagore's writings and poetry suggested the name after Tagore's centre for the arts in West Bengal.

I sensed that things were in the process of turning a corner when Vishwa Mahal was sold to a popular fast food chain a few decades ago. Today, the same building that housed it has gone into redevelopment. Vishwabharati used to be a 7 am to 11 pm-kind of establishment. But over the years, I noticed how their working hours shrunk. "Staff issue, madam," rued the senior staffer in his broken English, as I paid the bill. He was doubling up as restaurant manager and was manning the counter.

Nowadays, their working hours are from 7 am to 7 pm. Even the upper level air-conditioned section has been shut for a while, and the menu is a shrunken version of those glory days. While we slurped the last drops of sambar, and waited for the filter kaapi to arrive, a sense of dread crept in, aided by the visible neglect, from its worn-out furniture to paint-deprived walls, and of course, fewer staff. How long will ‘VB's' [It's how we as school goers would call it to add a sense of coolth] survive to stave off the real estate boom that is knocking on its doorstep? What will become of this community space - Mulund oldest surviving Udipi - whose every inch was filled with a million memories with family and childhood friends? What will happen to those now-aging staffers? Will it spell the end of community-eating in the suburb, and with it a slice of the suburb's culinary heritage?

As I soaked in the buzz on my way out, I secretly wished that a benevolent Mulundkar would swoop in to save the space, and resurrect it to its former glory. Of late, I've noticed the mushrooming of faux versions of Udipis across the suburb, where authentic and fusion mean the same.
With hindsight, I feel, a community that eats together must support each other. There... I've found the ending. Secretly I hold on to the hope that this iconic eatery is preserved, and will continue to thrive as a culinary jewel of our suburb. Anybody listening?

mid-day's Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city's sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana

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