Kheema Pav

Kheema Pav.....the once ubiquitous meal served at every Irani restaurant in Mumbai.

Made out of mince meat with some exotic spices, it is identified with the true mumbai flavours of the 60's and the 70's. Now now....i wasnt there then, but have heard plentiful to visualise with ease, the bygone golden era of the Megapolis.

My aai(mom) doesnt like it at all. she has her million reservations about having meat outside.
'You dont know which animal might have been slaughtered'......like i care, aai.

Dad, on the other hand, will religiously describe every aspect of the variety served at 'Olympia', 'Police Canteen', 'Bastani' and the erstwhile 'MayRose'. The fans, the chairs of the British era, the freshly baked bread, the spicy kheema served on the porcelain plates. The pictures are still vivid in his mind, i guess.

How 'Olympia' used to run out of Kheema Pav by 8.30 am in the morning.....!!!!!!!!!!
or how 'Police Canteen' used to be choc-a-bloc during lunchtime....

.........stories are a plentiful , more so on a 'oop-vas' (Day of Fasting), to satiate the growling stomach with thoughts of the desirous tomorrow.

I have no clues about the origins of the word, and i dont care, as long as the Kheema is good.
A lot of people call it 'Keema', but the places i have visited, more stress is laid on the 'h' which is as essential as the spices which go into making it.

They serve it traditionally with 'parathas'(hand rolled flat breads), but then again, the nawabs never had a chance to visit the Irani restaurants. More often than not, the restaurants bake the bread as well, so the Unique flavours are restored for each restaurant.

2 of my favourite haunt are/were:

Ideal - western railway canteen -
outside andheri (w) station.

Bastani - Near Metro..(now closed)

Caution: While having it in the above-mentioned restaurants, one has to be oblivious to the surroundings and stop worrying about the kitchen hygiene. Not recommended for hypochondriacs.

I don’t like fish, which is an anomaly in my family,
but I make up for it by relishing the pabulum for the truly blessed.

The Bread, the Slice of lime, the Kheema....

on my way to work....

I was feeling sick today.... got up to a running nose...and aching limbs.
Had to go to work (mundane life that I live)...

wanted to catch A-1 (AC bus), as I cant stand the 9.28 slow from andheri (and there is no place to stand in the train), packed like sardines we are in that locomotive.
But as usual was late to leave home.

So there I was at the bus stop...checking out the ladies...and waiting in the line for the AC bus. 10 mins hence, saw myself taking a ride to the station to catch the train.

'I cant be late, boss is coming back today'

finding your way through the swarm of people at the railway station aint an easy job at all.
One has to dodge the:

Annexure I
1. Saliva torpedoes of the spitting 'rickshawallas',
2. 'God knows from where he appeared' bikers,
3. The hawkers,
4. Street urchins,
5. 'I own the road' bus drivers.

A serpentine queue awaited my arrival, got a ticket, and then saw 'the snake' charming its way to platform no. 6.

People try to get in before 'the snake' docks itself. And then the crowd, which alights, is reminiscent of the mass exodus, which took place during partition. (what i have heard about partition)

I got in, negotiating the crowd to avoid un-creasing my trouser and shirt.

"Aah...place to sit today. "

The unwritten rule of second-class Mumbai local is, four sit where three are supposed to. Helped me earn a seat today.

But my elation was short lived, for there came this bastard who stood with his crotch right in front of my face (people here stand between the two opposing benches as there is no place to stand elsewhere in the train)... 10 mins into the ride he turned... Great...now he could fart and ruin the 'paco rabanne' effect I had on me. He didn’t. God bless his wife's cooking.

Standing near the doorway isn’t better, for you will have the dwarfs standing close to you, so close that they will for sure put milind soman, madhu sapre and the python, to shame. It’s that crowded.

You push him back, and he springs back like those stupid boxing dolls. And when they are short (with an obsession of not growing bald even when they are 80), more often than not, your shirt will have a yellow patch, which smells of mustard oil. So much for the Paco Rabanne effect.

Getting out of a train, other than the last stop, is just as difficult as getting in, for they start pushing you before the fucking train halts. And then there’s the walk, up the bridge, (no escalators here).

Like zombies we climb, not knowing where it end.
A guy tripping in front is the signal, that there aint any more steps left.

You dodge them (refer Annexure I) and there’s a Taxi stand, with ‘anacondasque’ queue. You crouch and pack yourself into one taxi, and wait for the misery to come to an end.

All this to just begin your day at work.

I shouldn’t complain, for there are people who travel from Pune (a good 190 kms from Mumbai), and back, every single day.

I am just, if not less, a midget in front of their wretchedness.

trying times....those were

The scores were out....was elated when i saw them....was happier when nab and nan scored good aswell. Excitement was short lived though, as it seems the institutes have found the arrogant side to themselves and have raised the bar.
We have been studyin towards it for sometime now. The Sessions at java green and cuppa cafe(place where they serve a pizza without cheese and call it calorie free pizza), came in good use.
the mock tests,
marching towards the centers en masse, like the herd of goats to be slaughtered.
lunch sessions where post-mortems were conducted. and religiously drawn analysis for the next test which were blasphemously forgotten, the next morning.

had a great time preparing for these exams.

Then came the real test, the call letters from the esteeemeeedddd institutes.

Was hoping that god would oblige this once.

He didnt.